Apparently, reincarnation had provided me with a face that the universe considered an excellent opportunity for misunderstandings.
"I'm a boy," I corrected, looking back at her.
The woman paused, then shrugged. "All right. You buying something, kid?"
I laughed softly at the complete lack of embarrassment. "Just looking."
"Then come inside." She stepped aside, gesturing toward the shelves. "And keep your hands off anything with a red mark. Those pieces aren't finished."
I nodded and entered the workshop, immediately distracted by the number of things arranged along its walls. There were rows of unfinished bowls, tall storage jars, little cups, decorative tiles, and clay figurines in various stages of drying. A broad pottery wheel occupied the center of the room, where a young man with short black hair was shaping a lump of clay beneath the afternoon light.
He glanced toward me, then toward the woman.
"Another customer?"
"Another curious child," she replied, moving toward a worktable. "Don't let him touch your pieces."
The young man grinned. "That bad?"
"Hasn't broken anything yet."
I looked between them. They sounded like people who had spent years working together, familiar enough to tease one another without interrupting what they were doing. I liked the atmosphere immediately, though I suspected the woman would be considerably less pleasant if I actually damaged something.
She noticed me examining a shelf near the window.
"Mara," she said, apparently deciding introductions were appropriate. "That's Ren. If you need anything, ask one of us."
"Jinx," I answered, turning toward her. "Nice to meet you."
Mara nodded and returned to her work.
I wandered slowly through the room, keeping my hands behind my back whenever I approached unfinished pottery. Several cups possessed unusual glazes, with colors that seemed to change depending on the angle of the sunlight. One had a deep blue body and a faint purple tint near its rim, where the glaze had settled unevenly during firing.
I stopped in front of it.
The color was almost exactly what I liked.
Unlike the elaborate jars displayed near the entrance, the cup was simple and slightly imperfect. Its handle was narrow, and the darker glaze gathered around the base in little irregular patterns. Something about that unevenness made it more interesting than the perfectly matched cups beside it.
"That one's from a test batch," Mara remarked without looking up from her work. "Glaze didn't come out how I expected."
I leaned closer. "What happened?"
"Could be the minerals. Could be the firing conditions." She pressed her thumb against the rim of an unfinished bowl, smoothing a small imperfection. "Haven't tested enough to know."
I looked back at the cup. "I like it."
Mara glanced toward me, then toward the shelf. "Good. Means somebody might actually buy the thing."
I smiled.
Then my attention shifted toward the kiln again.
The heat had changed slightly.
Not much, but enough that I noticed a brief increase in warmth moving through the room. I turned toward the doorway and watched the orange glow brighten before settling again.
Mara had been standing at her table.
Ren was still working at the pottery wheel.
Nobody had touched the kiln's vents.
I frowned.
"How'd you do that?"
Mara looked up. "Do what?"
"The fire." I pointed toward the rear room. "It got hotter, then went back down. You didn't add anything."
Ren's hands slowed on the pottery wheel.
Mara regarded me with considerably more interest than before.
"You can tell?"
"Sort of," I admitted. "I've been watching flames a lot lately."
She studied my face, then glanced toward the firing room.
"Come here," she said after a moment.
I followed her toward the kiln, stopping when she gestured for me to remain behind a line marked on the floor. The air was much hotter here, and the bricks radiated a steady warmth that made my skin tingle. Mara lifted a narrow inspection cover with a long metal tool, revealing a small portion of the chamber beyond.
Orange flames curled around shelves holding pottery.
The heat shimmered.
I watched, fascinated.
"See how the air moves?" Mara asked, pointing toward the narrow opening beneath the chamber. "The draft carries heat through the kiln. If you control the airflow and fuel properly, you can keep the temperature steady for a long time."
I nodded, studying the movement. The design was clever, relying on the relationship between the lower vents and upper chimney to maintain circulation through the chamber. But the flame I'd noticed earlier had changed without any obvious adjustment to those openings.
"Was that what happened before?" I asked.
Mara's expression became thoughtful.
"Not exactly."
She set down the metal tool, inhaled slowly, and moved two fingers beside the opening.
A thin flame shifted inside the chamber.
It wasn't dramatic. There was no burst of fire, no sudden roar, and no enormous glowing shape filling the kiln. Instead, a narrow tongue of flame curled along the inner wall, changing direction before settling into a steady movement around the pottery.
I went still.
Firebending.
Not the kind I'd seen soldiers use during battles, or the spectacular techniques performed by powerful masters in the original series. This was careful, almost delicate, with Mara directing the flame through a tiny movement that seemed completely natural to her.
It was beautiful.
She replaced the inspection cover.
"That answers your question?" she asked.
I looked toward her, unable to suppress my smile. "That was firebending."
"Yes."
"Can you do it again?"
"No."
I blinked. "Why?"
"Because I'm firing pottery," Mara answered, turning back toward the workshop. "Not performing for an audience."
I watched her walk away, then looked toward the kiln again. The fire continued burning steadily, indifferent to my fascination, and I found myself wondering how much practice it must have taken to develop such precise control.
There was no wasted movement in what she'd done. Her breathing had remained smooth, her shoulders relaxed, and the flame had responded without any of the awkwardness that accompanied my own attempts. I wanted to understand the difference.
