Chapter Text
He sits on the fin of his spirit brother, lost in thought. Yet again, another sun is setting on the horizon, as beautiful as the ones before, and yet he lacks the inspiration to see its colors. His eyes are glazed over, his mind muddled, his heart unwell. Nothing is right anymore. Nothing has been right since the skypeople landed back onto their home, returning with their guns and their fire. Their greed and their wrath. His family hasn't felt deeper joy since then.
The skypeople had taken it all. Trees and creatures alike burning from the raging fires that their ships' landing had caused. The new hometree had to be abandoned in favor of the floating mountains and the security they offered. Then they'd had to flee the forest altogether to protect their people; all the while knowing they were being hunted like dogs for sport. For vengeance. They'd lost their way of life. Their grandmother was unreachable from here. They couldn't eat the food they loved- none of it grew here. Couldn't hear the music they grew up hearing. Their cultural heritage had to be abandoned in favor of the water tribes.
Again and again, more losses fell upon them like rain from the sky. Plentiful and draining.
And then he'd lost his brothers- Neteyam dead. Spider...
A deep rumble shivered the surface of the water as Payakan spoke. Offering fruitlessly once again to bear his burdens with him, only for Lo'ak to reject him once again. Payakan had enough pain and sorrows already, and Lo'ak didn't want to add to it by making tsaheylu.
His grief over his brothers was his burden to bear, and he didn't feel any desire to lay his feelings out for anyone to see. Not even his most trusted confidant.
"Oeyä afpawng lu oeyä:" /my grief is mine/ Lo'ak speaks to Payakan, his arms too sluggish to make the signs. He is understood without.
The brightness of the sun disappears in favor of the great blare of the sky above as Lo'ak leans back to lie on the mighty fin of his bonded tulkun. There are no clouds today, nothing to distract from the beauty of the flaring tones of the sun's descent. He looks at them now, wishing that there were clouds above so he could point out their shapes. Wishing there were brothers here still to direct their gaze to a perceived ikran or yerik. He could almost hear their voices- arguing over what they see, knowing they will conclude that each cloud is in fact just a blob of water in the sky. Choosing to fight still, even as they know the outcome.
That's what brothers do.
It's such torture to close his eyes now. When he can't see, he can hear them. Every night, he stays near Neteyam's sleeping mat, which is still neatly packed and tidied away against the wall of the marui from Neteyam's last morning with them. And it's like he's breathing inches away. Lo'ak can recognize the pattern of his breath in slumber. Remembers the intervals of in and out. First, it had kept him awake. His eyes flashing over and looking to the rolled-up sleeping mat as if his brother would appear again. Then it had become the only reason he slept. In and out, in and out. A comforting sound that stayed so stable he didn't know what he'd do if it ever went away.
He'd pretend all was well. That Neteyam would wake him up in the morning as before, and they'd start their day together. The ever-burning jealousy of Neteyam always being so perfect would be back, overwhelming the side of him that only felt sorrow now. He'd do anything to get that green feeling back. He'd eternally be the fuckup. He'd choose to always be the "worse son". The disappointment. If it meant Neteyam would be back. If he could only get a moment- a do-over.
His eyes slip shut- the breathing reappears. It overwhelms the sound of the waves. The slow movements of his spirit brother. Everything thrifts away.
But then he hears the slip of a foot on a rock. A familiar sound- the worried lurch of his heart. Somehow, the thought of Spider feels worse. At least he knows what happened to Neteyam. He could grieve him, had buried him, given him back to Eywa. They'd done his brother's last rites, taken him on his last journey. They'd wept, had screamed and cried, and slowly rallied together as a family. Had begun to move on slowly to something new and unfamiliar. Something that had felt wrong. That is, until they realized they hadn't seen Spider in a month- and the Metkayina hadn't mentioned a human boy.
Spider had never made it to the beaches of Awa'atlu. And it had been a shock. A horror, really. Their mourning had poisoned their minds to a level that they hadn't even noticed someone was missing. Their Spider, their friend, their brother- someone who had always been there, someone they'd felt so relieved to see again on the ship amidst the terror. All forgotten as soon as Neteyam was shot.
