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"Hell yeah!" Neteyam cheered as he pinpointed Spider in the water, having rescued him from the Sky People —his captivity concerned their sisters, especially Kiri. But Neteyam did not hear his brother Lo'ak's voice, which distressed him immediately; something in him knew to regret their choice just as quickly. Lo'ak was invariably the first to celebrate their victories, big and small, eagerly. To not hear him meant something was wrong. The waves forced movement through their bodies, tails, and legs, keeping them buoyant against the current. Neteyam heard Lo'ak labouring to breathe despite the volume generated by the crashing waves against the ship. Neteyam whirled around, scouring for his brother, his breath ragged with apprehension.
Neteyam's feelings that something was amiss were confirmed the same instant he saw the look of anguish on his brother's face. Lo'ak, for all his second-son angst, was still boyish and had not yet learned to rule his expressions. The tried-and-true RDA bullet tore through his leg as he plunged into the water, barely behind his brothers. Panic was beginning to rise, his eyes wide as he looked at his older brother, lip quivering from the pain he was trying to mask.
"I-I'm shot," Lo'ak croaked, his large yellow eyes blown wide. " Fuck ." Neteyam's horror was palpable, a chill running through him as he comprehended Lo'ak's now-recognisable words, "I'm shot."
The sensation of horror that inundated Neteyam was an icy upsurge—shock and terror rising to the forefront of his thoughts. But he willed himself to swim to his brother. "No, no, no," Neteyam immediately began dragging him by the underside of his arms. Lo'ak was barely conscious, his breathing ragged and laboured. He felt tears streaming down his face as he shouted for help, desperate to save his brother—Lo'ak wasn't yet a warrior; he shouldn't have been on the rescue they'd ventured. "Help me, Spider!" Neteyam knew they had to act fast, or all might be lost.
"I got you," Spider assured, quickly joining Neteyam in dragging the injured Lo'ak away from the moon pool. "You're going to be okay," he said reassuringly, hoping it was true.
Tsireya arrived on an ilu; her crystalline eyes were wide with fear as she realised Lo'ak—the most talented swimmer of the bunch of Omatikaya that had come—was helplessly struggling to stay afloat. The water near his body was tinted red with his blood and was only getting thicker as the wound bled. It was like a scene out of a terrible dream—the ominous red water, the fear in Neteyam's eyes, and the helplessness of Lo'ak all combined to create an atmosphere of dread and panic. "Get on! Come!" She beckoned, calling the boys.
"'Teyam," Lo'ak managed, sounding so young as Neteyam and Spider rushed to the ilu, adjusting Lo'ak to lean against his brother's back, Spider climbing on behind him. Tsireya attached herself to the side of the saddle, her heart heavy with the knowledge that there was nothing she could do to save the boy she had come to care about. The memory of their time together flashed behind her eyes, and it furthered her panic. She looked down, seeing the undeterred bleeding from his thigh, gripping her heart as it leaked into the water. Her hand flew to the wound, and she did her best to cover it. Lo'ak winced, but Neteyam pressed her hand firmly on his brother's leg.
"Don't let go," he told her.
"Hurts," Lo'ak said, swallowing thickly as he leaned on his brother.
"I know, baby bro," Neteyam assured him, as they all held onto the sea creature as it lugged them across the water, away from the sinking RDA ship. Neteyam knew what he was to do, managing to hold one hand to his younger brother's leg, hoping to stop the bleeding like their father taught them in case of emergency. But the crimson stickiness leaked through his fingers, and the dread mounted in his chest. The feeling was like holding water in his hands—as if trying to stop an unstoppable, uncontainable force. He felt helpless as he tried to drive away the fear gradually consuming him, but it was useless.
Neteyam looked at Tsireya, his heart clenching at her pained expression. The younger girl and his brother had connected; he'd been glad for it before that moment. Neteyam and Rotxo had spent weeks sharing conspiratorial glances over Lo'ak and Tsireya's crushes on one another. More complications arose as time passed despite the teasing an older brother provided, but it no longer mattered. Now she was to watch him bleed into the ocean. She was too caught in her fear to look at him. And Neteyam was relieved for it; he couldn't handle anyone else's fear.
Tsireya found herself again and gasped as she remembered the other two members of the Sully clan, "Your sisters. They're on the ship. They're still on the ship!" Neteyam's focus had been on getting Spider off the ship; he had forgotten about his sisters. He cursed under his breath.
"We can't go back now." Neteyam used his legs to stay on the ilu, using his free hand to press the button on the com at his throat. "Da— Devil Dog , do you read?"
" I'm here. Where are you?" Jake felt his blood pressure rise in anticipation; he could hear something in his eldest son's voice.
"We're heading to a grouping of rocks just south of the ship," Neteyam explained, his throat growing tighter and tighter as he stalled, telling their father what transpired. "Lo'ak has been shot."
"I'm coming," Jake's pained voice floated through the intercom.
The next few moments tore a sweltering panic through the young Na'vi and Spider. They were scared, and Lo'ak was in and out of consciousness, the loss of blood getting to him then. " 'Teyam …hurts." Neteyam remembered when they were children—when 'Teyam was a name consistently heard on his brother's lips.
"I know, I know," Neteyam felt his eyes growing heavy with tears. It was his fault; he shouldn't have allowed their extra mission to save Spider. He'd spent the previous months kowtowing to his brother's impulses, hoping that he would have been able to quell the rebellious spirit and compulsion to prove himself if he just went along, doing his best to protect Lo'ak when they garnered their father's ire. The dangers had caught them, Eywa reminding them that they were just children in her brood.
"There—" Spider called, directing everyone's attention to where Jake was making his way to the edge, waiting for them. They slid from the ilu, feet catching on the edges of the rock beneath the waves, climbing above sea level with Lo'ak's body. The blood dripped from the high bullet wound in his thigh.
"Nonono," Jake muttered as he leaned to pull Spider closer; the human's grip on Lo'ak's limp arm was enough for Jake to remove the entire group from the water. "Watch his head." He said as he awaited the boy's weight, Neteyam and Tsireya helped to carry the injured boy. They settled him on the rock formation, and Jake began to survey him as Neteyam tried to reassure him.
"It's okay, bro. We got you." Neteyam said, unsure for whose benefit. Lo'ak could barely focus on Neteyam as their dad examined him, turning him to see the underside of his leg; the bullet had gone through, misaligned as if it had been sent off course on the way out, further down by his knee.
"Oh no," Jake's pupils blew wide; he knew a significant artery was severed based on the location of the wound. There was nothing he could do. "Pressure here, Neteyam!" He told his son, hoping Eywa would see fit to make it work. He knew that she could or would not. Lo'ak was losing too much blood. Jake attempted to soothe his son, rubbing his chest and reminding him to hold on. There was much to say, to apologise for now, but all the words died on his tongue. He had not loved the boy out loud—not sufficiently, else Lo'ak would not have set out to prove himself every waking moment. But it was too late to amend it, not as he discerned that his son was dying.
Lo'ak's cries eventually subsided to harsh exhalation, his torso rapidly rising and falling as he attempted to breathe. "Dad—" Lo'ak endeavoured to speak, but he couldn't. The blood leaking away from him, beneath his brother's fingers, was taking him with it. Jake held Lo'ak's gaze, tears threatening to stream down his face. Not even his best efforts could save his second son; the most he could do was attempt to comfort him.
Jake took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure, before finally speaking. "It's going to be okay, ma' itan," Jake said, his voice trembling slightly. "I'm here with you."
"I'm sorry, Dad. I-I tried." He breathed the best he could through the pain, but his breath came out in sharp exhales—his fingers shaking from dread and hopelessness. He tried to be a good son—he just wanted to be like his dad, Tsyeyk te Suli, the man that came from a star in the sky, Toruk Makto.
Jake wept then, his nod breaking the hearts of the others, "I know," He murmured, pressing a hand to hold his baby boy's cheek. There were endless words to say, but Neytiri arrived then on her ikran , immediately taken by the sight of her son.
"No, no, no," Neytiri's eyes filled with tears.
His family was there, above him, Jake trying to comfort him as the one who knew what was happening before them. Neteyam knew too. The older teen reached for Tsireya, guiding her to kneel at Lo'ak's head so he could see she was there too. He had not imagined her affection for him, and he could go while knowing it. Tsireya held the side of his face, tears spilling out of her eyes as she looked down upon him. He extended a bloody hand towards her but did not have the strength to finish the act.
"I want to go home," Lo'ak breathed out between anguished inhalations, feeling hands all over him and seeing the despondency on his parents' faces.
"I know," Jake was scarcely holding it together, "I know. It's okay. We're going home." The cracks in his voice filled the moment with the stark realisation that it would not get better. He couldn't fix this, so he lied, hoping it could generate comfort where there was none. "We're going home."
Lo'ak, even in his final moments, just wished his dad would see him. But it was too late for anything to improve. He just looked up at his father, his pained, sad eyes filled with tears. "Dad… I-" but he was frozen from death, leaving them abruptly as they looked down at him. The moment was like a sad and haunting painting—the image would stay burned in their minds long after that.
Eclipse was near, the sun slowly vanishing from the sky, like the life that had been vanquished from Jake then, a part of him now gone with his son who looked so much like him. It was like watching himself die, almost to the same degree seeing Tom, his twin, in a cardboard box had stolen something from him—part of his heart never to be repaired. First Tom, then Eytukan, Grace, and now his son. Had he not been robbed of joy enough times? Had he not suffered enough? The Sky People would pay.
Jake's hand sank from his son's face as he recognised death's cold theft before anyone else fully processed it. Tsireya shrieked, her hand shooting out to grab Neteyam's arm. She melted into him, her only friend there. Neteyam held her back, hand on the back of her head. And then it was Neytiri, his children's mother, who wailed, the agony evident in the sound of her pleas and the argument with Eywa that ensued. "No," she cried, screaming that it was impossible. She leaned over her youngest son, aspirations of all her children outliving her dashed away. "No, Great Mother! Oh, not my son! No!" She shrieked in great pain. "My son—no!"
Neteyam fell back on himself, shaking his head in defeat and denial. Tsireya held tightly, one hand from both of them catching the ground to keep them upward. His brother was dead. His mother's wailing filled his ears, and he couldn't hear until he heard his father calling to him, a finger still held to the receiver in his ear—Quaritch had stolen Lo'ak comms kit, "Can you hear me, corporal? Yeah, I think you can. I have your daughters. Same deal, you for them."
"Where are your sisters?" The anger in Jake's tone did not register until it was too late to give a sufficient response. "Your sisters—where are they!"