Naturally, I followed her.
Mara didn't seem particularly interested in discussing firebending at first.
She returned to her table, resumed shaping an unfinished bowl, and answered my questions with a series of short, practical observations. When I asked how she'd learned such precise control, she said practice. When I asked how much practice, she said years, then looked almost amused when I frowned.
I sat on an empty stool near the window. "You're not very talkative."
"Depends who's asking," she replied, smoothing the bowl's rim.
I considered that. It was a perfectly reasonable answer, especially since we'd only just met, and I was already asking questions about a skill she might not want to discuss with strangers. The Fire Nation's reputation during the war meant that even people who weren't involved in the fighting could attract suspicion simply by admitting where they'd come from.
Ren glanced toward us from his wheel.
"She talks plenty when you've done something wrong," he offered, grinning as he worked. "I can tell you that."
Mara didn't look up. "Your vase is leaning."
Ren glanced at his work and immediately began correcting it.
I laughed.
Apparently, she was good at that.
After another few minutes, Mara stopped shaping the bowl and looked toward me. Her attention moved briefly to the doorway, where several people were passing along the lane, before settling upon my face again.
"You said you've been watching flames," she observed. "Why?"
"I'm learning firebending."
Ren stopped his wheel.
Mara's expression didn't change, but the way she looked at me became noticeably sharper.
"Who's teaching you?"
"Nobody yet."
She stared.
"Nobody?"
I nodded. "Just trying to figure it out."
Mara placed both hands on the table and exhaled slowly. She looked toward Ren, who had apparently decided that his vase was the most fascinating object in existence, then returned her attention to me.
"Kid, firebending isn't something you learn by waving your hands around until something catches fire."
"I know," I replied.
"Do you?"
I hesitated. "Mostly."
She stared at me for another moment, then rubbed her forehead. "How old are you?"
"Thirteen."
"And you've been teaching yourself firebending."
"Trying to."
Mara closed her eyes.
I suspected she was reconsidering several of her recent life decisions, none of which had actually involved me until approximately twenty minutes earlier. After a moment, she looked toward the courtyard behind the workshop.
"Come on," she said, rising from the table. "Show me what you can do."
I looked toward the shelves.
"Here?"
"Absolutely not." Mara pointed toward the rear doorway with an expression of disbelief. "Outside. Somewhere you won't set fire to half my stock."
I nodded and followed her into a little stone courtyard behind the workshop. It was enclosed by low walls, with a few herb pots arranged beneath a shaded awning and a large barrel of water standing near the entrance. The ground was packed earth, clear of loose straw or anything else that might catch fire easily.
Ren appeared in the doorway behind us.
Mara looked toward him.
"Your vase."
"Finished it," he answered.
"Then start another."
He sighed and disappeared inside.
I smiled.
Mara folded her arms and turned toward me.
"All right. Let's see it."
I took a breath and moved toward the center of the courtyard, suddenly aware that someone who actually understood firebending was watching me. I'd practiced the basic movements enough times to feel reasonably comfortable with them, but now every little mistake seemed painfully obvious.
I planted my feet.
Bent my knees.
And raised one hand.
Mara watched without interrupting, though her expression suggested she'd already noticed several things she didn't like. I tried not to think about that, concentrating instead on the familiar warmth that sometimes gathered inside my chest when I breathed correctly.
It appeared after a few moments.
Faint.
Almost hesitant.
I stepped forward and extended my hand.
A tiny orange flame flickered above my knuckles.
It lasted barely a second before disappearing.
I lowered my arm and looked toward Mara.
"That's it."
She stared at my feet.
Then at my shoulders.
Then back at my feet.
"Again," she instructed.
I repeated the movement.
Nothing happened.
Mara sighed.
"Right," she said, approaching. "First problem. Your balance is terrible."
I frowned and looked down.
My weight had shifted too far forward, and my back heel was raised slightly from the ground. I'd been so focused on producing the flame that I hadn't noticed the movement.
"Move your foot back," Mara instructed, demonstrating the position with her own body. "Not that far. You're not trying to split yourself in half."
I adjusted my stance.
She shook her head.
"Too wide."
I moved closer.
"Now you're standing like a frightened bird."
I looked toward her.
She looked back.
I laughed.
"You're mean."
"You're sloppy," Mara answered without hesitation.
Fair enough.
She crouched slightly and demonstrated the movement again, keeping her shoulders relaxed while shifting her weight through a controlled step. It looked simple, but the longer I watched, the more I noticed how each part of her body moved in connection with the others.
I tried copying her.
The position felt strange at first, less dramatic than the stances I'd seen firebenders perform during battle. But it was also more stable, allowing me to move without throwing my entire weight forward.
Mara circled me once.
"Better," she decided.
I smiled.
Then she pointed toward my chest.
"Now breathe."
I inhaled sharply.
She shook her head immediately.
"Not like you're diving underwater."
I stopped.
Mara sighed, though she didn't sound especially annoyed yet.
"You're holding your breath between movements," she explained, stepping beside me. "Why?"
I considered the question.
"Not sure."
"Then pay attention to it." She demonstrated another slow movement, inhaling as her arm returned toward her body and exhaling as she extended it. "Fire needs a continuing flow. If you stop everything the moment a flame appears, it won't last."