Where had he gone? Had he died in the battle? Had he been taken by the surviving RDA? Was he back in Hell's Gate in that shithole, or was he missing at sea? Perhaps the current had drowned him and he'd screamed for help only to-!
Maybe he had come to Awa'atlu with them, only to lose his life to something in the jungle. Or had been poisoned by some food here. Maybe something had hunted him in the ocean?
No matter how much time Lo'ak spent on what-ifs, he could never come to a conclusion. And the uncertainty of his brother's fate was a new kind of torture. His mind was blank on whether Spider had been with them at the end of the fight. Had he been amongst them when they gathered around Neteyam's body? Lo'ak thought he could remember feeling the press of Spider's rebreather to his forehead as his father cradled them both to his chest. But had he really? Or was he making something up for a momentary reprieve from the endless spiral of thoughts? Had he seen the boy cry for their brother? Had he witnessed Spider's last goodbyes to Neteyam? Had he sat on the ilu behind him? Or maybe with his father on his tsurak?
The worst part is that none of them knew. Or maybe none of them could remember. Tuk kept insistently claiming that she held Spider's hand the whole way home. That he'd been there and that he'd held her for a long time that night right outside of the marui when she couldn't sleep. That he hadn't dared to come in, but had agreed to stay with her when she'd asked. None of them believed her. Tuk was known for spinning tales.
Kiri said she had felt him there. That it was like he was always just in her peripheral vision, and she couldn't tell if that was a thing of reality or just something she wanted to believe in. The truth was that she was no more sure if he'd lived or died than they were. She ached. Lo'ak could see it.
Their father kept silent, and Lo'ak knew what that meant. The Great Toruk Makto had no hope to give them. No belief at all that Spider had even touched the sands of a beach. No faith in him being alive. No recollection of him with them when they fled the place of Neteyam's death.
Their mother was much the same. Silent, still. But they all knew why she disappeared into the jungle each morning. The rest of the Sullys took to the ocean. Combing it for what they wouldn't say out loud- a corpse. Their father searched through he crumbling remains of the ship where the battle took place. Tuk kept her eyes open on the beaches as she played. Kiri sent out her creatures- her great allies in search of who she loves the most. Only for them to bounce back without making it too far. Like, there is nothing to search for. Lo'ak went back and forth between the sunken Sea Dragon and Awa'atlu every day, joined by Tsireya. And sometimes Aonung as some form of apology that he didn't want.
Their mother found nothing. Shaking her head as she entered the marui- never cooking anymore- their father has taken on that role now. Maybe because she stayed out longer than they did, determination in her gait. Lo'ak stayed unsure why. He never asked.
Their hope crumbled with each passing day; by the second morning, they all knew that Spider wasn't in Awa'atlu. Though Tuk still argued different- the Metkayina had no recollection of him nor any sightings. Fog to the skies, morning dew to the critters, vaporating water to the clouds. Gone.
Lo'ak turns his head and presses his ear to the fin of Payakan. It is better to listen to the tulkun than his own mind.
The rumbles soothe him. The strong heartbeat settles him. These days, the only place he can feel safe and calm is here, with his spirit brother. Everywhere else, he feels so lost. In Awa'atlu, he feels like everyone pities him- like all can see his pain.
Here, the mournful inner musings of the last living Sully brother echo to no one.
Payakan dives, Lo'ak barely takes in a breath before he is submerged. The pull of the current as they descend tries to whisk him off of Payakan's fin, but he twirls his body around at the last moment, before lazily reaching out and grasping onto his spirit brother. They often swim like this. Lo'ak always kicks his feet along, though it isn't necessary. He is so small in comparison to the tulkun that his weight means nothing to the great creature, and his slow swimming doesn't offer any real aid. He wonders briefly if Spider always felt this way. Payakan swims through a school of fish, and Lo'ak has to press closer to not bother them.
They twist deeper down, the bottom of the sea only a dark black mass. Payakan dives through an archway rock and then ascends back up to the surface just quickly enough for Lo'ak to take a deep breath. Bubbles breach the surface with a sway of Payakans tailfin, and back down they go. This time, Payakan swims almost vertically downwards, and Lo'ak has to strengthen his grip to keep holding on.
