Chapter 8 - Lost in the Flames

The pain searing through Hikoshu’s head did eventually subside, and it felt both like ages and like moments had passed before it ended. Despite the fear that washed over him, relief was nearly as strong, and he fell into the snow with a shuddering gasp. People had surrounded him in the meantime, their dark faces staring down at him in concern and terror. They were worried about him, but they weren’t going to touch him. Not when he might be ensnared in some spiritual battle.

There wasn’t time to recover. Pushing himself up, making the thin crowd scatter in the process, Hikoshu bended powdery flakes from his coat and then took off back into the village. He could skate along the snow as well as any of the Shamans, but he also had airbending, and he used both to speed so quickly between the huts that he was almost certain he was going to run into something in the night.

He just didn’t have time to worry about that.

The huts passed by him in a blur, and the icy wind tore at his face so harshly that he thought it might have scoured away the top layer of skin. His head still throbbed, but more like a normal headache, and in comparison to the pain before, it was almost pleasant. So he ignored it as he slid around buildings, airbending off of the huts he came too close to hitting.

Then he saw them. He didn’t need to see the water cistern or the tiger-seal skin; two of the people were huddled near the glowing door of Mayami’s hut, deep in conversation. Hikoshu skidded to a halt several feet before them, throwing up snow as he stopped. Jumping into a run, he covered the final distance just as they turned toward him.

One of them was Mayami.

Short of breath, he grabbed her into his arms and crushed against his chest, holding so tight that he thought he might suffocate her. She also hugged him, though with less strength than he’d expected. Finally pulling back, Hikoshu gazed at her worriedly and saw that her cheeks shone with cold tears, her dim eyes brimming with more.

“What happened?” The question he whispered to her, but Hikoshu looked to the other person for an answer. Tati stood next to them, his somber face shrouded by a black heap of wind-tossed hair. “Where is everyone?”

“My grandfather,” Mayami said thickly, her gloved hands reaching up to clutch his coat. “My grandfather’s dead.”

She still had both of her grandfathers, but likely she meant her mother’s father, Minoq. He had lived with Mayami ever since her sister had moved away and was the closest person to her since the death of her parents two years before. But he was Southern Water Tribe, and Hikoshu glanced in confusion from her to Tati. His shoulders stooped, hands in his pockets, the Shaman stared at Mayami with a simple and grave sadness. Apparently they had been terribly mistaken.

Hikoshu pulled her against his chest once more and brushed his hand along her loose-bound hair. But she had ceased crying, sniffling into the fur as her back heaved with swallowed sobs. Mayami was strong; she wouldn’t want to show her tears. And she probably wouldn’t want to be comforted, but he had to help her in some way.

“You should go in there,” Tati finally said, his voice filled with the same weight as earlier. “I’ll stay with Mayami.”

Surrendering her reluctantly, Hikoshu checked her face one last time; she obstinately turned it away and moved instead toward Tati. It was a silent signal that she didn’t need him now. She’d be fine on her own. Hikoshu wasn’t so sure of that, but he obediently let her go and stepped into the large shelter he’d only visited a few times before.

The hut used to house Mayami’s extensive family, but since the death of her parents and the marriage of her sister, the family had slowly been reduced to two: she and her grandfather. Natquik’s family, who were her father’s original clan, had offered to take them both in but they refused. Mayami hadn’t wanted to force her grandfather to rely on another clan for survival. And despite some difficulties stemming from his age and her youth, they still managed on their own. A small but happy home.

Two occupants had meant the hut was pretty sparsely furnished, given its size. When Hikoshu had been there before, there were only a few animal rugs and two elaborate mats of woven antlers hung on the walls. A privacy curtain made of tough hide and sewn with mollusk shells had separated part of the spacious interior for Mayami’s use, where most of her belongings were hidden, and Minoq’s cot was set near the central fire pit. Four firebags were needed to light the inside, but they only used two, which often left a portion of the room in shadow.