Neteyam winced; Jake had never taken that tone with him before. But he had never failed so spectacularly before. It was a miracle he could even find his voice to answer. "I don't know-"
Tsireya saved him, finding the strength to tell the angered father where his two other children were. "They are tied up on the ship!" She did not release her hold on the older boy, her fingers digging into his skin. They were both anchored in the embrace.
And then the next moments passed in a blur, with Spider pulling Jake to the edge to lead him. But Jake could not go without his mate. He needed Neytiri. He answered Quaritch's threats from the comm on his neck before turning to Neytiri, willing her as well as he could—invoking her maternal rage with the information he'd been given. The demon had their girls. And he needed her.
Neteyam knelt before his brother, cradling him as Tsireya looked on, holding the boy's hand, "I'm sorry, baby brother," he told his brother—his now corpse. Neteyam had the side of Lo'ak's face in his palm, smudging blood on his cheek. There were words to say, but nothing came out in time. Their father was about to depart with Spider, and their mother was already flying away on her ikran .
The eldest gently removed himself from Tsireya’s hold. "Dad, I'm going with you," Neteyam said, stealing his shoulders and keeping his resolve even when Jake shook his head.
"Stay with your brother…" Jake commanded, his hand stopping Neteyam by the ribs. But his boy shook his head, exasperating him. The words tumbled out before he could think to stop them—grief and anger are too much to bear. "You've done enough."
Neteyam kept his bottom lip from quivering, watching his father turn away from him, going off with Spider. He wanted to scream as the waves broke the surface of the rock they were perched on. He looked back at Tsireya as she finally allowed herself to weep openly. Neteyam forgot himself to her grief, crouching beside her to look in her face. "I'm sorry." A hand stretched to her cheek, and she latched on to it, three fingers and her thumb wrapping around his wrist.
She couldn't find the words to convey that she was apologetic for crying for his brother. She'd come to learn the brother's differences, and the biggest one she found was Neteyam's substantial sense of propriety. He would not show his emotions further. But Tsireya could not find it in herself to apologise to him for her tears. Neteyam tilted his head briefly as if reading her mind, gripping her other hand that lay on Lo'ak's chest. Their hands were red with blood, growing sticky as the liquid was beginning to dry on their skin.
Payakan, the tulkun that Lo'ak befriended, broke the surface; a mewl of despair pulled them from their quiet moment. Tsireya gasped; the animal had dived from the battle when the Sky People had made him a target, and he drew some of them away from the ship and the rest of the fighting. She wanted to touch him as he circled their perch but could not reach him from where she sat with their friend.
"I cannot stay here," Neteyam finally spoke regretfully, "stay here with him," he said, rubbing his thumb on her cheek, offering another vestige of comfort before he left her with Lo'ak. It was unfair to ask that of her. But his parents needed him—he needed to avenge his brother.
"No!" She called, trying to hold onto his hand before he dove into the ocean again, clicking his throat to call an ilu to take him back to the ship. Payakan's whirling propelled them, his large body sending waves through the water as he grieved.
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Neteyam found Tsireya after they returned from lying Lo'ak to rest within the Metkayina Spirit Tree. She was sitting on the beach, where she and Lo'ak were often left alone after the expected lessons with both brothers. Tsireya did not realise how much extra time she spent with Lo’ak until he was gone. She wore one of his beads in her hair, a string Neytiri wordlessly gave her once Kiri and Tuk picked what they wanted to keep. They chose different things for Neteyam, beads for his cummerbunds and bracers he did not yet have the strength to put on.
It was quiet, the clear water lapping the shore, the distant sound of waves drowning out Tsireya’s quiet sniffles. Neteyam had often found them there. A bit of his jealousy had fostered at the sight of them, but he would never have ended their communions. And he'd felt guilt at the thought now.
Tsireya looked so troubled that he wondered if he should bother her. But his feet kept moving. And he found himself sitting beside her a moment later. She didn't say anything to him, nor did they even acknowledge each other with the usual greeting of the People. Neteyam drew his legs up, elbows on his bent knees as he looked at the water.
The occasion was not unlike the other quiet moments they'd shared. Neteyam had become a fixture in her life over the moons he and his family were there, a calmness to the humorous calamity Lo'ak wrought. Where Lo'ak was wilder, he was steady, an assured presence over his brother's shoulder. He'd taken training seriously; she'd guessed at their father's urging. She knew that being the son of Toruk Makto must have come with a unique set of challenges and expectations, personal or not.
Neteyam and Lo'ak seemingly learned at the same pace, both retaining how to breathe. Though Neteyam had not yet tamed a tulkun , he was a talented warrior, and his skills were translating usefully in the clan. He was a warrior who carried that calm pride and a lust for honour. When the younger brother was off breaking the rules, she and Neteyam shared easy camaraderie and the punishment for allowing Lo'ak to wander. It was not unlike the pressure she'd grown accustomed to by being Aonung's perfect sister, a deviation her parents expected much from. There was an immeasurable weight on her young shoulders.
His mother's voice echoed in his head; her singing of Lo'ak's song would not leave him for a long time. Neteyam would visit him through Eywa when he was ready, but his heart could not manage it then. He'd watched as their mother and father washed Lo'ak's body. He'd heard his father sobbing. Lo'ak's death would be a wound that would not heal; its pain was imprinted in his memory forever.
Neither of his parents had spoken more than a word at a time to him. They were angry at him, and he knew—both he and Spider. But Spider left, departing with Max and Norm almost immediately despite Kiri pleading that he be allowed to stay. Their mother could not abide by it, and their father didn't push the matter yet.
Neteyam found that he was angry at Spider, even if he knew deep down it wasn't his fault. No, ultimately, he blamed himself for letting Lo'ak play the hero. He was too young. They both were. But the demon was dead, and the Sky People would again have to regroup. The war was not over.
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Neteyam climbed through an overhang much like he had earlier with Lo'ak'. He was alone, however, looking for his family. He was too large for the space, uncomfortably crouching as he moved through the area meant for those tiny Sky People.
The demon held Kiri, his knife at her throat. Neteyam's ears pressed backwards with his rage. He huffed, trying to calm himself while looking for a way down. Neteyam managed his way down onto the deck, creeping around corners until he was directly behind Quaritch. All he had was his knife. There was no other thought he had.
His mother had grabbed Spider by then.
" Release, or I cut ." She said in English, a sneer implanted in her tone.
"He's not mine," The demon replied cruelly. But he could not say anything else before Neteyam stuck his knife in his neck, blood immediately spurting from the wound and through his mouth. Tuk screamed, their father's hand pushing her to stand behind him. The demon's hand dropped, and he released Kiri from no effort of his own before he fell into a heap. Neteyam watched him fall, his bloodied knife still in hand, as his parents looked at him, eyes blown wide.
"Dad…" Kiri called to Jake, collapsing into him as he was the closest parent. There was no time for any other embracing and no mood for it. Kiri and Tuk would need to be told what had transpired while the demon held them as hostages.
"We must move. This demon vessel is sinking." Neytiri said, simultaneously reaching for Tuk as she had tossed Spider to the side and forgot him. "Come," she called Neteyam. "We must leave."
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Neteyam looked at Tsireya, watching the flush of shame in her cheeks as she tried to collect herself. He thought she was beautiful, regardless of the sadness clutching his chest. He remembered thinking about it when they first sought uturu —the way she'd risen from the water, glistening in the light. His tail whipped from the vision. But Lo'ak had also been struck, and Neteyam stamped down any interest he'd had for her when he saw the bashfulness on his brother's face. As the time expired, it was clear that affection blossomed between them in their time together.
Tsireya was a reminder of the future his brother could have had. Neteyam had kept his distance for Lo'ak's sake. Neteyam smiled when his brother told him of their budding affection, his heart feeling contentment for his brother's happiness. But there was always a tiny gap where he imagined it could have been him. He always thought of their arrival at the beach, the way Tsireya looked, and the thoughts that flitted through his mind before he turned his gaze upon his brother and saw the boyish crush take root. It took no review to bog down his interest, locking it away in his mind. He found amusement in teasing Lo’ak, convinced that would be enough until the thoughts disappeared. They never did. He stole his own moments, a gentle fondness formed between him and the tsakarem —in their lessons, in the general proximity.
"Did you need me?" Tsireya asked, expecting him to have a request for her. As Olo'eyktan's daughter, she was expected to be a paragon of order, even while she was aggrieved. But she could not hold to those expectations day and night. She should have been more like Aonung, who did not worry about such things as she did. Tsireya could smile then, as it was why Aonung and Lo'ak finally became friends—their bond through never living how their fathers wanted. But then, she and Neteyam bonded in the expectation of never making those same blunders.
She was benevolent, generous, and sympathetic, and her beauty was effervescent. Neteyam could not have ever imagined that he would intimately experience her virtues for himself outright, only relegated to watching her from the corner of his eye as his brother grossed her affection. He'd been content, telling himself he was watching his brother as he was meant to. But now Lo'ak was gone, and the two young Na'vi were welded in despair. The beads Lo'ak used to wear in his hair were woven into a strand of hers, and Neteyam was struck at the sight of it. He looked away from her, back out to the sea.
Neteyam shook his head, "No," he said quietly, "I came to thank you."
Tsireya's breath caught in her throat. In truth, she admired Neteyam for his strength and respect for his parents. He was a man by the People’s standards. And she imagined that he would have found older friends if it had not been for his duties to protect his siblings. She could not imagine he'd ever be thanking her for something beyond teaching him—it was her duty as the daughter of Olo'eyktan ; she knew he could cognise that ideal. It was expected; there was no prerequisite of thankfulness. "What for?" She asked, eyes wide.
Her innocence was endearing, Neteyam thought as he paused.
"Staying with him when I left," Neteyam's voice was undemanding, like speaking to a skittish creature who would flee any moment if he uttered an iniquitous word. They both knew to whom he was referring. He observed the confusion fade to sorrow. "I know my brother would have appreciated that.” He managed a small smile, one she mirrored. It was as if the reef dissolved, and the waves washed down the carefully implanted walls in his mind. But ultimately, attempting to forget his grief had been futile. He hissed, shaking his head, bringing his hands to press the heels of his palms to his temples. “We should not have gone back. Meskxawng .” Two idiots.
"He was brave," Tsireya said, looking at him briefly before turning away again. "I liked that about him." They both knew that was what authored Lo’ak’s death, but they didn't need to say it. It was an honourable death, trying to save someone else.
Neteyam could have laughed at all the trouble his brother's rebellious spirit had gotten them into since they were young boys. But he couldn't discover it in himself to laugh. His throat tightened with emotion, a shuddering breath pushing out of his body with little control. Neteyam was suddenly overwhelmed, as he'd spent days being stoic for his family. Strong heart, his father would say. Neteyam pressed his forehead to his forearms as he couldn't command his feet to run.