There are no sounds in the depths. No breathing of Neteyam even as he closes his eyes, no hum from Spider's respirator that you'd normally have to keen your ears to notice. They're far more alone down here than on the surface. Up there are ghosts, down here nothing but him and a remaining "brother".
He feels so safe. So cared for. It's like even without tsaheylu Payakan knows just what to do to quiet his mind.
He thinks of thanks on repeat, hoping Payakan knows, choosing to save his breath so they can stay down here a little longer. He can't see the fish or other creatures swimming by, but on occasion, he can feel them brush up against him, or swim so quickly they create their own current against his side.
He releases air when he feels the need for breath, and Payakan breaches once more.
They go down a few more times, all the way until they come back up, and the sun is gone.
"Irayo. Oel ngati kameie:" /thank you. i see you/ Lo'ak says, swimming over to Payakan's eye and this time moving his hands gracefully through the Metkayina sign language. He feels revitalized. Like the sadness and relief of another day without finding Spider in the water has been swept away. "Nga tìng oe fpom:" /you give me peace/ Lo'ak's voice is full of sincerity. He leans his forehead to Payakan's side, his palms flat against the tulkun. Payakan's eye closes in comfort. The bond between a Na'vi and their spirit brother or sister is so precious.
Payakan begins to slowly swim towards the village again. He can't take Lo'ak all the way there, but he can guide the tired boy halfway so that he won't have such a long way to swim.
Lo'ak chuckles as he tries to grab onto Payakan's fin again, and the tulkun playfully moves to stop him from doing so. They have a short back-and-forth or Lo'ak paddling to grab on, and Payakan moving just in time to slip out of his grip. "Payakan oe lu ngeyn:" /Payakan i am tired/ Lo'ak moans after he feels his arms grow weak again, stopping his pursuit in favor of steadying his breath.
A thrill from the tulkun sounds, and Lo'ak knows he won't even have to hold onto the tulkun tonight. Lo'ak turns on his back to float on the surface; the breeze of the air is cold, but the water is still warm. He feels cut in half by the two temperatures. The great creature disappears back under the waves before reappearing right under Lo'ak, picking the Na'vi boy onto his back. And Lo'ak just lies there, content for a moment, shivering a bit in the air. Slowly, Payakan goes just enough under the surface that only Lo'ak's face peeks over the surface of the water.
When they depart, Payakan's voice is like a deep melody. A promise of tomorrow, a wish of goodnight- a rush of comfort. Once again, Lo'ak finds himself wishing Payakan could come right up to the village like the other tulkun had. He doesn't say it out loud. Payakan feels bad enough for bonding with him already. As if Lo'ak deserved more than him.
"Rewonay krra oeng tse'a fìtsap, oe tsun ne lu nì'ulsekrr:" /tomorrow when we see each other, i will be able to be more present/ Lo'ak promises with conviction. He feels that determined look land on his face that he never possessed anymore. It feels like a start or something new, or maybe just a return of something small that used to be. Something small that he used to be.
When he is at the marui, he hoists himself onto the weaved paths that surround it. His fingers ache as he hauls up his body. He hates the sensation of the weavings on his skin and stumbles on his first two steps. Home still smells the same. His father is cooking food, a ladle stirring a soup above the fire. There seems to be only a little left, a portion for Lo'ak to eat; a rather large portion... Someone else isn't here to eat, and yet food has once again been prepared for him, too. His mother sits, gazing afar with Tuk already asleep at her feet. Her fingers run through her youngest daughter's hair.
Kiri is sleeping on a mat behind their mother. Still upset, but so deceptively close one might think she'd forgiven her. Maybe she had finally begun to.
Lo'ak shakes his head when his father's eyes seek out his. Another day of useless ocean combing with no Spider to show for it.
Tonight, the second month ends since they started to search, and from the look exchanged between his father and mother, Lo'ak knows that today their search has come to an end.
Notes:
*cough* If anyone is interested in beta reading my stories before posting you know where to find me. My dyslexia is kicking my ass girls! *cough cough*
-𝑇𝑜𝑓𝑓
Chapter 2: Shame
Notes:
Reminder I hate spoilers PLEASE do not discuss the movie 3 trailer in the comment section or make guesses about the future twists of the story based on it. I have not see it and I will not watch it till I've seen the movie. I'm not looking at leaks or interviews either. If you want to discuss the trailer because you are excited the avatar reddit it really cool! Go check it out and find like-minded people.