With that memory still in mind, Hikoshu was surprised by the changes that had been made. The walls were now cluttered with leather hangings, many having the same geometric designs as he’d seen in Tati’s hut. Mayami’s partition still stood, but delicate, silk-like nets clung to the shells. Wary of the rituals, Hikoshu also noticed the shallow line drawn in the ice all around the inside the room, creating a narrow trench which he had to step over. The firebags, all four now lit, put off an unusually thick smoke which held a pungent smell that he had simply dismissed as left-over supper in Tati’s hut.

But more than anything, his gaze was drawn to the row of blue coats blocking his view of Minoq’s cot, as four Shamans hovered over something unseen. Natquik was the first to look up at his entrance, his appearance haggard. Loose from its band, his hair fell into his face and obscured his eyes, which Hikoshu thought were red. Escaping from the gathered men, he clasped Hikoshu’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he asked for the second time that night, and Hikoshu nodded. “Go join the Shamans. I’m going to check on Mayami.” Then he was gone, slipping outside.

Hikoshu timidly approached that cot, dread following him as he prepared himself for what he was about to see. The Shamans—Kinu, Yoshu, and Pikata—were bunched so closely together that he had to walk halfway into the room before he could make out the contents of the bed.

The sight made him gag.

He had mistaken the odor for something they’d put in the oil lamps. In reality, it was Mayami’s grandfather who was putting off that smell, his skin charred black enough that he was virtually unrecognizable. He might’ve still had a face, but his hair was all gone, and his fingers and feet were mere bones where the flesh had peeled away. In the firelight, he glistened with a greasy film, his hands resting in the deep pit below his rib cage.

Horrible. Burning to death was always horrible, and he didn’t think he needed to see any more.

Slowly, Hikoshu became aware of a choking sound under the gentle murmurs of talking Shamans, and he turned toward the hide curtain. Swaying with an unfelt breeze, the shells glittered behind the fine mesh of nets, forming an eerie background to the scene. In growing suspicion, Hikoshu approached the hide and pushed it back with his wrist to peer behind it.

Miyo was still in the room, as he feared she might be. She had hidden as far away as she could inside the small space, wedged behind Mayami’s fur-lined cot. Her arms were wrapped so tightly around her legs that her fingers were white where she clutched her elbows, and her face was equally pale. Clenching her jaw, she stared, unblinking, at the silhouettes of Shamans dancing along the curtain, their movements warped by the firelight. Again, she made a low choking noise in her throat and gradually turned her eyes to him.

“Let’s get you out of here.” He grabbed her staff from the floor, then pushed the cot away to gather her into his arms. She immediately hid her face in his neck, and working past his awkward hold, Hikoshu melted a hole in the wall.

Outside, a cold wind immediately blew over them, hissing between the neighboring huts. As flakes dampened his face, Hikoshu placed Miyo, motionless, in the snow with her staff. Now that he’d had a chance to calm his pounding heart, and with the energy that had powered his dash through town gone, the night had suddenly become frigid. His sweat, sticky against his skin, made his coat uncomfortable and froze on his neck. Cold enough that he could barely rebuild the wall he’d just torn down, his fingers quickly growing too numb to bend.

Then he returned to kneel in front of Miyo. Her eyes were concentrated on her knees now, where her palms nervously smoothed out the wrinkles in her robes. Occasionally she’d shudder, but otherwise, she didn’t react.

“You must be freezing.” It was a statement more than a question, but he would’ve been happy if she’d nodded in agreement. Sitting back, Hikoshu pulled his coat over his head. Yet even before he’d completely removed it, she gasped sharply.

“Don’t put that on me, Hikoshu!” Now she looked at him, drawing away as if he was going to burn her.

“I’m not going to,” he said quickly, setting the coat down. It really was freezing now, and he bended the sweat out of his robes. Then, removing the woolen outer layer, he wrapped that around her shoulders instead. Fortunately, she didn’t seem bothered by the wool, and slowly—very slowly—she relaxed under it as he pulled his parka back on. Hikoshu bended walls of ice around them to keep out the wind, then produced a flame in his hand. It was rough, but all of a sudden, they had a tolerable shelter that would at least keep them warm while they talked.