Tsireya drew in a breath as she heard him cry. She did not even see him cry when they took Lo’ak to be with Eywa. She manoeuvred beside him, slinking her hands to hold his left arm. "Neteyam…" At the sound of her voice, he looked at her—the place where his eyebrows would be lifted inward as they caught eyes. The tears were unmistakable, wet tracks down the fattiness of his cheeks. Tsireya didn't think about it, simply wrapping her arms around him, her chin resting on his shoulder. They had touched before for their lessons when she urged him to leave Lo'ak to his own devices. But the intimacy was there now, in her intentions to comfort him over something neither would have foreseen.
In many ways, he had become her friend in a similar sense that Lo'ak had. But he was the harder brother to crack, upheld by duty and expectation. But the brothers shared their father's humour and their mother's radiant smile.
Neteyam placed his opposite hand on her shoulder; lips pressed to the skin as he hid away in the embrace. Tsireya turned her chin to press her nose just to the junction of his face and ear, breathing him in as she tried to calm her warring heart. She had never touched a boy so intimately, and she had not imagined it would be him, a warrior, a man of 15. Her apprehension melted away; she’d forgotten that an embrace could heal. His grip tightened on her arm, and she felt his tears drip onto her skin. It was improper for them to be that way, but neither could move, latched onto another like they would be forced to join Eywa to be apart.
Tsireya was still as close as before when Neteyam pulled his face back. He didn’t think as he shifted his position, drawn back to her, dropping his legs to turn more towards her and rid them of the extra space. He nuzzled into her face, nose to nose with her, hands on the edges of her biceps. She kept her eyes closed, inhaling his scent and the warmth radiating from him. His hand found her face, then her hair. Her skin was warm, despite the absence of the sun—Eclipse and bioluminescence casting them in a glow, the water glimmering anew. He thought of his brother, how the smattering of light had been extinguished from his skin. He cried harder.
"Neteyam…" Tsireya's voice was small and anticipatory as he nuzzled against her. She did not move away, fresh tears watering in her eyes from a flood of emotions she could not quantify. Was it guilt? It was wrong that she did not want him to be away from her—that she could not push him away. But she felt closer to Neteyam than ever before and closer to Lo'ak as she received his brother's affections. It was a confusing thing to experience. They clung to one another for a long while.
When he could breathe again, sobs no longer shaking him to the very core, Neteyam moved away abruptly—he stumbled backwards as he realised what he was doing. It was like she had burned him suddenly. Tsireya gaped at him wide-eyed, her tears renewed as he hauled himself away and tried to dry his face. "That was wrong—" he tried to create more space between them, but she caught him by the hand, keeping him on the sand. He regarded her with no words but a warring mind, and he was struck in the heart. He had thoroughly confused her, he knew. He was confusing himself. "I should leave…"
"I want you to stay," Tsireya argued, her voice more robust than it had been in days. "Please, stay. Sit with me. I have felt alone these last few days." Her few friends did not understand. They had not been endeared to the Sullys as she was finding herself. And they did not care that Lo'ak was dead. It was a lonely thing, her grief. Her parents moved on, constantly worried about the clan as a whole instead of the state of their children alone.
Neteyam swallowed down his apprehension, nodding as he resettled. She placed her head on his shoulder, and he dropped his cheek to her hair.
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A week had gone by the next time Neteyam felt like a solid memory could form in his head. The days had melted together, and his movements were heavy. He'd gone to the Cove of the Ancestors but could not commune with Eywa. Kiri and Tuk gave him soft, sympathetic looks. Even Tuktirey could understand that his relationship with Lo'ak was different from hers. Neteyam left the sacred place heavier than when he got there. The flood of emotions was enough to distract him from the entire journey home.
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Neteyam avoided Tsireya, unable to face the embarrassment of letting her see him cry like a baby. She was too kind to judge him, but that wasn’t what he held in his mind. So as he stood at the mouth of Tonowari and Ronal's marui , with his father and mother already there awaiting his arrival, he was relieved to see that she was not there. Deep down, he knew logically he hadn't done anything of note to garner any more of anyone's ire. But his ears still pressed back, and he grew nervous. He looked at his father for reassurance, seeing him still trying to hide his grief, but Jake still gave him a nod.
"I See You, Olo'eyktan ," he said, greeting the adults in the room, to which he received proud but small smiles from his parents. He felt lighter then, as they had not had any other expressions beyond sadness for many days.
"Come, Neteyam," Tonowari told him, gesturing for him to sit with him at the centre of the canopy. Neteyam dutifully did as he was told. Jake sat beside Neteyam, looking down absently. The Olo'eyktan continued. "Your father came here with the idea that your family would be leaving. But your brother communes with our ancestors—you and your family are Metkayina now."
Neteyam looked from the tall leader to his father and then back again, "Yes, Olo'eyktan ," he said, only finding those words to say. He’d known that his father was planning to take them away from that place, so no one else would be hurt. "Thank you."
"I would like you to join the hunting party; your skills are needed there," Tonowari continued, smiling at him. "You could teach Aonung as he has taught you." Neteyam bit back any argument he had, swallowing it down and averting his eyes as the chief spoke to him so as not to call any challenges he could not rise to.
"Yes, Olo'eyktan . I thank you for your kindness," Neteyam said almost mindlessly. His voice was small, unlike the proud boy he had come to Awa'atlu as.
Tonowari looked to Jake then, expecting him to be the one to speak next, to break down his son's hard exterior. He could see their strife, but he hoped it would heal. Jake looked at his son, breathing a sigh before speaking. " Olo'eyktan has given me a generous offer I would like you to consider."
Neteyam queried a silent question, confused. "Of course, I will join the hunts." Jake snorted, finding the humour in life for the first time in many days. Neytiri hid a smile despite the painted black streaks over her eyes and down her face.
"No, ma' itan, " Jake smiled softly, "something else."
"You were to be the next Olo'eyktan of the Forest People, an honour I am sure you would have fulfilled well for your people," Tonowari finally continued, honouring both Jake and Neteyam as he did so. "My son will take the mantle when I am unable."
"He will serve the People well, like you," Neteyam offered, smiling even though he didn't feel like it. "But I am uncertain that has anything to do with me."
Ronal snorted, much unlike her to do so. Until then, she was silent, standing behind her husband, watching. She was always watching.
"Neteyam…" his parents said warningly.
Tonowari smiled. "I'm sure you know that Tsireya is Ronal's tsakarem ," he said, looking at the young man as he gestured to his mate. "And we are not so different from Forest People that we should have siblings' mate with siblings. So, this is the proposal I have given your father." The older man tapped his chest, "You will wed my daughter Tsireya, strengthening the bonds between our families."
Neteyam looked at him squarely then, mouth opening and closing a few times in shock. Of all the things that had been said, he had expected that least of all. He was not Metkayina—not really. He anticipated Tsireya would be promised to a man from outside the clan before he was chosen for it. He was different, as was his family. But he understood it once he considered it. Tonowari wanted the bonds to be strong. Regardless of what the eyktan wanted, Neteyam’s heart began to pound.
"Neteyam," Jake called him to attention, fetching him back from the spiral in his head. " Ma 'itan ," the tired marine placed a hand on his son's shoulder, making Neteyam glance at him. "It is a great honour Tonowari is offering you."
"Lo'ak loved her," Neteyam blurted, stilling the marui . Ronal and Tonowari looked at each other after the deceased, and his affection for their daughter was mentioned.
"They were not mated," Ronal ventured; she knew the truth of her words.
"B-but they would have," Neteyam quickly argued back. "I-I can't," he said, looking at his father. "I can't, right, Dad?" Jake looked at Neytiri. And she looked back at him, giving her mate a shrug. In a sense, he had done the same thing. Who was to say Tom wouldn't have found Neytiri and fallen for her? Far-fetched? Sure, but Tsu'tey had been his brother, and he took his betrothed. "Dad—"
"Your brother is dead," Jake said abruptly. He did not look at Neytiri as she drew in a sharp breath and turned her back to the meeting, her hand finding her mouth as she controlled her urge to sob. Jake exhaled, avoiding eye contact with the leaders of the clan. Instead, he looked at his son. "You can say no. It is your choice. But—" he paused, voice gravely quiet, "your brother is dead. He's not—he's not coming back. Olo'eyktan offers you an honour."
Neteyam felt frustrated, tears welling in his eyes. But he found himself nodding before looking at the leader across from him. "Okay. I will ask her."
"You will ask her?" Ronal questioned sceptically.
"Yes," Neteyam replied, "you are her parents. I know this. But she must choose me." He looked at his parents, knowing the story. "Like my parents chose each other. If she says no, then I will not do it."
Jake looked down, smirking to himself. His children were much like him, even in the most frustrating ways.
"And what if she does not?" Tonowari asked amusedly. Neteyam shrugged, making him laugh. "Go, go ask her then." He was conflicted because he had raised his children with the freedom to choose for themselves. But he knew he needed the Sullys to feel real connections to them. Becoming family was the only way he saw it possible they would continue to fight if the Sky People were to return. Eywa was protecting them, leaving the demons without a viable way to fight them directly.
"Now?" Neteyam squeaked with panic.
"Why not now?" Tonowari questioned him. "Is my daughter such an objectionable choice that you should not want to strengthen our bonds, boy?" He was tired of the childish games of a boy.
"Net—"
"No!" Neteyam replied hastily, cutting off his father's objection before he could finish it. "She is…mourning for my brother. I can't ask her to forget her affection for him just days after he is returned to Eywa ."
The clan leader refrained from huffing at the logic. He looked at the boy's parents, seeing their embarrassment at their son's antics. But he could not be angry—his answers were sensible. "Before the turning of the moon, then," he offered.
Neteyam opened his mouth to object further, but Jake cut him off with a hand on the shoulder. "Before the turning of the moon, Neteyam."
The young warrior could only nod.
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Neteyam spent days further acclimating to life as a Metkayina, unable to focus his energy on anything else. The sea called to him now; he felt closer to his brother through the learning of the world that drew Lo'ak in. He'd seen how his brother had grown into his own, leaving behind the insecurities he'd felt in the forest. Neteyam had even made friends with Aonung and Rotxo and, subsequently, a group of younger boys nearing their own Iknimaya . He still had to learn their ways of being warriors. But he'd had a leg up, and his journey through the trials was privileged. But he would have to complete the trials of the Metkayina if he wanted his first tattoos and beads for his songcord .
Tuk and Kiri bonded over their curiosity about the world around them, and he needed skills to focus on. He felt some grief lighten as he studied his attention on taming tsurak , bonding with the ilu i nhabiting the village, and learning the Metkayina Na'vi dialects, both spoken and signed. Neteyam enjoyed the way the Metkayina would smile when they heard his pronunciations. The round warrior didn’t dwell on whether or not they felt pity for him and his family. He had joined the hunting, learning to wield fishing nets and the swimming patterns of the bigger game—Neytiri had taken him to fly and hunt.