I watched closely.
That sounded familiar.
Pathik had pointed out almost the same problem earlier that morning, though he hadn't been able to explain it in terms of firebending itself. Now I could see the connection between the breathing and the movement, something I'd previously understood only as a vague idea.
I tried again.
The warmth gathered slowly.
I extended my arm with a controlled exhale.
A tiny flame appeared above my knuckles.
This time, it lasted almost two seconds.
Then vanished.
I grinned.
Mara nodded once.
"Better."
I looked toward my hand, genuinely pleased. It hadn't been a stronger flame, but it had felt more stable, and I'd managed to maintain the sensation for a little longer than usual. I wanted to try again immediately.
Mara raised one hand.
"Stop."
I blinked.
"Why?"
"Because now we're going to fix everything else."
I stared at her.
She smiled.
It wasn't a particularly reassuring expression.
For the next half hour, Mara refused to let me produce another flame.
She made me repeat the same sequence of movements until my legs began aching and my enthusiasm started deteriorating. Every time I tried to speed up, she stopped me and made me begin again, pointing out where my shoulders became tense or my breathing slipped out of rhythm.
It was irritating.
Not because I thought the exercise was pointless, but because I could already feel the difference it was making and wanted to move on to something more interesting. Unfortunately, Mara seemed to have developed an extraordinary ability to recognize the precise moment I became impatient.
"Slow down," she instructed as I stepped forward too quickly. "You're rushing again."
I exhaled and returned to the starting position.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize. Fix it."
I nodded and repeated the movement more carefully, concentrating on keeping my breathing steady. This time, my shoulders remained relaxed, and my weight shifted without the awkward little stumble I'd been making earlier.
Mara watched.
Then nodded.
"Good. Again."
I looked toward the shaded wall, where an empty stool rested beside the water barrel. It looked comfortable, particularly now that my legs had begun suggesting that further exercise was an act of unreasonable cruelty.
Mara followed my gaze.
"Thinking about sitting down?"
"Yeah."
She chuckled.
"Five more."
I sighed and returned to the stance.
Five became seven when I made another mistake, though Mara eventually allowed me to rest. I sat beneath the awning immediately, stretching my legs while she brought over a cup of water.
"Thanks," I said, drinking gratefully.
Mara settled onto the stool beside me, apparently unaffected by the demonstration she'd been repeating throughout the afternoon. She watched me for a moment, then looked toward the kiln room visible through the workshop doorway.
"You've got some natural ability," she observed. "But you're trying to skip everything that makes it useful."
I considered that.
"Yeah," I admitted after a moment. "I get excited when something works."
"I noticed." Mara smiled faintly. "And then you stop paying attention to everything else. That's when people get hurt."
I nodded, remembering how easily my concentration scattered whenever I managed to produce frost or fire. The problem wasn't that I lacked focus entirely. I could become absorbed in something for hours, but maintaining awareness of everything necessary to perform a technique was much harder than simply imagining the result.
"How long did it take you?" I asked, glancing toward her.
"To learn?"
"Yeah."
Mara leaned back.
"Years."
I groaned.
She laughed.
"Actual years, kid," she continued, looking amused by my disappointment. "My father started teaching me when I was little. Made me practice the basics every morning before breakfast."
I stared at her.
"Before breakfast?"
"Every morning."
"That's awful."
Mara laughed again.
"I thought so too."
I smiled, suddenly feeling a little more sympathetic toward the woman who'd spent the past half hour making me repeat the same movements. Apparently, she'd suffered through an even more unreasonable training schedule when she was younger.
For a while, we sat quietly, listening to the distant sounds of the market drifting over the courtyard wall. I watched a small insect crawl across the rim of an empty flowerpot before disappearing beneath a leaf. Its movements were quick and oddly deliberate, and I found myself imagining a miniature explorer setting out across an enormous clay desert.
"Jinx?"
I blinked and looked toward Mara.
"Hm?"
She shook her head.
"You weren't listening."
"Sorry. What'd you say?"
"I asked whether you've ever practiced any other kind of bending."
I hesitated.
There it was.
A question I hadn't particularly wanted to answer.
I could have mentioned the tiny frost rings I'd managed to form at the temple, but that would have led to explanations about an ability that didn't fit neatly into the Four Nations' ordinary understanding of bending. Mara was interesting, and I liked her well enough, but we'd known one another for only a few hours.
There was no reason to reveal everything.
"Not really," I answered, which wasn't entirely false considering how little control I possessed. "Mostly just fire."
Mara studied me for a moment before nodding.
"Then we'll keep things simple," she decided. "You can worry about fancy techniques once you know how to stand, breathe, and move without falling over."
I smiled faintly.
"Sounds good."
It didn't sound especially exciting.
But I was beginning to understand why it mattered.
When my legs stopped aching quite so much, Mara brought me back inside to watch her inspect the kiln.
The firing room was noticeably warmer than before, though the heat remained contained well enough that the main workshop was comfortable. Several small inspection openings had been built into the thick brick walls, allowing Mara to observe different sections of the chamber without exposing the pottery to a sudden change in temperature. I watched her remove one of the covers with a metal tool, revealing a narrow view of the orange flames curling around the shelves inside.