“Why did you stay in there?” he said, crossing his legs underneath him. Miyo had focused her eyes on him, and the color had returned partly to her cheeks. Still, she looked very disturbed, her face drawn.

“I couldn’t leave until someone showed up,” she finally answered, right before he gave up hope that she’d even speak. “He was already dead by the time I got—“ Again, she made that choking noise, and her neck stretched as if fighting back to urge to vomit. “—I got there.”

“Take deep breaths.” Hikoshu leaned forward to seize one of her hands, giving her fingers a tight squeeze. “Just breathe. Don’t think about it.”

Miyo obviously wasn’t going to be able to take his advice. “He was smoldering when I got there. His skin was still bubb—“ Sticking the back of her free wrist against her mouth, she retched loudly. Hikoshu just held tighter.

Eventually, she regained control of the reflex, and gasping, she looked up at him with teary red eyes. “Oh, spirits, he smelled so awful.” Hikoshu nodded somberly.

“I know.”

Miyo was fazed by very little, and she’d been his source of strength for so long that he’d forgotten that she could be fazed. As a strict adherer to the path of non-violence, she couldn’t stand to inflict pain—couldn’t stand to see pain in others. And given the horrific nature of this death, Hikoshu could only imagine how deeply it had shaken her.

But he was also forgetting that Miyo had smelled burning flesh before. Flesh which had been her own.

At that memory, Hikoshu crawled to her side and wrapped an arm around her, forcing her to rest her head on his shoulder. After some prompting, she finally did, and he could feel the subtle tremors that occasionally wracked her body.

“How long does it take you to die like that?” she whispered after a long pause, the question accompanied by another small shudder.

“I don’t know.” He really didn’t. He wanted to say, and certainly hoped, that a person died within moments from the shock. Though he imagined it was a little bit longer than that.

“Is Mayami going to be okay? She wasn’t inside when…” Miyo trailed off, changing what she was about to say. “She was outside, watching your fire. She came inside with me.”

“Mayami will be fine.” Hikoshu didn’t know that, either. Sadly, he pressed his cheek against her head. “I’m sorry, Miyo. I shouldn’t have made you go.”

“Stop it.” Her voice was surprisingly dry. “I’m not in the mood to soothe your guilty conscience.” It made him smile, even though he didn’t really want to, and he let the fire go as he drew his other arm around her to cradle her against him.

They were sitting like that in the dark when one of the walls suddenly dropped into the snow, and Natquik stuck his head in.

“Hikoshu, what—?” He cut off, startled, as he spied Miyo in the moonlight that seeped beyond the edges. “What’s going on? I’ve been looking for you two.”

“We’re just taking a break.” Hikoshu bended a flame back into his palm, throwing them all into warm relief. “We’ll be out in a bit.”

“Miyo, are you alright?” His hair tied back once more, Natquik really did seem concerned. And contrite.

“I’m fine.” She didn’t lift her head from Hikoshu’s shoulder. Stooping, Natquik crawled into the little structure that wasn’t meant to hold more than two. It took him a moment to move Miyo’s staff so it wasn’t stabbing him in the thigh, but once settled, he bended the wall back into place.

“Listen, we’ve got problems.”

“Really?” Hikoshu couldn’t help the sarcasm, though he did note how bitter it sounded.

“I’m serious.” That was an odd reversal—usually Natquik was the only one who wasn’t serious. “Most of the village doesn’t know about these unexplained deaths. There have been rumors, but no one outside of us has pieced together yet that the deaths are related.”

“They’re going to figure it out pretty quickly, now that the village has two.” He stroked Miyo’s shoulder idly, which he didn’t even notice until he saw that Natquik was watching his hand with a thoughtful frown. “Atua’s going to have to tell them.”

“And he will, but that’s not the problem. Or it is. Sort of. We’ve got two unexplained deaths, right? Both occurring nearly at the same time. Everyone in the village will know that you have something to do with it. They saw you bend a wall of flames just beyond Tati’s house, and I think everyone knows that it had nothing to do with some ‘wolf pack.’”