He was avoiding Tsireya, bounding in the opposite direction when he would see her. She never called out to him; whether she saw him remained a mystery. He knew that Tonowari was expecting him to do as he was told, and he would run out of time. But Neteyam could not think about her without remembering the fool he was on the beach. But he could not run away from the task at hand. It wasn’t a bad place to be in, handpicked by Olo’eyktan for his daughter. And he liked her. He was just embarrassed. The thought circled his mind for weeks— but finally, he concocted a viable plan and sat with Tuk to weave. He made his soon-to-be an armband, should she accept his proposal. With Tonowari's blessing, he would choose a rock formation they couldn’t reach without climbing near the edge of the reefs and ask her there.
"Tsireya is my friend," Tuk told him, her tiny fingers working the material she used. The small interactions made her feel welcome, notably when Tsireya included them to harvest with her mother and other clan women. Her training was progressing slowly, and Tsireya encouraged them, telling her that it was perfectly okay for her to rely on the help of the txampaysye to breathe. And she could not forget how Tsireya stayed with her through the skirmish at Three Brothers Rocks. "When will you ask her?" The girl asked her brother, grinning as she crouched beside him.
"Today," Neteyam rolled his eyes, though he found her prodding to be the usual—comforting and typical of an 8-year-old. "I just have to finish this. Help me decide what pieces to put on it." He said, holding the half-woven armband he was making for the tsakarem . He laughed as Tuktirey squealed happily, brushing her fingers over the stones, bones and teeth.
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Neteyam found Tsireya swimming off the edge of her family marui . Sitting on the edge of the bouncy walkway, he called to her, watching as she floated on her back. "Tsireya!" She whirled around, water dripping from the seaweed adornment on her hairline. She waved her finned arm at Neteyam, and he waved back, beckoning her with an arm movement. She swam underneath the surface, breaking above water with a small smile. It had been a while since she'd felt like swimming.
He helped her out of the water onto the same suspension he had perched. Life moved about them, no one paying them much mind.
"I See You," they both exchanged, giving each other tentative smiles.
"You look… happier ," Neteyam offered, his hands on either side of his legs. They looked out over the ledge; Eclipse was nearing.
"And so do you—everyone says you are a welcome addition to the clan." Tsireya brought her hair forth over her shoulder, ringing it dry. She kept her gaze anywhere but on him, feelings renewed in her chest now that he was there. She’d spent many days since their last interaction deserting and bisecting her feelings for him. And she’d denied that she felt more than friendship and more than interest in all the ways he and Lo’ak had been different. It was an odd realisation, accepting that she did not view Neteyam like she viewed her own brother. He roused other things, emotions and sensations she could only attribute to having a crush. While his brother had been gone for less than a moon, the guilt she felt for it was hard to reconcile. But the Na’vi were not a people who operated in regret, trusting each day to Eywa’s will. And she decided she would not be ashamed of the things she felt. Still, shyness bloomed. And sadness that he clearly did not feel the same way.
It didn't take long for him to notice her change in mood. And a pang of guilt crept up on him for ruining her day with his presence. And for what he would have to ask her. "What is wrong?" He clicked his tongue, "Ah, stupid question—"
"You have been avoiding me," Tsireya blurted. "It is expected when others ignore me, but I— " she stopped, fearing that she had said too much. It was true, however. Beyond Tsireya being a high-ranking clan member, tsakarem , and the next tsahìk , she did not feel that the other girls her age were particularly endeared to her. It was even worse now that Lo'ak had died, and it was known that they had spent so much time together. "I know that we are not close—"
He placed his hand over hers, between their bodies next to where he had planted his own. "I apologise," Neteyam said, "I did not mean to make you feel abandoned." They were similar and yet so different. And he did not want her to think those things. The thought ached his heart. "Let me make it up to you."
Tsireya beamed, nodding enthusiastically. "Okay."
Neteyam let go of a breath he had not intentionally held. "Okay. Meet by the beach overlooking the reefs after Eclipse ."
"I must have dinner with my family," she said dejectedly.
"We can break the rules just this once," Neteyam gave her a mischievous smile, knowing their whereabouts would be covered, as he had already asked her father if he could take her for the evening. He had no right to tell Olo'eyktan to entrust him with her safety, but they were making a request of him. Whatever the case, Tonowari accepted his plan. Her grin returned, and she nodded at him. Whatever inkling he had to tell her that he was joking was dashed when he saw the mischievous grin.
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"She is still a girl," Neytiri said, referring to Tsireya as her son stood before her. The mother examined him, smiling at her work, having shorn the sides of his hair for him earlier that evening.
Neytiri had adorned Neteyam's hair with beads and decorative flowers that she had brought home for them. He looked like Jake, tendrils of hair sectioned and separated with adornments in the strands looped with them. She thought he was a sight like that, "She will be girlish and shy…protect her with kindness. Do not take advantage of any eagerness—you are asking her a big question." She had her hands on her firstborn's shoulders. Neteyam had grown taller, now standing only a few inches shorter than her—he would continue to develop for at least another year, and she was confident he'd be taller than Jake, like her father.
Neteyam sighed but nodded. He'd removed much of his accessories, choosing one of Lo'ak's armbands to keep his brother with him—he'd wished to explore more of the reefs, so Neteyam would take his memory there as that was all he could do. He wore a shawl, aware that the temperatures would drop under Eclipse. His ikran Faowe would get to stretch his wings, as he did not want to take an ilu and drench their meal.
"I know you don't want to do this," Neytiri said, watching Neteyam as he packed the meal in a rucksack that she had provided him. It was woven of a similar material to the fishing nets. "But I am proud of you, my son."
"Thank you, Mother," Neteyam offered her a smile. Her face was still painted, black traces of fingers stripped down her eyes. It made him recoil to see, even though it shouldn't have. He couldn't help it. Neteyam didn't need reminding that his brother was dead. "Where is Dad?"
"I do not know," Neytiri said. Her mate was struggling. They all knew it. Neteyam felt his eyes threaten to tear up. He had seen them cleaning Lo'ak's body and how it ripped sobs from his father's throat. The image was burned into his brain, and the guilt was buried in his heart.
"Is he ever going to forgive me?"
Neytiri's heart clenched in her chest. She pushed some of his braids behind his ear so that she was not separated from his face by a curtain of hair. "There is nothing to forgive you for." She took Neteyam by the shoulder, turning him so he could look at her. "Did you shoot your brother, or was it the Sky People ?"
"I should have—"
"The demons responsible for his death are not here," she said firmly, despite how much she wanted to cry. "You, ma' itan , made it so." According to custom, her son was a man—he'd completed Iknimaya , claimed an ikran , and made his bow from the wood of their fallen hometree. But in many ways, he was still a child—forever her baby. "Your father is not angry with you. And it is not your fault that Lo'ak is dead." She reached out, stroking her son's head gently. Neteyam looked up at her, his eyes still wet with tears. She held him close, letting her own tears flow freely. He needed to know that, despite the pain of his loss, he was still loved.
Neteyam didn't respond, only swallowing the argument that he wanted to make. He focused on the point of the canopy behind his mother's head, refusing to look at her further. "I must go; I should not be late. I will be back later, Mother." Neteyam said, separating from her embrace.
Neytiri watched his back as he headed out of the mouth of the marui . "Don't stay out too late—be responsible, Neteyam!"
He snorted as he bounded away from their marui . The young warrior knew his way around, often taking another route to make it to the same place, but he did not want to leave Tsireya waiting much longer. He fiddled with the rucksack strap, adjusting it over his indeed broadening shoulders.
Tsireya stood on the beach, water lapping her feet as she awaited his arrival. The tide of her emotions was like the waves of the sea, rising and falling with the intensity of anticipation. Her heart raced as she waited, the air around her filled with expectation. She was wearing a nicer loincloth with a necklace that dangled onto her chest, a stitch he had not seen on her yet. Her hair was different, tied up and split in half where her tswin was on the back of her skull. The curls cascaded down. Neteyam walked up behind her, standing at her side as she beheld the glowing water. It was still a beautiful sight. She smelled sweeter like she'd bathed when they'd been apart.
"I See You," he said, speaking after what felt like a prolonged period. Tsireya smiled up at him, repeating the long-practised gesture. She was close enough to touch him, hands extending to hold his face as she took in his haircut.
"I like it," She offered, smiling shyly and separating as she caught herself holding him.
"Are you ready to go?" Neteyam smiled as she grinned excitedly. Not much to see that she had not shown him, but it didn't matter. She did not venture much unless with her family.
"I will call the ilu… " she offered. She found herself smiling at Neteyam. But he shook his head.
"No ilu tonight." Tsireya watched as he stood on the shore, looking at the sky as he yipped and studied the sky. After a few seconds, they saw the green ikran approaching. It was as if a majestic bird was gliding in, with its wings spread wide and an aura of power and beauty radiating from it. Faowe had not been far, circling the village awaiting the moment his master needed him again. He'd been sustained on aquatic life, and Neteyam would slip away to visit. "Good boy, Faowe…" he connected his tswin , ears flickering as he made the bond.
"Neteyam…" Tsireya called out to him cautiously. The marine ikran she was used to seeing flying around were petite and unfit for riding. And the beast before her was not small. Neteyam held his hand to her, lightly laughing as she shook her head.
"I won't let you fall," he pledged, his hand outstretched to her. She apprehensively stepped forward, ignoring a few curious Na'vi that were scrutinising them from their marui . She surely expected her father to come and stop her. But he still had not, even as she strode forward and Neteyam brought her up to the right of the ikran , "He's used to it. Tuk climbs all over him." He chuckled, watching her unsure feet as she hesitated to rise to the saddle. Neteyam guided her legs, bringing her to sit in front of where he would be, encasing her. "Hand here." He told her, placing it on the handle between the headpiece secured on the ikran's head. Neteyam placed his riding hand over hers. They could have taken a boat, but he wanted to show her a part of his former world, of life in the forest. Like his mother, he did not want to relinquish all his ties to the Omatikaya .
Tsireya squealed as they left the ground, too terrified but mesmerised. They flew over the canopies, the ikran's wings flapping in perfect harmony. Tsireya looked down in awe, feeling weightless and free. Neteyam grinned, proud of his riding skills and Tsireya's trust. She had never been high up before. Tsurak were temperamental, and her father would never let her ride one.
"Where are we going?" She asked him, looking over her shoulder at the assured party.