She leaned closer, studying the color and movement for several moments.
"Almost ready for the next stage," she murmured, more to herself than to me.
I looked toward the kiln. "How can you tell?"
"Color, mostly. The way the flame moves tells me about the draft, and I've got test pieces inside that help me judge the firing." Mara glanced toward me. "Temperature matters more than people think. Too much heat, and you can ruin an entire batch. Too little, and the clay doesn't change the way it needs to."
I nodded, remembering the carefully finished cups and bowls displayed throughout the workshop. All those beautiful objects had once been soft lumps of clay, and every stage of their creation required someone to understand how the material would behave. It reminded me of the way temperature influenced the water and stones I'd experimented with at the temple.
Mara moved her hand beside the inspection opening, inhaling slowly. A narrow tongue of flame shifted inside the chamber, brightening as it curled around one of the shelves before returning to a steadier shape. The movement was subtle enough that someone who wasn't paying attention might have mistaken it for an ordinary change in the draft.
I watched her fingers.
They barely moved.
Yet the fire responded immediately.
"That's really precise," I murmured.
Mara replaced the inspection cover. "It has to be. These pieces represent days of work, sometimes weeks. I can't afford to get careless because I'm feeling impatient."
I nodded slowly.
That was a lesson I was beginning to hear rather frequently.
She stepped away from the kiln, allowing the heat to settle behind the brickwork before turning toward me. I followed her back into the workshop, still imagining the way the flame had curved through the chamber.
"Can you make the fire hotter without making it bigger?" I asked as we passed the pottery wheel.
Mara glanced toward me. "Sometimes. Depends on what you're doing, how you're feeding it, and where you want the heat to go."
"What about making a really small flame that's hotter than a big one?"
"That can be done," she answered, studying me with growing curiosity. "But you need proper control, and concentrating heat into a small area can be dangerous. Why?"
I considered the question.
"Just wondering."
Mara watched me for another moment before returning to her worktable.
"You think about fire differently from most beginners," she observed. "Usually, they want to know how to make the biggest blast possible."
I smiled faintly.
"I want to know how it works."
"Good." Mara picked up a damp cloth and began wiping clay from her hands. "Keep that curiosity. Just don't let it get you hurt."
I nodded, though my thoughts were already moving elsewhere.
If fire could be controlled through the concentration and movement of energy, what would happen if that movement were reversed? Ordinary fire required heat to sustain its reactions, but Coldbending operated by removing energy rather than adding it. Somewhere between those principles might lie the possibility of producing something that looked like fire while behaving in an entirely different way.
A cold flame.
The idea was so interesting that I stopped walking.
I imagined a pale violet fire curling around a stone, not burning it but steadily drawing warmth from its surface. Perhaps its flames would move slowly, resembling ordinary fire while creating frost wherever they touched. Or perhaps it would behave in a way I couldn't yet imagine, because the underlying process would be so different from normal combustion.
Mara noticed that I'd stopped.
"Jinx?"
I blinked.
She was standing near the worktable, looking back at me.
"Hm?"
"You've been staring at that wall for a while."
I glanced toward the wall.
It was ordinary stone.
"...Thinking."
"I gathered."
I smiled and returned to the table.
Mara shook her head, though she appeared more amused than irritated. She handed me a damp cloth and pointed toward a small collection of clay tools resting beside Ren's pottery wheel, asking me to clean them while she finished examining the batch in the kiln.
I accepted the cloth and began wiping away the dried clay.
The tools were simple, consisting of wooden shaping sticks, little metal loops, and flat pieces used to smooth the surfaces of vessels. Several possessed traces of different colored clay, and I became interested in the way each shape served a particular purpose. Ren noticed my attention and began explaining how he used them, occasionally demonstrating a movement against an unfinished piece.
He was a better teacher than I'd expected.
Not particularly patient, perhaps, but enthusiastic whenever the subject involved pottery. He explained how clay behaved differently depending on its moisture content, how thin walls could collapse if shaped too quickly, and why certain vessels needed to dry slowly before firing.
I listened with growing interest.
Eventually, Ren noticed that I'd become absorbed in the explanation and grinned.
"Want to try making something?"
I looked toward the spare clay resting beside the wheel.
"Can I?"
"Sure," he answered, glancing toward Mara. "As long as you don't wreck anything."
Mara raised her eyes from the kiln notes she'd been examining.
"Give him the scrap clay," she instructed. "And keep him away from the finished pieces."
Ren laughed.
I accepted the clay with a smile, already imagining several possibilities.
A dragon seemed appropriate.
Or perhaps a sky bison.
But I eventually settled upon a turtleduck, mostly because its round body looked easier to shape than anything with long legs or delicate wings.
That assumption proved rather optimistic.
My turtleduck was a disaster.
Its body was reasonably round, but the neck kept collapsing under the weight of the head, and one of its feet was considerably larger than the others. I attempted to give it a beak, only to discover that I'd made the head too wet, causing the entire front of the creature to sag in a way that suggested it was suffering from a particularly unfortunate medical condition.
Ren watched my progress.
Then laughed.
"What's that supposed to be?"
I examined the sculpture.
"Not sure anymore."
He laughed harder.