“That really was a terrible lie,” Miyo murmured at his shoulder, resting a hand against his chest. Hikoshu managed a grin from the top of her head.

“Wolf packs are very dangerous things.”

“Both of you, focus,” Natquik said impatiently, waving to get their attention. “Remember, we’re still serious here. Now, Hikoshu, everyone—everyone—saw you bending a massive bout of flame outside of Tati’s hut. And tomorrow, they’re going to quickly discover Minoq was burned alive. The grandfather of a woman that you are ‘having a fun time’ with, who was also engaged to someone else by her grandfather.”

Hikoshu didn’t like the direction Natquik’s thoughts were heading. “They’re going to think I had something to do with this?”

“They’re going to think you actually did it.”

“But he was on the other side of the village when that man died!” Miyo protested, as if she had to defend him against Natquik. “There are witnesses.”

“They’re scared of his Avatar powers, Miyo. They have no idea what he can or can’t do. For all they know, he can roast someone from half a mile away.”

“Please don’t say that.” Her voice turned thick, and Natquik turned guilty again, ducking his head.

“Sorry. But what I mean is that Hikoshu was obviously acting very funny tonight, and two people died. We can explain it all we want, but they’re going to suspect him. It’s just the nature of being…”

Natquik didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. The nature of being a firebender among waterbenders. Even though Hikoshu had lived with these people for four years, they were still distrustful of him. All because of some old bias they held against his entire nation.

“Well, then, what do we do?” Hikoshu was tired of problems. There were a lot of problems and not enough solutions. So that was what he wanted right now.

“I don’t know.” That wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “Chief Atua wants to watch and see how the situation plays out.” Nor that.

“They can’t do anything to Hikoshu,” Miyo pleaded, and her fingers tensed in the fur of his coat. “He’s the Avatar.”

“No, no one’s going to hurt Hikoshu.” At least Natquik seemed certain about that. “We’ll make sure of it. But it is something that he’ll have to deal with, and I wanted to make you aware of it before the morning.”

“Thanks, Natquik.”

“Don’t mention it.” Then, grunting as he scooted to his feet, he bended the wall open again. “The Shamans are having a meeting here shortly at the kashiq. You might want to come whenever you’re done here.” Hikoshu was about to stop him—to ask him how Mayami was—but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to approach the topic again with Miyo there. So he let Natquik go, as the waterbender stepped outside and bended the wall back into place.

“I detected a little jealousy,” Hikoshu mumbled against her head, and she hmphed.

“So what’s happening here, Hikoshu? You obviously have some idea.”

“I can fill you in on the way to this meeting.”

“That I’m not invited to?” She raised her head from his shoulder, pinning him from below her arrow with a curt frown. “The Water Tribe doesn’t like outsiders in their affairs.”

“I think at this point, you’ve earned it.”

“Actually, I’m just tired. I think I’ll go to my hut.”

“Want me to walk you there?”

Miyo was already pushing off of him, reaching for her staff. “I’d prefer you carry me, if you’re going to do that.” She threw him a half-grin that actually looked a bit more normal. Returning it, he climbed to his knees.

“Don’t think I can do that. But I can at least give you some company.”

“Fine. I’ll let you carry my glider.”

The wind had picked up since they’d entered the tiny shelter, though it was partly blocked by buildings as they made their way through the frozen lanes. Miyo still wore his robe, held tightly closed in her fingers as she used her staff to keep balance, and because of that, they easily blended into the surroundings. To anyone who glimpsed outside, they were just two tribespeople, struggling through a late autumn night to get to their destination.

They walked in silence for almost the entire distance, both deep in thought. From time to time, Hikoshu would glance at Miyo to see if she was alright. She worried at her lip, snow-coated lashes hiding eyes focused on her feet, and there were obviously clouds rolling somewhere behind her wrinkled forehead. But that dull, stunned look was gone, and she seemed a lot more like her usual, troubled self.