Neteyam smiled, his eyes twinkling in the bioluminescent night as he said, "Not far," He urged their mount to go faster, and they flew across the sky. Tsireya gasped in delight as they approached their destination.
When they landed, perched on a sizeable mountainous rock, the village down the tranquil waters at a diagonal—and dismounted, Tsireya laughed. "We're not supposed to be here." The sea wall terrace was only a few paces away. There were markedly fewer patrols, only a few scattered about, higher up from their posts. They'd been seen but would not be interrupted. Tsireya and Neteyam enjoyed the view of the open sea beyond the reef, where Lo'ak had ventured for Payakan, and the vastness of the horizon and the imagined freedom they could find there.
“Neteyam…” Tsireya cooed, her face alight with affection. There was romance in the set-up–a woven roll unfurled in the grass atop the plateau. Clearly, he had been there to put it there before.
"Come," Neteyam smiled, placing his rucksack on a dry spot while reaching for her hand. "Come sit with me."
Tsireya was intrigued by Neteyam's behaviour. It was like a flower blossoming in the presence of the sun—her heart grew with an unknown joy as he reached for her hand. She had not thought she could feel such things so soon. But she sat with him just as quickly as they had bonded. Things between them were smooth and comforting, contrasting why they were seemingly forced together. And as she watched Neteyam remove their portions from his bag—the meals wrapped in green leaves, fruit, and edible seeds in leather pouches—she could not take her eyes off him. She felt a fervency inside her, something she hadn't felt since they had watched Lo'ak take his last breath and it was stolen. Tsireya allowed herself to relish in the moment and the connection between them. She was grateful for Neteyam's presence.
"What?" Neteyam asked, ears flickering with concern as he handed her a food package, gliderfin fish and vegetables in a bed of cycad flour. He also brought an abundance of edible fruit seeds. The rucksack had not been light.
"You planned this," Tsireya gazed at him, her expression delicate as their eyes connected, cyan meeting a burning yellow. The fondness between them had grown exponentially, but he'd had to forget the lead-up to where they were so as not to feel too guilty about it. Lo'ak should be there in his stead, letting the bond he'd fostered with the tsakarem grow until they were old enough to mate for life. But that was all a fantasy now; they were here. Lo'ak was gone, and the bond between Tsireya and Neteyam had also evolved. He could feel how his heart raced as their eyes met, in how she peeked at him with adoration—a flickering of promise for them too. Neteyam looked away from her, down to the waters.
"Perhaps…" he shrugged, making her giggle. A smile stretched across his face, his strong jaw twitching as he gritted his teeth to keep his expression under control. His face was like a tightly wound bow, the anticipation of the proposal he was about to make palpable.
They sat together, eating, and talking lightly, laughing with one another. Tsireya articulated the apprenticeship with her mother and the anxieties that came with it. He spoke about his ventures into further acclimating with the Metkayina. There were infrequent flubs, words lost in translation because of the dialects, but she corrected him gently and with a smile—it spread wide when he said her name with the correct pronunciation, a soft ‘ch’ sound instead of in the way of his people in the forest. Neteyam grew increasingly comfortable with her, so he no longer felt like he had to agonise about making a mistake. He was grateful for her patience and understanding.
When they finished their meal and shared fruit seeds and teylu , Neteyam looked to the water below. His hands shook as he suddenly realised the gravity of the night. Ultimately, he would remember the salt of the sea, the wind, the sky twinkling with bright-light stars, the sound of rolling waves, and the way the light all around them seemed to burn brightest around her. Neteyam wanted to reach out and touch her, to roll a strand of her hair between his fingers or trail his touch over her cheek. The dimples in her cheeks were accentuated by her smile, shy and more endearing than she knew. She looked at him, internally giddy at how his tail whipped as he gazed at her. They sat silently, enjoying the view and the moment's peace. Neteyam was happy to have found a friend with whom he could share these moments. And he supposed that would be enough for more profound love to continue between them.
"It is beautiful out here," he commented, though he was looking at her.
"It is," Tsireya agreed, sensing his eyes on her but not glancing at him immediately. The world around them still made her heart swell at its beauty. Eywa was all around them, showing her life through the bioluminescence—they were all connected through their goddess. She could feel Lo'ak then, making her heart swell almost painfully. She turned to Neteyam again, wiping her eyes. "Thank you for bringing me."
Neteyam smiled at her, nodding. He was conflicted despite his best efforts; he was unsure he could ask her what their fathers wanted. It felt like a betrayal, a duplicitous act against his brother and his resolve in a choice he'd made the first day they'd arrived. He'd swallowed his affections for the girl when he realised his brother felt the same stirring.
Neteyam looked away, his heart heavy. Maybe something in him thought it would anchor Lo'ak, but it didn't. And now there was just him and Tsireya. Neteyam had not intended to go against his brother's interests, not even for personal happiness. But he knew what he had to do now, and it was time to do it for the security of his family.
"What is it?" Tsireya asked him with wide eyes—the charge of intensity uptick, and she could feel it. She was incredibly intuitive. Her mother said it was a mark from Eywa that she should be the next tsahìk . "Are you leaving?" She wondered, giving way to her panic, and her hand found his.
"No, I am not leaving," Neteyam replied, still unsure of how to approach the moment they were in. He knew what he was to do; Neteyam knew why he'd endeavoured to that mountain. He settled on unravelling the truth. "I wanted us to be alone. So that when I ask you this, you can deny me in private." Neteyam joked, giving a boyish smile reflective of his father. She looked at him with surprise, but he could also detect a hint of amusement. It was only then that he realised how close they were.
Tsireya snorted, but her hairless brows creased with confusion. The tsakarem watched as he again took his rucksack in hand. He fished around inside before procuring a smaller pouch. "Neteyam…"
He opened the little bag, dropping an armband into his palm. At the centre was a nantang tooth from one of his first kills. He'd kept it, now glad he had. And when he made the armband, he knew exactly what to put at the centre. There were two small shells on either side of it that little Tuk helped him choose. Together it symbolised the union between them—forest and sea. Neteyam offered it to her with a smile. He swallowed down his apprehension, having stalled for as long as he could. "I know I am not the one you would have chosen," He began, remembering the disagreement he and his brother had before he went beyond the reef to warn Payakan about the whaling. His brother resented the idea that he was not the perfect son. But now it was Neteyam who felt misaligned. "You would honour me by allowing me to one day be bound to you, and you to me, before Eywa." Neteyam offered the armband, giving her a grin reminiscent of his mother when she adjusted herself—body turning to face him and her legs crossing gracefully fluidly.
Tsireya had warring emotions. How could she say no to Toruk Makto's son, even if he were not the one she thought would be asking for her heart? Was he even asking for her heart? No, she decided there was no way he could be. An ugly thought took root, and she could not banish it without speaking it aloud. Her brows furrowed, "I will not be an obligation," she said, turning from him.
She’d heard the stories of his family's bravery and sacrifice before she'd even met them and witnessed it for herself. But she could not accept if Neteyam were only trying to take his brother's place, to not leave her without a prospect to care for her—it would be cruel to Lo'ak's memory, would it not? Tsireya's heart ached for what could have been, yet her mind was made up. She had to reject him; it would be a disservice to Lo'ak, who had shown her true love.
Neteyam was struck, reaching for her arm. "No," he argued, turning her by the elbow and immediately dropping his hand as her gaze burned him. "That is not—n-not what I mean." He could have told her what the proposition had originated with—their parents—but that would not help his cause. Her father had given him a blessing in a way, and he had to swallow down the cowardice of waiting until his brother was dead to tell her what he'd wanted.
She felt her eyes releasing tears, unable to deny the desire to be bound to Neteyam. She bowed her head and looked away, unable to meet his gaze. The tsakarem should have gone, yet she knew she could not move. She felt joy and sorrow, knowing she had found love in Lo'ak but had to let it go because it was not to be. Eywa's will stood before her, asking for her hand and promise.
"I…I want you," Neteyam whispered sheepishly. He swallowed thickly as her breath hitched, and he squared his shoulders as it registered that he'd spoken. "I have wanted you… since that first day on the beach." It seemed as if she just stared at him for an eternity, her eyes glistening with some emotion he could not control. His ears dropped as he swallowed thickly. “Please, say something.”
Tsireya looked at Neteyam, taking the armband from his hands as she recognised the truth in his eyes. "Yes." She said the first thing that came to mind when she opened her mouth. His presence gave her peace, which she knew would build a bridge between them. The smile that split his face made her forget every apprehension. They would create something she could no longer have with Lo'ak. And it would be good. It would be different, but it would be good. She could feel a new kind of hope. A fresh start. A chance to create something new and beautiful.
Neteyam pressed his nose to her temple, embracing her after he slid the band high onto her bicep. She held him by the shoulders, tucking herself into his arms as they knelt in front of each other. He knew that things between them would be slow moving, but he hoped it would please her parents that he extended the proposal, and she accepted—they could leave it be.
Tsireya gazed up at him, his yellow eyes always mesmerising her and peering into a buried part of her soul. Neteyam looked like a mighty warrior, even at his unripe age, and she felt secure in her choice because he was more than a warrior or a hunter. Neteyam was kind and gentle with her, and he cared for his family. He'd saved her life too.
Finally, they separated, and she grinned at him, "thank you for the gift," she began, making him smile. She paused before an idea struck her, hands finding a seaweed string of shells in her hair. She undid it quickly, sheepishly showing it to him. "Everyone will know this way."
"Okay," Neteyam smiled, the grin alighting his face and making him look his age. The smirk did not leave as he leaned forward, "Place it wherever it will look best."
Tsireya picked a strand in the front of his hair, the loose layers from where it was tied at the back. She undid the beading and flowers, added her adornment, and replaced what his mother had done already. She giggled as he held the pieces in his palm, watching her as she moved efficiently. "There, it is perfect."
Neteyam grinned at her, “This is pretty high up.” He said, standing near the edge.
“The splash would kill you, skxawng .” She told him, though she grinned at the look on his face.
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It was late when Faowe deposited them on the beach. Their loincloths were still wet when they arrived. They did not jump from the top of the rock. Instead, they climbed to a lower ledge of the formation. It was fun, and she laughed loudly as he failed various dives and flips. Playing in the water was fun; despite his stoic demeanour, he had a childlike heart.
The village was quiet, each marui still; even the ilu floating under the canopies slept. The tide was coming in, and the sand was cold on their feet. They watched as the waves lapped up against the shoreline. The stars twinkled in the night sky, and the air was filled with the smell of the ocean. The sound of the waves was soothing, and the smell of the sea was fresh and inviting. Tsireya swirled her toes in the water as it lapped at their feet. “I will remember,” she vowed into the night, speaking to the friend she loved. He loved the sea; he was one of them.