Mara looked over from her worktable, then shook her head.
"Less water," she instructed, stepping closer. "And stop squeezing the neck. You're undoing everything you just shaped."
I followed her advice, carefully removing some of the excess moisture before attempting to support the neck with a small piece of clay. The improvement was immediate, though the creature still looked more like an unusually round lizard than a respectable turtleduck.
Mara examined it.
"Hm."
I looked up.
"Bad?"
"Awful," she answered without hesitation.
I burst out laughing.
She smiled faintly before pointing toward the neck.
"But you can fix that. Make the head smaller, support it from underneath, and smooth the join while the clay's still soft."
I tried again.
This time, the head remained attached.
The feet were still uneven, and the beak looked suspiciously crooked, but the overall shape was recognizable enough that I felt rather pleased with myself.
Ren leaned closer.
"Looks like it ate another turtleduck."
I examined the creature.
He wasn't wrong.
I laughed again, nearly dropping the little sculpture before catching it with both hands.
Mara sighed.
"Careful."
"Got it."
She helped me place the turtleduck upon a drying shelf, where it sat between two unfinished bowls like a particularly confused guardian. I looked at it for another moment, wondering whether I should attempt a second version or simply accept that my first effort had developed a personality of its own.
I decided to leave it.
It was ugly.
But I liked it.
Mara returned to her work, and I spent several more minutes helping Ren clean the tools we'd used. The task was simple enough that my mind began wandering again, though I made a conscious effort to keep my attention on what I was doing.
For once, I managed not to become completely distracted.
That was progress too.
The mistake happened when Mara stepped inside to speak with a customer.
She'd told me to continue practicing the breathing sequence in the rear courtyard, without producing fire until she returned. I followed the instructions at first, repeating the movement slowly while concentrating on keeping my shoulders relaxed and my feet balanced.
It was going well.
Actually, it was going better than before.
The warmth appeared inside my chest without much effort, flowing naturally with my breathing as I moved through the sequence. It didn't vanish when I shifted my weight, and I could feel the faint current continuing along my arm even after I finished the movement.
I stopped.
That was new.
I tried the sequence again.
The sensation returned.
For several moments, I stood there examining my hand, wondering whether I might finally be understanding something important about the way firebending worked. The energy felt less like a sudden spark and more like a small current that could continue moving as long as I maintained the proper rhythm.
I wanted to test it.
Just one little flame.
Nothing dramatic.
I looked toward the workshop doorway, where Mara was speaking with someone about a set of storage jars. She'd specifically told me not to produce fire, and I knew perfectly well that ignoring her instructions would be stupid.
Unfortunately, I was thirteen.
And curious.
And the warmth was right there.
I inhaled slowly, shifted my weight, and extended my palm.
A flame appeared.
It was larger than anything I'd produced before, a bright orange tongue of fire that reached several inches beyond my fingertips. The sudden increase startled me, and I instinctively pulled backward before remembering that my rear foot was close to the workshop's doorway.
My heel struck the raised threshold.
I stumbled.
My shoulder collided with a wooden stand holding several unfinished clay vessels.
The stand rocked violently.
A narrow-necked vase slipped toward the edge.
For one horrible second, I watched it fall.
"Oh, no," I whispered, lunging forward without thinking.
I didn't reach it.
Mara did.
She appeared beside the stand, catching the falling vase with one hand while using the other to steady the wooden frame. The remaining pieces rattled against one another, but nothing broke, and after a few tense seconds everything settled into place.
I froze.
The flame had disappeared.
My heart was beating much faster than it had during any of the exercises.
Mara slowly turned toward me.
Her expression was not amused.
"Jinx."
I swallowed.
"Sorry."
She looked toward the stand, then toward the little scorch mark left upon the packed earth.
"What did I tell you?"
I lowered my eyes.
"Not to use fire."
"And what did you do?"
I hesitated.
"Used fire."
Mara stared at me.
I didn't try to make a joke.
There wasn't much funny about nearly destroying someone else's work because I'd become impatient.
"I thought I could control it," I admitted, looking toward the vase she'd caught. "It felt different, and I wanted to try."
Mara exhaled slowly.
"That's exactly why I told you not to," she replied, setting the vase carefully back upon the stand. "You don't know what you're doing yet. A flame doesn't become safe just because you managed to produce it."
I nodded.
She was right.
The flame itself hadn't been particularly large, but my reaction to it had been enough to create a dangerous situation. I'd lost my balance, stumbled into the doorway, and nearly knocked over a collection of pottery that probably represented hours of someone else's work.
All because I couldn't resist seeing what would happen.
I felt my face grow warm.
Embarrassing.
Very embarrassing.
Mara examined the stand, checking each piece for cracks or signs of damage. Once she was satisfied, she turned toward me again.
"Anyone hurt?"
I shook my head.
"No."
"Good."
She folded her arms.
"Now help me move these somewhere safer."
I nodded immediately.
"Okay."
We spent the next several minutes transferring the unfinished pieces to a sturdier shelf inside the workshop. Mara showed me how to support each vessel properly, particularly the larger pieces that hadn't yet dried enough to hold their shape under careless pressure.
I worked slowly.
Carefully.
For once, I didn't become distracted.