A lot of details about the trailer has now been spoiled to me by multiple people across the internet. I don't want anyone to feel bad nor apologise I am just hoping to keep AO3 spoiler free for me. Or atleast my own comment section
Love you all so much and ty for understanding
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Lo'ak, focus on your work," Jake spoke as he saw his son's gaze drifting off to the sea. Keeping the boy's head out of the clouds was as impossible as it had been since the death of his eldest. Kids were meant to dream, but Lo'ak's clouds were dark and gloomy, thunderous in the unfairness of it all. And as much as Jake hated to admit it, he wasn't a child anymore.
"Sorry, Father," Lo'ak mumbled, meaning his words, and continued to tighten the straps on the tsurak. The creature let out a sound when its chest strap was pulled taut, the cartridge holder sliding against its skin. Lo'ak patted at the spot where he looped the closing hook through and, with a low voice, thanked his mount.
A few years back, the battles on the sea had become a bit more common, and with it, the Metkayina had been forced to use skypeople guns. Eywa forbade digging for metals, but if She had not, Jake was certain the Metkayina would have found a way to make their own firepower to rival that of the skypeople, just to avoid touching their demonic weapons. The outrage had been grand in the beginning, with many saying the weapons would taint them and were a slight against their Great Mother.
It seemed that the tsuraks agreed. They were used to the silence of thrown spears and the occasional arrow whizzing by. But the M69s and Y70 Bullpup rifles were loud and shot too fast to appear natural. They caused… Behavioral issues in the mounts.
They became anxious and restless, even in the village. They'd spook at loud sounds and nip at each other, becoming even aggressive if they saw anyone pass by while carrying a weapon. They'd panic and dash in the middle of battle in ways that placed both them and their rider in danger.
This caused great anguish in the Metkayina. Their brave, trusted mounts were reduced to scared hatchlings that could barely handle leaving the reefs without a constant tsaheylu to calm them down. And forcing them into battle went against their beliefs.
The Metkayina were left at an ever larger disadvantage: no mounts, less speed, less reach. And guns were hard to use in the water without something else to move for you.
Something had to change, and surprisingly, Lo’ak was the one to step up for the task. Six months after the death of his brother, Lo’ak attempted and succeeded in finishing his Metkayina Iknimaya. He tamed his tsurak, Huou. He passed all the tests he needed to with Payakan, as much as Ronal frowned upon their bond. He received his first tattoo, added his three symbolic beads to his songcord, and now proudly wore his of-age band on his upper arm. The only time he took it off was when Kiri would get weird about him not washing it for a while.
And his request for the clan upon his iknimaya completion? That had been for him to be allowed to have a go at desensitizing the tsuraks to skypeople weapons.
Young and inexperienced, only having tamed his own tsurak a few weeks before, Lo’ak got bit by his second day. He now sported a long row of thin scars from tsurak teeth across his chest and over his left shoulder. It was like the tsurak had tried to bite him in half, only to let go the second it realized what it had done.
Neytiri had lost it. Even though the wounds weren’t deep, and the tsurak's teeth were sharp enough to leave clean scars, she worried. Lo’ak didn’t. Another two days after that, he was back at it.
It had seemed like the tsuraks would not adapt to guns due to all the horrors they'd faced already. They saw their podmates die to the rain of bullets and felt their riders get shot dead in the middle of a tsaheylu. They were simply too afraid of them, too traumatized.
But slowly, with time and work in the safety of Awa'atlu, Jake and Lo'ak had been able to weed out the tsuraks that were truly unfit for gunfire from the ones that could grow used to the new weaponry. After that, with a settled heart that Lo’ak would not be attacked again, Jake had left his son to it. And he’d never been prouder.
The tsuraks became Lo’aks’ expertise; the desensitization took him two years, and in some ways, his work still continued. With Lo’ak at the helm, tsuraks rode free with their bonded Metkayina again, like horses off to battle, fully trusting their rider.