Neteyam held Faowe's under-jaw, patting the steering vane for a job well done flying them around. The primarily green creature mewled. Faowe nuzzled against Neteyam's hand, glad to be petted. Neteyam smiled in the moonlight, seeing the animal as a reminder of a home in the forest they both once knew.
Tsireya didn't peer into his Faowe's eyes, taking those few seconds to truly take the beast in, looking at his skin's yellow and black details. He was much larger than the marine ikran she was used to seeing, almost the size of a beast that would feed on them. The tsakarem was sceptical of Faowe's presence on the mountain, where they dined and chose one another, but Neteyam distracted her, keeping her giggling and blushing under his attention. Neteyam seemed to be in awe of Faowe, his gaze lingering on the ikran . She enjoyed their time together flying, still feeling the exhilaration of seeing the reef from as high as she had been with Neteyam. She decided that she needed to attempt to do something nice for him too.
Tsireya chortled as Neteyam attempted to keep Faowe quiet. "We will fly together tomorrow," Neteyam told the creature. He knew the animal would soon have a rookery, as Tonowari had one commissioned for Bob and the others. And he would not have to curse their separation. It was a kind gesture for animals that would one day die and no longer have a place in the clan. Neteyam smiled at the thought of the joy Faowe would have when they flew together tomorrow.
They watched as the ikran flew overhead, leaving them on the white sand beach. Tsireya felt a sense of wonder seeing the magnificent creature soar away. She was radiant with calm happiness that he hadn't seen on her since before the attack on the tulkun and Lo'ak's death. He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it in comfort. She smiled, and he felt a warmth spread through his chest. Together they watched Faowe until he disappeared.
"What is it wrong?" She asked him immediately as they walked toward her home, pausing. Neteyam smiled, trying to think of a way to explain the situation without making her feel worse. Despite his relief that she'd agreed to one day be bound, mated for life, he had his brother on his mind. Now, he had to find a way to make her forget the pain of Lo'ak's loss and move forward into their life together.
"Nothing is wrong," he said, squeezing her hand gently. "I just want to make sure you are okay. That's all. I am happy," he replied. It wasn't a lie. But he had regrets. She knew he was holding something back. There was a sadness in his eyes that she couldn't ignore. But he found her disarming; he could not lie more than he had already omitted, "I wish my brother were here." For me, for you, us, everyone.
It went unsaid that if Lo'ak were alive, their situation would be very different. Something passed over her face, something like guilt. Neteyam swallowed thickly. She opened and closed her mouth, unsure of what to say. He was not dull; he knew she would have preferred his brother to remain alive, "I know you miss him." She nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. He put his hand on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. They stayed like that for a few moments, the silence broken only by the sound of the wind.
She gazed up at him with questioning eyes, feeling small under the difference of their heights. The feelings they both had were complicated. Neteyam reached for her armband. "This should be his." he shook his head, taking her arm as he adjusted the beautifully woven band with his thumbs. The nantang tooth and the shells were settled on full display. It wasn't very subtle, either. Neteyam turned to her with a sad smile.
"But it is yours, and we cannot change the past," Tsireya said, finding his gaze as she peered up at him, hoping he would look at her and see her sincerity. "I enjoy spending time with you," She began, knowing that she should assure him—she did not like the tone his words had taken. She did not want him to assume that her sadness for Lo'ak meant she would never be able to love him truly, "I want you, too." She recalled what he had said to her earlier in the evening when he asked for her favour. Her eyes pleaded for him to understand.
Tsireya felt a warmth radiating from him, and she knew that he genuinely cared for her. His thumb rubbed gently on her skin. She thought she could trust him with her heart and knew they could make something beautiful together.
Neteyam lifted a hand to her cheek, lightly cupping her face and leaning in for a kiss. She closed her eyes and felt an attachment between them that she had not identified before. He was gentle, only using the lightest of pressures as his full lips ghosted across her own. He felt a deep affection for her that he had been unable to acknowledge, which weighed heavily in his heart. His kiss was tender, and he savoured the moment, feeling affection and attraction to her that he had been too afraid to admit before. Neteyam knew that she thought it, too; their connection was undeniable. Neteyam stepped away, smiling, and she opened her eyes with a look of marvel. "Come, I must get you home before your father feeds me to the tsurak ."
"I would never let him do that," She argued, nearly forceful. Neteyam laughed heartily and began to blush as she held his arm. They started towards her home. He looked down at her and couldn't help but smile. He had found his other half like his parents were two halves of the same whole. She bit her lip, swallowing thickly, "Did you speak to my father?"
"Yes," Neteyam nodded, "He gave his blessing," he said, his voice calm. She smiled, relieved, and took his hand as they continued their journey. Neteyam wasn't sure why he hadn't told Tsireya that her parents had pushed for their betrothal. And he could not find the courage to say to her. She had been so pleased with herself when she talked about her mother being upset with her decision. The laugh that lit her face was enough to warm him for weeks.
They walked through the village, giggly and happy together, moving as quietly as possible. Neteyam left her at home with a smile, kissing her forehead as he'd seen his father do to his mother all through his years.
Tsireya beamed up at him, turning away to sneak inside quietly.
Neteyam exhaled a breath he had nervously held all night. He began his walk to his family's marui , his steps growing heavy as he was reminded that it was now less complete. It made his heart ache. " Skxawng ," he cursed his brother, holding back a tear at the memory of his often-idiotic sibling. Neteyam missed him terribly. He would have been kinder in their last moments without pain if he had known how their relationship would be severed.
When he arrived home, he found his bed roll undone, and Tuk was curled in his corner, waiting for him. She'd fallen asleep with one of the toys Lo'ak had given her. A miniature Toruk toy that she treasured more than before. Neteyam lay beside her, careful not to ruffle her. The marui was quiet, each sleeping corner filled and silent; even his parents had not stirred.
Tuk awakened with a smile. "Teyam," she sleepily rubbed her eyes. "You're back. What did she say?"
Neteyam smiled back at his little sister, "she agreed." He chuckled as Tuk grinned.
"I knew she would!" She whispered excitedly. The little one hugged him the best she could while they lay on the floor.
"Go back to sleep," Neteyam told her, knowing village life began early.
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The rain had overtaken the village for the time being, fat globules of water rolling off the canopies and down to the ocean below the homes strung between the large roots covering the coastline. It was peaceful, and the People took the time to cook for their families, sing songs and weave or repair their already-made works. The villagers were gratified, basking in the beauty of the shower. The sound of birds singing filled the air, and the fragrance of the ocean was ever-present. It was a moment of tranquillity, and the villagers were grateful for the peace after the trials the preceding moons had come and gone. They laughed and shared stories, thankful for the chance to come together. They knew that the next moons would bring new trials, but for now, they were content. Eywa would provide.
"Mother," Tsireya looked at her mother cautiously in her healer's hut. They'd returned from harvesting supplies for her mother's medicinal treatments before the downpour had begun. It was a part of Tsireya's training to prepare the ingredients and place them away in the correct order. She would sing songs to pass the time while she worked, even when organising them together. But she could not sing at that moment in time. The tsakarem had to speak to her mother. The tsahìk was stoic, hard to read, and even harder to placate once she felt slighted. She knew that Ronal had seen the armband she was now adorned with, and Tsireya did not want her to view Neteyam differently than she had before. Her indifference was better than her ire. And now that she was used to the idea, getting a taste of Neteyam's pointed romantic interest, she would be crushed to give it up—not another connection she'd built and enjoyed taken away. "I have to speak to you."
"What is it?" Ronal asked her, without looking up from grinding a paste for wounds that inevitably arrived for her healing. She knew what her child wanted. And she also knew that Neteyam had not told her why he was emboldened to ask for her hand. It wasn't difficult to surmise. It was not some deep treachery that the boy should want Tsireya to agree to be mated to him one day without the pressure of knowing that Tonowari had made it so. She had not so readily agreed when her mate told her what his plan had been. But Tonowari was not a blind man—he saw what she had not. The boy had been content to let his brother have his happiness. But it would benefit them now to let him enjoy his contentment. Ronal did not think they would readily leave Lo'ak in Awa'atlu, but Tonowari wanted a guarantee. She agreed with that premise. At least the children from the union would not have visible demon features. She could accept the presence of the Sullys, but she still did not like their visual differences. The Sky People had wrought many tragedies. But when the dust settled, it was revealed to them that Neteyam saved Tsireya from the demon vessel. He would be a fine choice, stead they look outside the clan for a mate for the tsakarem .
Her daughter had an underlying rebellious spirit she inherited. But she often battled with doing what was expected of her. But Ronal had let her parents decide for her and had gone against her wishes. She had found happiness, but she had been young once, and it had felt like Eywa had forsaken her those years ago. She knew she had to grant her daughter's wish, no matter the cost—even if it was against her projected image. She would allow the young people the room to discover how secrets would affect them. She would let Eywa sort it out.
Ronal looked at her daughter, finally. "I already know, child. I have seen the armband—" She laughed. "—and the shells in his hair." So, she would let them be and trust that whatever happened, they could handle it. She offered her child a smile, one she knew Tsireya had not often seen. She was aware that both of her children sought her approval. It stirred something ugly, a regret. But she did not know how else to be. She loved her children, and she did want them to be happy, but as tsahìk , she was responsible for many more lives than just her children's.
"You are not angry?" Tsireya asked, dropping her task of tying herbs into their soaking bags for boiling. Tsireya was relieved; her mother's understanding and gentle words gave her the courage to speak. She had been dreading her mother's reaction. But to her surprise, her mother had held her and listened to what she had to say. Tsireya felt grateful, and a sense of peace settled over her for the first time in a long while. The experience was a heavy weight lifted from her shoulders, allowing her to breathe freely and relax.
"No," Ronal said, shaking her head briefly. "I know that you had found happiness before the Sky People came. And I trust you'll have it again—Neteyam is a good boy." A bit misguided at the time being. But no child of fifteen did not have the same battle—even if tradition called him a man. She and her husband bore some responsibility for what was to come, as it had been their idea. Neteyam had given Tsireya a choice. And in that, she had done what they wanted anyway. There was no need to tip the scales in any other direction. "But take your time, ma ‘ite. Your father and I still live."
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"This isn't fair!" Kiri argued with her parents as they stood in their marui . "Spider is just as much my brother as you are my mother and father! You never accepted him!" Kiri wasn't the child to be overly disrespectful of her parents' decisions, but their refusal to forgive Spider for his father's transgressions was something she could not understand.
"And now look at what he has done!" Neytiri contended her daughter's accusation was fruitless against her resolve. It had been correct; Neytiri had never seen Spider as anything but Quaritch's son. A raw reminder of the tragedies that had occurred because of the Sky People . She would not miss him.