When the last piece was secure, Mara handed me a damp cloth and pointed toward the area where I'd stumbled.
"Clean that up."
I glanced toward the little patch of dirt and soot.
Then toward her.
"Okay."
She watched me for a moment before returning to her work.
I crouched and began wiping away the scorch mark. It wasn't difficult, and the packed earth hadn't suffered any serious damage, but the entire incident bothered me more than I'd expected.
Not because Mara had scolded me.
I'd been scolded before.
And certainly not because I believed making mistakes was some terrible failure.
Mistakes were part of learning.
What bothered me was that I'd made one after being specifically warned about the danger, and someone else had nearly paid for it.
I finished cleaning the floor, then stood beside the doorway for a moment, wondering whether Mara was going to ask me to leave.
She didn't.
Instead, she looked toward the stool near the window.
"Sit."
I sat.
She continued working for several minutes, and the workshop became quiet except for the gentle turning of Ren's pottery wheel and the distant sounds of the market outside.
Eventually, Mara spoke.
"You're not the first kid to get excited and do something stupid."
I looked up.
She didn't turn toward me.
"But you need to understand something," she continued, smoothing the rim of a bowl. "Fire doesn't care whether you meant to hurt anyone. If you lose control, the damage happens anyway."
I nodded slowly.
"Yeah."
She glanced toward me.
"You're allowed to make mistakes, Jinx. Just don't make the same dangerous one because you decided the warning didn't apply to you."
I looked toward the shelf we'd moved.
Then back at her.
"Okay."
Mara studied my face for a moment, apparently satisfied that I understood.
Then she returned to her work.
I sat quietly, watching the movement of her hands.
For once, I didn't have another question.
Pathik arrived while I was helping Ren move a stack of finished bowls.
The workshop's front bell chimed, and I glanced toward the entrance to see the old man step inside with several wrapped purchases tucked beneath one arm. He paused to examine the shelves of pottery before noticing me, and his expression brightened. I was carrying two bowls toward a low cabinet, taking care not to let them knock together.
"There you are," Pathik greeted, smiling as he approached. "I was beginning to wonder what had captured your attention this time."
"Firebending," I answered, carefully putting the bowls down. "And pottery. I made a turtleduck, but it looks weird."
Ren laughed from behind his wheel, earning a mildly disapproving glance from Mara. The woman wiped her hands on a cloth and approached Pathik, introducing herself before looking toward me. Something about her expression told me she hadn't forgotten what happened in the courtyard.
"He's been keeping us busy," Mara remarked. "Though I think he's learned a few things today."
Pathik bowed his head politely. "Guru Pathik. It's a pleasure to meet you, and I appreciate you taking the time to speak with him."
Mara studied the old man's robes. "Guru? You live around here?"
"At the Eastern Air Temple," Pathik explained, shifting his purchases beneath his arm. "Jinx is staying with me while he gets settled. He's been rather curious about bending lately."
Mara's eyebrows rose at the mention of the temple. She asked whether people still lived there, and Pathik explained that he maintained a small portion of the complex while most of its buildings remained empty. Their conversation continued for several minutes, moving naturally from the temple to the surrounding islands and the difficulties of obtaining supplies.
I listened for a while before becoming distracted by a collection of glazed tiles resting beside the window. One possessed a strange pattern of deep blue and violet, with little pale lines spreading across its surface like cracks in frozen water. I picked it up carefully, turning it toward the light while imagining how the same pattern might appear if a crystal of ice formed naturally.
"Jinx," Mara called from across the room. "You listening?"
I looked up. "Hm?"
Pathik laughed softly. "He does that," he explained, giving Mara an apologetic smile. "Sometimes his imagination carries him a little farther away than he realizes."
"Apparently," Mara replied, though she didn't sound particularly annoyed. She turned toward me and gestured for me to join them. "I was telling your guardian that you've got some potential, but your training is a mess."
I returned the tile to its shelf before approaching. The word guardian felt a little strange, but I supposed it was as reasonable a description of Pathik as any other. He'd given me somewhere to live, looked after me when I was injured, and generally behaved like someone who considered my well-being important.
Mara glanced toward Pathik. "He can produce a flame, but he hasn't learned the basics properly. His breathing is inconsistent, his stance needs work, and he gets distracted whenever something interesting happens."
I lowered my eyes slightly. "Yeah. I know."
"Unfortunately, that isn't the worst part," Mara continued, folding her arms. "He decided to practice fire after I specifically told him not to. Nearly knocked over a shelf of unfinished pottery."
Pathik's expression became serious. He looked toward me, waiting while I explained what had happened, and I found myself considerably more embarrassed than I had been earlier. There was something unpleasant about admitting that I'd ignored a sensible warning and nearly damaged someone else's belongings.
"Nobody got hurt," I assured him, glancing toward Mara. "She caught everything. I helped clean up afterward."
"I'm glad no one was injured," Pathik replied. "But I hope you understand why Mara was concerned. Firebending is dangerous when you don't know how to control it."
I nodded, resisting the urge to defend myself. The mistake had been mine, and there wasn't much point pretending otherwise. "I know. I won't do it again."
Mara watched me for a moment before returning her attention to Pathik. She explained that she'd shown me a basic breathing sequence and several movements intended to improve my balance. I could practice them without producing flames, though she recommended that I eventually learn from someone with proper firebending experience.