"It needs to be tighter, Lo'ak. That will slip right off at a tight turn," Jake pointed out, walking over in the waist-deep water to his son's side. He batted off Lo'ak's hands gently and gave him a sideways glance. Lo'ak's shoulders were slumped, and Jake knew it wasn't due to him. Their relationship had needed a lot of work- due to his own mistakes as a father- but with time and dedication to his children, Jake had reestablished the strong family bonds they'd had before the skypeople returned. It had been costly, but so worth it. "Where is your mind at?" Jake asked, but got no response: "Please speak to me, son."
Lo’ak wasn’t having a great day. He shrugged, still so far away and not looking at his father: "I know we don't talk about him anymore-"
Him. There were only three people Lo'ak could be referring to now. Jake hoped it was Neteyam that Lo'ak spoke of, but a gut feeling told him it wouldn't be. Jake hummed; an encouragement for his son to continue.
"Around this time of year, I just can't help but think of Spider..."
Jake took a deep breath and threw another strap over the tsurak. The shell casings gleamed in the sun as it hit them; the sound of them clinking together was so familiar. He fastened the clasp and tested how many fingers he could slide under the strap to ensure he'd tightened it right. Lo'ak's tsurak was currently heavy with eggs, so her straps couldn't be tightened quite the same around the abdomen. The strap was worn down at its normal clasping point, but now it was secured far further down the line from the usual mark.
"It's still a while till the time when Spider... Disappeared," Jake mused, his voice careful at the last word.
"Died. You can just say died, dad," Lo'ak lifted his head, patting at his tsurak again in a soothing manner as she lowered herself deeper in the water, knowing from experience that her gear was all ready. They hadn’t prepared her enough that she'd be going to war, but enough for a longer swim.
So she was calm. But not that quiet, set calm that would come before battle, the peaceful kind that settled into your muscles as you awaited a good day to start.
Jake nods slowly. He wasn't sure when they'd all agreed that Spider had passed. Some part of him felt like they'd known a few days into the search, so many years ago now. Another part said it had never happened, that his children still held onto some shred of hope that their friend might be okay. But life on Pandora had never been meant for Spider, and Jake- as tragic as it was- knew better.
"Why now then?" Jake asks, he lays his hand gently on his son's shoulder, leaning in slightly so his concern is obvious. "I want to understand my son."
Lo'ak takes a breath and has to look away. He gets that pained scowl on his face. The same one he always gets when he feels something is his fault. Jake feels so guilty when he sees it. Lo'ak used to always look like that because Jake would treat him like the failure son. Sure, Lo'ak was reckless back then and made mistakes, but Jake had made it worse by treating Neteyam like he was perfect, while scolding Lo'ak for his faults.
Jake had created that look. And then he'd set it as a default expression on his son's face. Not anymore. Now it had been a while since he'd seen it- and he hated it being back for even just momentarily.
"We are around the time when the tulkun came in. When we met them for the first time," Lo'ak trailed off; his fingers following the pattern on his tsurak's skin, skipping over straps and attachments. "-life here had become... Not so bad. I was getting used to things. I made friends like Aonung and got closer to Tsireya. I was falling in love. Began to see a future. I got used to swimming and learned to fish as the Metkayina do. I was happier. I think we all were at that point."
Jake nods. He agreed. The tulkun had been a sort of turning point. Even Neytiri, unwilling to spend more than the bare minimum amount of time in the water, had loved the tulkun. Their family had felt more stable then. They'd found a direction that they could live with.
"But you know what I wasn't doing? I wasn't thinking about Spider," Lo'ak spat out. He said the boy's name in such a bizarre way. Angry at the world, but so sweet at the thought of the boy. Jake had never been sure if Lo'ak truly grieved Spider, or if he simply missed him so much that he ached. Lo'aks' lip quivered, and his brows set down in determination.
"You shouldn't beat yourself up about it, son. None of us were."
"That's the problem! I can't forgive myself for it. All of us were so willing- so ready to just forget about him. But can you truly say that we've been happy since he's been gone?" Lo'ak waited for a reply. His father's breaths stayed steady and sure, but he received no answer.