Neteyam's ears flattened as he heard what she said. He stepped into view. "What happened to Spider?"
"The Sky People have him again!" Kiri revealed, her eyes filled with tears.
"They don't have him," Neytiri told him, looking at her son slowly before she continued. "He joined them. Norm said he left in the middle of the night. He is in their city."
Neteyam gritted his teeth. Lo'ak had died for nothing. He growled. The young warrior was filled with rage and grief. His feelings toward Spider had taken a critical turn once Lo'ak died, and he could accept that it wasn't the human's fault. But he'd never imagined that Spider would choose to take the RDA's side. He was safe with Max and Norm at the Omatikaya High Camp, with the good people who had taken Jake's side those years ago. There was still room for reconciliation. But it was all different after now that Spider had chosen to leave.
Kiri would have to accept that Spider had chosen his path, and he had to live with the consequences—they had all made decisions in misery, and that was where they landed. He'd thought that maybe his parents would welcome him back. But it didn't appear that would materialise if Spider had elected to run away.
"Tell them we must help him," Kiri pleaded with her brother. "Tell them."
Neteyam looked at his sister, his heart heavy—he could not tell her what she wanted to hear. He would not lose another sibling because of humans. "We cannot help him," he said softly, a sorrowful look in his eyes. "We just have to hope for the best." Kiri's face fell, and she bowed, disappointed and outnumbered. She allowed herself to cry. It did not change how any of them felt.
"We saved him once," Neteyam said, angered like Neytiri was. Beside her, Jake was sitting with his hands on his face. He was so tired. Neteyam looked at his sister; she knew what he would say before he spoke again. "I saved him once. And now Lo'ak is dead. If he wants to be with them, that is where he should stay."
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As tsakarem , Tsireya was used to helping her mother with the wounded or sick in the clan. It was often rewarding to have her mother regard her with pride when she knew what to do without prompting. But she was unprepared to see Neteyam making his way into the healers' hut. There was blood seeping through his fingers, causing anxiety to spike in her mind. She rushed to him, nearly tripping from the bounce of the taut fabric walkways. "What happened?" The tsakarem asked, scrutinising him. "Mother!"
"It was an accident," Neteyam replied calmly, though the look on his face said he was in more pain than he let on. He removed his hand from his bicep, revealing a large gash. "Oh." He hadn't realised the severity of the injury himself. He refused help to walk to receive aid. Had his mother seen it, he knew that it would have been an impossible ask. But Neteyam was a man—he could manage a walk to the tsahìk .
Neteyam placed his hand back on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but he was sure he would require stitching. The hunter winced, feeling the pain in his arm, and his face contorted with pain. Tsireya shamelessly led him by the hand, rushing him to sit where they could look him over. Neteyam looked about the marui , studying the tapestries and details of the canopy. The shades of blue and ocean relics about the home. Their weaponry was accessible, much like his parents had theirs.
The tsakarem dabbed wet medicinal cloths on the wound to clean it, dutifully doing the work as her mother watched the injury. "Ow!" Neteyam protested, making her laugh.
"I'm sorry, ma Neteyam," Tsireya whispered, not looking up as the endearment slipped between her lips.
"How did you get coral beneath the skin?" Ronal asked him, admonishing him with a look. He hadn't enough time to register Tsireya's words before Ronal asked him more.
"It was stupid," Neteyam explained, avoiding her sceptical gaze. It wasn't the first time she had seen such a gash, nor from the cause, she could imagine without explanation. She had seen this too many times. It was foolish of him to take such risks. "Tsireya, the numbing herbs." She told her daughter and mentee. "And then retrieve his father in case they do not work."
Neteyam looked between them; ears pressed back with concern that he would be stitched and feel each pinprick of the needle. Tsireya giggled, despite how she felt in that situation. "She is joking."
Neteyam sighed in relief and laughed.
Ronal's expression did not support her daughter's words, but they were true. She turned to retrieve the bowl of ground herbs and water, turning them to paste. "Deep breath. This will sting." The tsahìk smeared the wound with the paste; Neteyam made a noise of pain deep in his throat as if he were trying to mask it and failing. "When it is numb, I will remove the shards still in the wound," Ronal said, wrapping his lesion in a cloth, sealing the salve over the gash.
"Thank you, Ronal." Neteyam smiled sheepishly.
"I should not like my daughter's betrothed to lose an arm," Ronal said, returning to her feet and leaving the young pair in the healing rooms. Neteyam snorted, watching her go before he looked at Tsireya. He would not have been able to predict that she would accept them, considering how she had viewed the traits his siblings had inherited from their father. But things changed.
Neteyam could tell that Tsireya was upset and worried. Neteyam squeezed her shoulder and said, "Don't worry, Tsireya. I'll be fine." He smiled to reassure her that he was okay. Tsireya nodded, a small smile appearing on her face.
"How did this happen?" Tsireya asked him, the concern etched in her delicate features.
"I am still learning to fly the tsurak ,' Neteyam signed. "It's a little fuzzy."
"Fuzzy?" She repeated the word in English, making him smile. "What does that mean?"
It was one of the words he'd learned from his father. A word from the Sky People . He thought momentarily, likening it to the closest word he could think of, "Confusion." Neteyam added. "The memory is confusing. It happened quickly." He explained the incident; Tsireya's hand was a comforting anchor. She was easy to speak to, disarming, and polite. "I miscalculated the dive," Neteyam adjusted, gritting his teeth as his skin pulled, "was too close to the coral."
It was frustrating that he had not mastered the bond with their attack creature of choice. His father had done it, bonding with a tsurak relatively quickly by comparison. It frustrated him that he had not managed to carry over his skillfulness how he wanted. He was the youngest Omatikaya to take down a sturmbeest in the clan, completed his uniltaron and Iknimaya on his first try, and his archery left little to be desired. He was a skilled hunter in the forest—as a Metkayina; he was not fairing the way he wanted to be.
"It could have been worse," Tsireya brought him back from his thoughts, her hand sliding into his, "I am glad that it was not." Neteyam leaned into her space, and she met him in the middle. They nuzzled one another, noses to each other's cheekbones. His ears flexed at the intimacy; his exhale released slowly.
"Me too," Neteyam whispered, emotion thick in his throat. His uninjured hand moved to cup her face, and he kissed her forehead gently. They stayed there for a few moments, savouring each other's presence before finally pulling away. Tsireya drew away first, her face hot from the interaction. He was the one who had been hurt, and yet he was focused on her. But It made Neteyam smile that he could draw a reaction like that out of her. She looked down at his injury, "Have you lost feeling yet?"
Neteyam nodded, "I think so. Whatever is in the salve is working." He gave her a soft smile. He could see the misgivings on her face—it had not settled in him that it must have been jarring to see someone she held in her heart killed, and then the other injured. "I have not seen you much today,” he said, as means of distraction as he watched her reactions. The colour spread in her cheeks, swelling his heart with pride and affection. She looked away, but he could tell she was pleased. He reached out and gently touched her hand. "It's been too long since I've had the pleasure of your company," he said. She smiled shyly and looked up at him, her eyes twinkling with the same flirtation of his words.
"I saw you yesterday," Tsireya laughed, making herself comfortable, her bottom sitting on the floor, legs bent beneath her.
Neteyam shrugged as if to say her point was moot, "That was yesterday." His confidence was infectious, and his flirting was a welcome change from how everyone else spoke to her. Since they'd promised themselves to each other, he was clear with his intentions. And it made her giddy that she was the focus of those attentions. She heard their peers giggling about him; young men and women in the clan sought after him. And the adornment in his hair had belonged to her like he would one day belong to her. It made her square her shoulders when she faced scrutiny. She caught the eyes of the other women, the envy of those who wished they were her. She knew he was hers and no one else's when she walked with him. But Tsireya still thought of Lo'ak when she looked at him and his endearing uncertainty. And she wondered how things would be with the younger if they'd been given the chance. The grief struck her.
Tsireya shook away the thought and decided to focus on what she had. She was with Neteyam now, and she cherished every moment. She steeled herself and looked back up, determined to make the most of what she had. She would always miss Lo'ak. But she was determined to create a new life with Neteyam and not let the sadness of the past hold her back. Tsireya knew she would never forget Lo'ak, but she would learn to accept the loss and move forward.
She smiled and took Neteyam's hand as they sat with one another. It wasn't lost on her that her mother had left the marui —she did not have to give them so much space while the numbing paste did its job on Neteyam's arm. But she was still glad about it. Her mother giving her room was a welcome change now that she was betrothed.
Tsireya looked at Neteyam, his eyes were closed, but his tail swayed beneath him as he leaned on the woven wall. "I am fine, Reya," he said, thumb running along her blue-green complexion. He opened one of his yellow eyes and looked at her with a smirk, "You are staring."
"I was not," Tsireya denied, but she did not have the fortitude for a back and forth. She blushed and smiled, "I was just admiring you." He chuckled and leaned in closer, pressing his lips against hers. His tail swished around them as they embraced, lost in their moment together. She had not tasted his lips since their first kiss the night he'd taken her to the ends of the village. The tsakarem had never been kissed before Neteyam, and she couldn't compare it to anything else, but she could not imagine never having another.
His kiss was slow and passionate, and they both felt the intensity of their connection at that moment. Neteyam lightly traced his fingertips around her face, and Tsireya felt her heart race as the moment's passion grew. They were lost in each other, the world around them forgotten. She had certainly never felt such things before.
The young warrior entranced Tsireya. He had a presence, a certain magnetism that drew her in. She knew she was unique to him, and her heart swelled with giddiness. The tsakarem did not think she still had room in her heart, but Neteyam found himself there. His lips paused against hers, swallowing thickly as he retained some composure. But he didn't pull away, taking a moment to rub his nose against hers. It was an action that brought a reaction he enjoyed. Her breath would hitch, and then she’d exhale, fingers flexing around his bicep.
Neteyam wanted to stay in that moment forever, the two of them intertwined in a passionate embrace that seemed to stretch on for eternity. He leaned in and kissed her again, this time more intensely. She was his happiness in weeks of grief, especially when his progress in the clan stagnated. He could feel the heat of her skin and the beat of her heart, and he knew that he had found something special—something he never wanted to let go of. He had been a fool to think that he would have been content to let Lo'ak find his happiness with her without jealousy.
Neteyam swallowed down the memories of his brother and the guilt that came with being alone with Tsireya. He had been a fool. Neteyam held Tsireya close, knowing he would never let her go. He vowed to himself that he would do anything to make her happy and keep her safe. He knew this was where he truly belonged and never wanted to leave her side.