Pathik listened carefully before asking whether she might be willing to offer occasional instruction. Mara looked surprised by the suggestion, glancing toward the kiln and the shelves of pottery surrounding us. She wasn't a professional teacher, and I could tell she was reluctant to promise something that might interfere with her work.
"I've got a business to run," she pointed out, resting one hand against the table. "And I don't have time to spend every afternoon teaching a kid who doesn't listen."
I looked toward her. "I can listen."
Mara raised an eyebrow.
I sighed. "Most of the time."
Ren laughed quietly from his wheel, earning another look from Mara. Pathik seemed amused too, though he didn't interrupt the conversation. I appreciated that he wasn't trying to persuade her on my behalf; whether she wanted to teach me was entirely her decision.
After a little thought, Mara turned toward me. "Tell you what. Practice what I showed you, and don't produce any fire while you're doing it. If you can come back in a week or two and show me you can perform the movement properly, I'll think about teaching you something else."
I stared at her for a moment. The offer was considerably better than I'd expected, especially after nearly breaking her pottery. I nodded, unable to suppress a smile.
"Really? Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet," Mara replied, looking mildly amused. "I'm not promising to become your master. I'm promising to see whether you've got enough patience to learn."
I nodded again. "Okay. I'll practice."
Pathik smiled warmly and thanked her for considering the arrangement. Mara waved the gratitude away, though her expression softened slightly as she returned to the worktable. I had the distinct impression that she enjoyed teaching more than she wanted to admit.
Before leaving, I looked toward the little clay turtleduck resting on the drying shelf. Its head was still too large, and one foot looked as though it belonged to an entirely different animal. I wondered whether it would survive firing without losing another piece of its unfortunate anatomy.
Mara followed my gaze. "Come back in a couple of weeks," she said. "It should be dry enough to fire by then, provided it doesn't fall apart first."
I grinned. "Think it'll survive?"
"No idea," she answered, examining the creature. "But it'll be entertaining to find out."
I remembered the little blue cup just as we were preparing to leave.
It still sat on the shelf near the entrance, its uneven glaze catching the afternoon sunlight. I picked it up carefully and turned it in my hands, watching the dark blue surface shift toward violet near the rim. Something about the coloring reminded me of the ocean beneath storm clouds.
Mara noticed me examining it. "Still interested in that one?"
I nodded. "How much?"
She glanced toward the cup and named a price considerably lower than I'd expected. I reached into my pouch and counted the three remaining coins, feeling a wave of relief when I discovered they were just enough.
I handed them over. "I'll take it."
Mara accepted the money and wrapped the cup in a piece of soft cloth. She explained that it was part of an experimental batch whose glaze hadn't developed the way she'd intended, though the cup itself was sturdy and perfectly safe to use. I didn't particularly care whether the coloring had been an accident; I liked it precisely because it looked different.
"Don't drop it," she advised, handing me the bundle. "The glaze's uneven, but it's a good cup."
I smiled and tucked it safely into my bag. "Thanks, Mara."
She nodded, then glanced toward the workshop entrance. Several people were passing through the lane, and her expression became a little more guarded as she lowered her voice.
"One more thing, Jinx. I'd appreciate it if you didn't go around telling everyone about my firebending."
I looked toward her. "Okay."
Mara seemed surprised by how easily I agreed. She studied me for a moment before explaining that she'd been born in the Fire Nation and had lived on Keshan for many years. Most of her neighbors knew her well enough, but strangers weren't always comfortable discovering that someone from the Fire Nation possessed bending abilities.
I thought about the warships we'd seen near the temple's island. I remembered Nima's fear and the stories Bera had told about patrols interfering with local fishing routes. It wasn't difficult to understand why Mara preferred being known as a potter rather than drawing attention to her bending.
"Won't tell anyone," I assured her.
Mara watched me for another moment before nodding. "Good. And practice those movements properly."
I smiled. "I will."
She gave me a doubtful look, but there was a small smile beneath it. Ren waved from his pottery wheel as Pathik and I stepped outside, and I returned the gesture before following the old man into the busy market street.
The afternoon sunlight had begun turning the rooftops golden, and the smell of cooking still drifted between the stalls. I glanced toward the honey-cake vendor while we passed, briefly considering whether I might somehow acquire another pastry despite having spent my last coins. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of a reasonable solution that didn't involve asking Pathik for money.
I decided to behave myself.
For once.
Bera was waiting at the harbor when we returned.
The afternoon market was beginning to wind down, and several fishing vessels were preparing to depart before the evening breeze weakened. Sailors moved between the piers carrying crates and bundles, while merchants shouted instructions as cargo was loaded aboard the larger trading boats.
I climbed onto Bera's vessel and immediately found somewhere comfortable to sit. My legs were tired from walking through the market and practicing firebending, and my shoulders ached slightly from the unfamiliar movements Mara had made me repeat. I set my bag beside me, taking care to protect the wrapped cup from the surrounding crates.
Bera glanced toward the bundle as he approached. "Find something good?"
I nodded and showed him the cup.
He examined its uneven blue-and-purple glaze, then grinned. "Nice little thing. Mara's work, isn't it?"