When they finally arrived at the hut used by all visiting airbenders, his concerns had shifted. Though Hikoshu’s mind lingered on Mayami and that final, gruesome sight of her grandfather, he found himself just as worried about leaving Miyo alone when he had no answers yet. What if they really didn’t know who would be attacked? What if anyone could be the next victim?

Miyo didn’t seem to share his fears, bidding him goodnight without even inviting him in. But she did hug him again, and whispered for him to be careful. As if she had more worries about his safety than her own. A moment later, she slipped inside her hut.

Hikoshu wasn’t sure how careful he needed to be. After all, how careful could he be when he didn’t even know what was hiding out in the tundra? As he trudged back through the village, intent on checking on Mayami one more time, he dwelled on the events of the preceding night. He wasn’t completely defenseless; Hikoshu had felt the attacks as they happened. And he had heard noises—unusual noises, both before and after the attacks. So what did it mean? Was he somehow already able to pick up on the spirit’s actions? He hadn’t experienced anything like it during the other deaths. Was it limited by distance, or had he simply just gained this ability?

And if he was in tune with this spirit, did it mean he really could contact it? Was it only a matter of when, rather than how?

Half-consciously, he began listening for the footsteps—anticipating a stab of pain through his head. But this time, if it happened, he would be prepared. He would try to latch on to it and search out its source. All he needed was for it to strike once more.

So focused was he on expecting this new attack, Hikoshu didn’t really notice the figure approaching until it was right on top of him. And when he did, it jarred him so completely out there in the cold, lonely night that he gave a surprised shout and jerked back into a bending stance.

Quivianik, still closing the distance between them, was unrecognizable in the shadows of the huts and his hood. But the long fringe of tiger-seal fur that hung loosely from his coat collar quickly identified him as a Shaman, and Hikoshu could see the black circle of beard that formed a ring around his mouth. This, combined with a stride that swallowed the snow as he approached and broad shoulders that were thrown back as if readying for an attack, immediately told Hikoshu who it was.

“You’re needed in the kashiq now.” Quivianik rarely minced words. By far the brusquest Shaman, he said everything with an undercurrent of threat, and his formidable size merely reinforced the idea. “Come on.”

“I was just going to check on Mayami.” He slowly relaxed his guard in front of Quivianik, who, despite being somewhat shorter than Hikoshu, still gave the impression of towering over him.

“She’s already with the trout-crow clan.” The implication being that Hikoshu wasn’t going to see her tonight, and Quivianik certainly didn’t look like he was going to accept further argument on the matter. “On the other hand, the meeting is waiting for you.”

“Alright then.” He gestured the Shaman on, having no recourse. “I guess I’ll talk to her later.” Quivianik gave a short nod that said he had expected no less and turned on his heel, his stocky yet muscular form spinning lithely. With one last glance in the direction of Mayami’s hut—her former hut, he corrected himself sadly—Hikoshu followed.

There were no lights coming from the rotunda of the kashiq. Silently, it loomed over the village, the delicate ice carvings that graced its roof by day now cast with unspoken menace by moonlight. Uncertain if there was anyone inside, Hikoshu quickly realized that the long, narrow row of high-set windows was frozen shut, set to block light as well as sound from getting out.

Walking quickly upon the entryway, Quivianik didn’t need help to open the heavy ice doors; he was a powerful enough bender that he twisted through a basic move, drawing his arms apart, and the decoratively-framed doors easily responded.

Now light flooded over them, and as they entered, so did warmth. All the fire pots inside had been lit, making the chamber brighter than he’d ever seen it. As there was no smoke hole, the ceiling of the room was filling rapidly with smoke, hovering languidly over the group of men gathered far below it.

The chief and eight Shamans, including Natquik, were seated around the etched carving of the Water Tribe seal in the center of the floor. Though they were all engaged in quiet conversations, the nine men were obviously waiting. They looked up from their place in a circle the moment that Hikoshu entered, and continued to stare as Quivianik bended the door shut. There were cisterns of water at nine points on the edges of the room, and each of these corresponded to the position of a Shaman. That meant one position was empty, and Quivianik took this final spot.