Tsireya felt her body melting into his and knew that this was something she wanted to keep feeling for the rest of her life. Nothing else mattered at that moment but them. Ronal returned, clearing her throat and reminding them where they were. It was definitely not the privacy of their mountainous rock. Neteyam and Tsireya pulled away, looking down into their laps as the tsahìk made her presence known. Tsireya blushed, embarrassed that they had been caught in such an intimate moment. She glanced up at Neteyam, whose eyes still held the same desire. She smiled but quickly looked away, knowing they had to be more careful in the future. She would die of shame if her father ever saw them so close to each other.
"I see you are already feeling better," Ronal teased lightly– not even her tone gave her away. Neteyam bit the inside of his cheek as he nodded. "Good," she said. Ronal crouched beside him despite her large belly, her baby still at home there. She unwrapped his injury, knowing enough time had passed that it should have been thoroughly numb. Ronal tapped his shoulder, "Relax. There should be no pain."
Neteyam realised she was right after a moment of consideration. "Oh," He laughed, making Tsireya giggle.
Ronal held back a laugh. The tsahìk looked at her daughter. "It needs rinsing. Fetch freshwater from the carafes and bring a bowl." Neteyam melted comfortably, content to let them work. There was no one else who needed to attend; Eywa was being merciful.
The tsahìk rinsed his wound, ticking as she looked at it. The bleed was a self-contained pool, but she was unsure if it was simply the shards of coral keeping the blood at bay or if the bleed was independently controlled. Ronal looked at Neteyam, "There will be pressure, but no pain." She explained, and the young man nodded. She continued her effort, taking thinly carved prongs to remove the shards–almost half of them broke down in some way as she grabbed them.
Tsireya rinsed the gash repeatedly throughout the process. She focused on the task, and Neteyam concentrated on her.
When the task of removing the foreign objects, Ronal looked at Neteyam, "Tsireya will stitch it."
"What?" Tsireya squeaked. It was true that she had been practising the skill, on fish mostly. Neteyam knocked her shoulder, giving her a soft smile and a nod.
"You can do it, ma' ite, " Ronal told her assuredly. She believed it but also knew a learning opportunity when she saw one. Eywa always provided–big and small. She looked at Neteyam, "The boy does not mind."
"It is numb," Neteyam shrugged, chuckling as if it were a hilarious joke.
Tsireya took a deep breath and gathered what she needed to fix the gash. The tsakarem was gentle but avoided his eyes as she worked the thread and needle. Ronal watched intently. "Mind the lines; leave them straight so it heals correctly."
Neteyam's hand rested gently across her knee, but his eyes were closed, and his head was back. He'd gone somewhere else; he was in the forest waiting for her to be done. He'd want to return there one day where the sun could not reach him at all hours. The forest, where he was skilled and ahead of the pack; in the jungle, where his brother was alive.
Tsireya was done a short while later. She knew she had taken longer than her mother would have, but the stitching was neat. She tapped her betrothed on the forearm to garner his attention. As the tsakarem reapplied a healing poultice, Ronal spoke.
"No swimming for a week," The tsahìk told him, watching his ears flicker, "it is salt; the water will enflame the flesh and cause infection. Your studies will have to wait, Neteyam." She moved Tsireya out of the way and tied off the bandage around his arm. "There will still be tsurak when you are healed."
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Neteyam could not hide his injury for very long. When he made it to the Sully marui , his remaining family members had gathered there, hiding from the rain that had started anew. Tsireya joined him, making up for the day they spent apart. She gestured to his family before Jake took note. He wordlessly examined him for any other issues as if Ronal would not have noticed them. But Jake did not speak. The tension left his shoulders when he was satisfied.
Neteyam's heart ached that his father was not the man he was before when he had two sons and not just one. Tsireya squeezed his arm. There was much to left to recover, and there may always be.
Tsireya ate with them that evening, sharing in the communion that was Sully's dinner time. Conversation again paused when Jake excused himself. Neytiri did her best not to let it overtake the meal, but he was not speaking to her. She knew her mate well enough to know that he felt a failure their children would not understand. She missed her Jake, though she was sure she was different too. Some pains did irreparable damage and caused eternal hurt. Jake would be okay in his own time but never be the same.
"I wish it would stop raining," Tuk said absently. She looked at Tsireya, a girl she had come to admire a great deal. "How are we going to celebrate if it keeps raining?"
Neytiri looked conspiratorially between them, smiling to herself at their conversation. She mourned for her son every day. But she found life moving on made it a bit easier every day. There were always things to do; she could not be a weight for the Metkayina to draw. She found solace in her memories and visits to the Spirit Tree. She knew that Neteyam had not yet gone to Eywa; it pained her.
"Celebrate what?" Neteyam asked jokingly. Tuk stuck her tongue out at her brother. He knew what she was referring to. The look on his face was enough to make her giggle. But he sobered, ruffling her hair, "It is not time for celebrations yet, right?” He looked at Tsireya for confirmation of their customs around betrothment.
“We both have to be of age,” Tsireya replied easily, though her cheeks were coloured by her shyness. Tuk smiled, understanding now why her brother had been so serious. She nodded and agreed. Tsireya smiled back, relieved that everything had been clarified. She liked the Sully family, but found that that while they carried an air of propriety, they were very open with one another. Tsireya admired the familial bond that the Sullys had and was looking forward to creating a similar bond with them.
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Neteyam found Jake sitting behind the marui a while after Tsireya left to rejoin her family. He stood back a few moments, unsure how to approach his father. It was not his place to do such things, he knew. His father had become a hard man to read and even more challenging to relate to. It pained Neteyam as it wasn't always like that, and then the Sky People returned. And everything changed. Jake had always been a man of subtleties, never fully displaying every bit of his emotions the way Neytiri did. But he hadn’t always been so detached. Neteyam didn’t know the difference until he’d been forced to feel it—when the Sky People came. The young man approached his father, sitting beside him as Jake finally acknowledged the company.
"Tell your mother I'll be a minute," Jake said; the words sounded heavy on his tongue as if they took great effort.
Neteyam noticed the strain in his father's voice, the way his mouth seemed to twist around the words. He wanted to tell him everything would be okay, but he knew his father wouldn't heed it. Neteyam considered the request but did not move, "She did not send me to find you." At his reply, Jake looked away, out onto the tranquillity of the water. The rain subsided and had not returned for hours, and the waves crashed along the reef fisheries. "Would it be alright if I sat with you?" He asked, his voice soft like a child's. Jake bobbed his head, incapable of finding the words to express his gratitude. He looked almost identical to his mother, but he wasn’t without any effect of who his father was. They were a lot alike, in many ways. Neteyam had his father’s resilience, charm, and natural ability. Neteyam sat down, and they watched the faint ripples in silence, their feet kicking in the water.
Jake missed his son in the many weeks that passed. He had many regrets. And Jake knew that Lo'ak died being crushed under the weight of his expectations. He'd seen much of himself in the boy, his baby who had just wanted to prove that he could carry his history as a son of Toruk Makto , the man from the stars. Jake had failed to understand that Lo'ak was more than just a legacy; the boy was a person. And his eyebrows and four fingers was hard to hide from on top of everyone else. He had been too focused on making Lo'ak into something he was not rather than supporting him to be his own person. This had been his biggest mistake. And now it was too late to tell the boy that he did not have to be more than he was. Jake saw him–but he let his anger and fear dictate he rob his children of a parent's delicacy.
Neteyam felt the weight of charged silence, internalising it. "I know you blame me." He tried to sound firm like the thought didn't make him want to spiral, as if he had not fought against it in the passing weeks. Jake's reply was stuck, part of him was shocked, and the other felt incredible sadness that his isolation drew those thoughts from his boy. Neteyam looked at him, seeing the way his father shook his head. He continued, "I wanted to apologise– "
"You don't have to say you're sorry, ma' itan, " Jake sighed, reaching for his son's shoulder. He was heavy with truth. "None of this has ever been your fault. But I wish I protected you from it," Jake continued, his voice strained with emotion. He was Toruk Makto; his children and his people thought him infallible.
"I should not have gone back–I should have pulled him off of that demon ship," Neteyam argued, tears welling in his eyes as his father looked at him. Even as Jake turned to him fully, taking his face in his hands. Neteyam continued to ramble, "I am the older brother; I am–"
"You're a boy!" Jake cut him off, the frustration startling his son. He could have burst into tears then. " My boy. And that pressure should not have been on you. I failed, not you." He hugged his son, the tensions slowly dissipating from his son's body. Guilt for Lo'ak's death was too much for Neteyam to carry. He could see that Neteyam was just barely holding it together. "Come here," Jake said, drawing Neteyam's head to rest in the crook of his shoulder.
There weren't many times Neteyam would accept being called a boy. But he was too emotional to take it to heart. And his father had always said it with a clear sense of affection. Whenever his father was around, he felt like a child—he'd spent his entire life wanting the man's approval. Toruk Makto was a hard man to live up to. And even now, having avenged Lo'ak when Kiri was under the demon's knife, he still felt the acute emotion that it was insufficient. Their family was still fractured—and Jake was not himself. He had not been since the Sky People came.
Jake chose not to remind Neteyam that he had saved Kiri. It seemed like the lesser point of what he wanted to tell him. None of it should have fallen to him. The fact that his son had to kill, even once, was an ominous reality Jake did not want to ponder. His young son was a warrior; it was true.
Jake wanted to protect Neteyam from the heavy burden of his actions. The idea that his son had been forced to grow up too quickly and take on the true warrior's mantle before his time weighed heavily. Jake wanted to preserve the memory of the carefree boy whom he taught to fish while still being proud of the man his son had become. However, Neteyam was no longer a child and had already proven himself a brave and competent warrior. He had shouldered the burden of his responsibility willingly. But it was evident to Jake now that he had to compose himself for the sake of his family. He had lost one child, and he had three others to support.
“How is the arm?” Jake asked him, pulling away from their embrace. He chuckled as he brushed a hand over the bald sides of Neteyam’s hair. “Trying to look like your old man?”
Neteyam playfully hissed, but there was a smile at the peek into who his dad used to be, a joy blooming in his chest as Jake spoke to him. And it was true that he did want to look like his dad. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be him, that much he’d come to realise as the days went by. He lifted his arm, rolling his shoulders. “Tsireya stitched it, and the poultice Ronal put on it leaves it numbed.”
Jake lifted his uncharacteristic eyebrow. “Ronal helped fix you up?” The look on his face was sceptical. It wasn’t a stretch of this imagination that all of the social currency they’d acquired was filtered through Tonowari’s say so. He doubted that Ronal was ever going to forgive their otherness. But Jake did appreciate the upturn in trajectory.
“Yes,” Neteyam continued, nodding. He looked at his father, “We’re going to be okay, right?”
Jake smiled, giving him a nod, “Yeah, kid. We are.”