I looked up. "You know her?"
"Course I do," Bera answered, handing the cup back. "Been buying jars from her for years. Good potter, though she'll tell you exactly what she thinks if you give her a reason."
I laughed. "Yeah. I noticed."
The fisherman chuckled before returning to his crew. Pathik settled nearby, arranging his purchases beneath a sheltered portion of the deck while the sailors prepared to cast off. A gentle breeze moved through the harbor, carrying the familiar smell of saltwater and woodsmoke.
We departed shortly afterward, slipping between the piers before turning toward the open sea. Keshan gradually disappeared behind us, its green-tiled roofs becoming smaller as the boat moved through the channel. I watched the island for a while, wondering when I'd return and whether Mara would actually agree to teach me more.
Pathik joined me near the railing.
"Did you enjoy your first visit to Keshan?" he asked, resting his walking staff beside him.
I nodded. "Yeah. A lot."
"I'm glad." He followed my gaze toward the shrinking island. "Mara seems like someone who understands her craft very well. I think you could learn quite a bit from her."
I looked down at my hands. The fingers were still a little sore from handling clay and repeating the firebending movements, but the feeling was strangely satisfying. I'd spent most of the afternoon discovering how much I didn't know, and somehow that had only made me more interested.
"She's good," I agreed. "Really good."
Pathik smiled. "Then perhaps you'll have something to look forward to when we visit again."
I nodded, then leaned against the railing as the boat rocked gently beneath us. The sky had begun changing color, pale blue fading toward orange and gold as the sun approached the western horizon. Far ahead, the Eastern Air Temple's mountainous island was little more than a dark shape rising above the water.
My thoughts wandered toward Mara's lesson.
Fire wasn't merely something I could summon and hold in one place. It needed movement and a continuing supply of energy, something that responded to breath and intention without becoming completely still. I'd been trying to preserve the flame by concentrating upon it, only to discover that my own attempt to hold it steady was part of what caused it to disappear.
Coldbending felt different.
There, I deliberately reduced movement, drawing energy away until the target began changing as a result. The more quietly I concentrated, the easier the sensation became, though I was still far from understanding what happened to the energy I removed.
I looked toward the sunset.
Fire and cold.
Two different ways of approaching energy.
Perhaps learning both would eventually help me understand something that neither discipline could explain by itself.
I smiled faintly.
That sounded interesting.
Very interesting.
Unfortunately, thinking about it made me sleepy.
I settled against a nearby crate, using my folded cloak as a cushion while the boat continued toward the temple's island. The deck moved gently beneath me, and the sound of water sliding along the hull was wonderfully soothing after the noise of the marketplace.
Pathik noticed me closing my eyes.
"Tired?" he asked.
I nodded. "Mm-hm."
"Then rest. We still have some distance to travel."
I smiled without opening my eyes. "Good idea."
The last thing I remembered was the warmth of the setting sun against my face and the faint sound of Bera speaking with one of his crew members. My bag rested safely beside me, containing a little blue cup, an unfinished collection of notes, and the remains of several very good honey cakes.
Then I fell asleep.
By the time I woke, the Eastern Air Temple's island was rising ahead of us.
The mountain peaks stood dark against the evening sky, their ancient buildings barely visible through drifting clouds. I rubbed my eyes and sat upright, feeling the familiar weight of Tavi's shell beneath my shirt.
Pathik sat nearby, watching the approaching coastline with a peaceful expression. When he noticed me stirring, he smiled and gestured toward the sheltered western inlet where Bera was guiding the boat.
"Sleep well?" he asked.
I nodded, stretching my arms above my head. "Yeah."
"We're nearly home," Pathik replied, turning his attention toward the mountain trail visible beyond the rocks.
I looked toward the island.
Home.
That was an interesting word.
I'd only lived at the temple for a short time, yet I'd already grown accustomed to its quiet courtyards, ancient halls, and the presence of a certain elderly guru who apparently found my sleeping habits endlessly amusing. I liked it there more than I'd expected, even with the chores and the unfortunate number of stairs.
I thought about Mara waiting in her pottery workshop, Ren shaping another vase, and the little turtleduck drying on its shelf. Somewhere on Keshan, the sky bison carving was probably still sitting beneath the woodcarver's green awning, waiting for someone with enough money to buy it.
I smiled faintly.
There were so many things I wanted to see.
And so many things I wanted to learn.
"Pathik?" I asked, turning toward the old man.
"Yes, Jinx?"
I hesitated, then looked toward the distant island we'd left behind. "Can we go back sometime?"
Pathik smiled. "Of course. I imagine Mara will be expecting you once you've practiced those exercises."
I nodded, already considering how to fit the movements into my daily routine. They weren't particularly exciting, but Mara had demonstrated how much difference proper breathing could make, and I wanted to experience that feeling again without nearly destroying someone's pottery.
"Good," I answered.
Then I leaned against the railing, watching the mountain grow larger as we approached.
Tomorrow, I'd practice breathing.
And balance.
And the little movements Mara had shown me.
I might even manage to keep a flame alive for several breaths.
But tonight, I intended to eat dinner, admire my new cup, and sleep until someone made the unfortunate decision to wake me.
That sounded like a perfectly good plan.