So now they all regarded Hikoshu silently, and he wondered if he was supposed to make some ceremonial introduction.

Atua fortunately saved him the trouble, gesturing for Hikoshu to sit beside him. “Good, we can begin now.”

He bowed to the nine august men, made some sort of apology that he wasn’t sure they heard, and quickly took a seat on Atua’s right, the crest of the sigil’s wave falling just below his knee. In front of him, he quickly scanned the faces. All of the Shamans in the village were there, come now to discuss a matter that was officially Shaman business. Kinu and Tati, Natquik and Quivianik. Hikoshu noted their names like a list. Moja, Yoshu, Pikata, Son, Tanek. And finally, Atua, seated next to him. They all paused on the moment of calm, as if waiting for a silent reminder to continue.

Then, suddenly, it was chaos.

Half of the nine Shamans began talking almost immediately, and there was very little order to who was supposed to speak first. Nearly all of these individuals, ranging from the youngest in Natquik to the oldest in Kinu, were hard-headed, convinced that they had the most power, and unwilling to be overwhelmed by the others. The result was a group of men who often argued just to show their own dominance, which was why such a gathering was so rarely ever called.

“There’ve been four deaths,” Tati said, just as Son corrected him with, “Five.” Five deaths? Hikoshu hadn’t heard about one of them, then.

“And no matching pattern.” That was Yoshu, his gaunt face disappearing behind the rim of a clay cup which he must’ve brought with him. “No one death is the same as the others.”

“Not true. Not true,” Moja said, shaking his head. Bells jingled as he did so, woven into the thick brown braids of his hair, and his energetic eyes that showed the whites all around darted to each Shaman. “There were two deaths by burning. Two deaths.” He’d always been a little strange, as long as Hikoshu knew him. Natquik had said he was struck by lightning once when he was young. Or perhaps kicked by a buffalo-yak. No one really remembered.

“But skinned alive? Missing bowels?” That was Pikata, speaking over everyone in his high-pitched voice as he nervously tugged at the tails of his bundled hair. “And—what was the other one, Natquik?”

“I didn’t even know about the other one,” he said, just as Quivianik said, “Bled to death, but without any wounds. Or blood.”

Pikata, nearer in Natquik’s age than the others, nodded and squeezed his knees in his hands. “These are too different. It’s almost as if the spirit’s coming up with these murders at random.”

“Spirits are not random.” Kinu spoke for the first time, but his voice cut through their conversations like a fire whip. He was so respected that every Shaman stopped to listen, all eyes now on him. “They come to us with a purpose, or they are sent to us with a purpose. But they always have a purpose.” Silence answered him, foreboding though Hikoshu wasn’t quite sure why. They’d heard something in Kinu’s words that he had simply missed.

“You think it’s being controlled?” Tati asked in a hushed voice, expressing the dark, collective thought that had eluded Hikoshu. His tone, as in the hut with Utt, held an ominous note.

“We can’t jump to conclusions.” Kinu seemed as unconcerned as ever, his long eyebrows shifting around his mouth as he wrinkled his brow. “But there are only two options. The spirit acts on its own, or it acts through the will of another. And I have never seen a spirit acting on its own break through so many wards.”

“We’ve never seen a spirit like this at all,” Pikata added before Kinu’s words had a chance to settle into morbid silence again. “We have no idea what we’re up against.”

Tanek gave a discouraged groan, rubbing at one eye tiredly. “Why don’t we consult the North on this matter?” Leaning his cheek against his palm, he turned to look at Quivianik to his left. “It’s only attacking Northern Water Tribe members, after all.”

“No. It attacked Minoq just before this meeting,” Atua said, bowing his head. “He was a walrus-bear clansman.” A clan which was distinctly Southern Water Tribe. Not that Atua really needed to say it; even Hikoshu knew that Mayami’s grandfather had been born in the South Pole.

“Then what?” Moja seemed to be getting frustrated now, and when he got frustrated, he got animated. His hands flitting through the air rapidly, he swung his body to look both left—where Pikata sat—and right, toward Tati. “What? There has to be some pattern here. What? They’re all men over the age of sixty. Over the age of sixty, and mostly Northern Water Tribe. Are most of them Shamans?”

“Two Shamans, three warriors,” Tati said, trying to avoid Moja’s flying hands. “But two of those warriors were waterbenders.”

“Four waterbenders.” Quivianik was grim. “Seems like a pattern to me. There just aren’t enough of us for that to be unimportant.”

“This would be easier to solve if Natquik could tell us how these men are dying,” Yoshu said, lowering his cup long enough to pin the younger waterbender with a pert frown. “Surely you’ve found something.”

“For the last time,” Natquik fumed from his spot between Pikata and Tanek, “I’m just a healer. I can only tell you what the body tells me.”

Pikata turned sharply to face him, his look chastising. “You brought somebody back from the dead, Natquik. If there’s any Shaman here who can understand the aspects of death, it’s you.”

It suddenly became very quiet. And not just a sober quiet, but an awkward quiet. Pikata, realizing how he’d spoken out of turn, directed his gaze elsewhere sheepishly. Not that it mattered, as no one was looking at him anymore.

They were all staring at Hikoshu.

So that was why they’d been harassing Natquik so aggressively about the murders. They all knew how Hikoshu had been stabbed four years before; they all knew how, for a short time, Hikoshu could have been nothing other than dead. And they knew how Natquik, against all physical impossibilities, managed to bring him back, anyway.

Natquik looked just as uncomfortable as Pikata, refusing to meet his eyes. Perhaps thinking that Hikoshu blamed him for using his death to gain notoriety. But most likely feeling ashamed all over again for his actions that day, which had been criticized so heavily. That was, up until now, when they discovered that they had a use for a person who could do such a thing.

What they didn’t understand—what no one but Hikoshu knew—was that it wasn’t just Natquik’s doing that had brought him back. Natquik might have made it possible for him to return to his body, but it was something else that had kept him from dying. An insect-like spirit, hidden in the midst of a swamp, surrounded by a thousand faces…

As he had a million times before, Hikoshu swallowed the memory before its consequences could surface and force him to deal with them. It was now that he had to deal with; he had to help Natquik out of this situation.

“I’m going to try to contact the Spirit World,” Hikoshu said into the heavy silence. And his declaration was greeted by even more silence. But why wouldn’t it be? They’d probably assumed that was what he’d been doing the entire time. “I’ll find the spirit. Before there are any more deaths.”

Another long pause, as they all stared. Even Pikata was now studying him, though Natquik still wouldn’t meet his eyes. Finally, Kinu spoke.

“Will you need help, Master Avatar?”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll just…I’ll need someplace spiritual.” Every time Hikoshu had visited the former Avatar Sidhari, it was through meditation or a location with strong spiritual energies. Maybe that was what he needed here.

The Shamans glanced among themselves, likely trying to puzzle through what he meant. To the Southern Water Tribesmen, every location was spiritual, as everything in nature had a spiritual essence. And the looks they gave each other indicated that the Shamans were wondering how to explain this to him.

“I might know somewhere,” Natquik volunteered, finally meeting Hikoshu’s gaze with mutual understanding. “It’s not close, though. It’ll take some traveling to get there.”

That sounded perfect. Inherently, Hikoshu knew he would need to be away from the village before he could contact the Spirit World. With so many emotions—so much grief—created from the tragedy that evening, he imagined that spiritual detachment within or near this place would be difficult to achieve for quite some time. But out there in the tundra, away from the fear and blame….

The conversation had slowly recommenced around him, the Shamans moving on to debate the next steps to take. Which villages should they contact? How to address the funerals as well as the spreading rumors? Yet even as the Shamans readied for a dawn that could only be a few hours away, Hikoshu’s thoughts remained stuck on that night.

On Mayami, on the deaths, and on a spirit who for now existed simply as footsteps in the snow.

A/N: As always, thanks to my wonderful beta, Inazuma Akai! I know there wasn't much revealed in this chapter, but that's because it's all being saved for the next chapter or two. Expect a lot more revelations then.