"You also lost a brother, Lo'ak. Of course, things aren't the same." How Lo'ak hated his father's gentle tone. Meant to reassure, but only causing the opposite. How could his father See so much, and nothing at the same time?
Lo'ak let out a humorless laugh and slid his hands off of his bonded tsurak. Her skin was clammy, and she let out a thrill at the loss of affection. "We didn't lose a brother. We lost two," Lo'ak blinks tears away. They sting in his eye and blur up his vision. The water lapping against him is cool, and he focuses on the sensation of it. The life he's learned to feel within. How connected he can feel to the Great Mother by simply standing in water; just like Kiri had taught him when he was at his lowest.
Jake tilted his head, a slow sigh leaving. Of course, he knew. But calling Spider his children's brother somehow still felt wrong. Like a slight on Neteyam's name and something darker in Jake's own head that could not be spoken of.
"Not that it matters. We didn't treat him like one." Lo'ak's voice is like a quietly splintering glass.
Jake had known the boy's disappearance was a hard hit on them all, but clearly, trying to simply move on had been the wrong choice. Lo'ak had stewed with his painful emotions far too long without direct aid. They had spoken of him. Of what had happened. Gathered together as a family. Had a symbolic funeral in the form of a dinner where they didn't speak a single thing, simply held the memory of the boy close, and then let it go. But it seemed Lo'ak had clung on far tighter than Jake had known. "Spider loved you, Lo'ak," Jake says at the end of his pondering, his voice once again careful.
"Yeah, I know that. That makes it worse," Lo'ak bit his lip, a rather skypeople-like action that Jake couldn't remember ever seeing before. "We were happy before him, during him, without him. But I don't think we can be happy after him."
"Don't be silly. We are happy."
"We are surviving, Dad." Lo'ak placed his hand on his father's arm, slightly yanking as if that would get his point across: "Life has returned as close to normal as it can without Neteyam and Spider, but until I know what happened, there is no peace within me. No existence in which my mind can rest."
"Oh, my son," Jake pulled his son closer and pressed their foreheads together. "I have not seen how deep your suffering still goes. But I do See you," He keeps his voice sure and strong. He hopes the sincerity of his heart comes across. Jake lifts his other hand to grasp Lo'aks' other shoulder and presses on it slightly. "Again, I have to apologize to you as a father. Maybe I'll never get to stop."
Lo'ak shakes his head. It feels weird with their foreheads together like this. The water is still there between them, but it only makes him feel closer to his father. "I just- If The Great Mother would just tell me what happened to him."
Jake leans back and looks around quickly. No one is close by, and they are alone. He feels safer this way. Just the sea, his son, and Huou. "On earth-"
"I don't wanna hear about Earth," Lo'ak says in a vexed manner. Irritated by the change of direction in the conversation.
"On earth,” Jake continues without care: “-there is a saying: 'the worst part is the not knowing,' it's about how losing someone is not as bad as someone simply disappearing. Because if they leave you or they pass away, you can grieve and then gain closure. Your life can continue on. But when someone you love goes missing, you are left eternally worrying and wondering what happened to them. Are they safe? Are they happy? Have they been taken? Did they die? Do they think of me? Did they need saving? Am I living my life happily while they suffer? Did I drive them away..." Jake remembers being in the Navy. How his brother Tom would speak about it whenever he'd come back home. How each day was a type of torture, wondering if Jake had been shot dead, and a quick goodbye at the door, as he was rush deployed, would be their last farewell.
He can also remember the parents of Laura McBeiley, who'd vanished on her way to school. How, even eight years later, they were putting up posters of her face, trying to find her. How her father had turned to alcohol, and her mother simply lost herself as well. When Laura's body was found, it was a relief. A miracle in its own right, such an age later. It had been the boyfriend. The parents had been right all along, and the boy had lived next door and watched their pain for all those years. Great tragedies are still horrendous once they find their ending. But the ones left unsolved, those ones caused the most prolonged suffering.
People matter. Laura mattered. So did Spider.
"We should have saved him." This was not the plan. Jake was not supposed to say this, but the words just came out on their own: "When he was first taken by the RDA in the forest, I should have gone after them straight away. Maybe I could have saved your friend."
"Spider was family, not just a friend."
Jake closes his eyes slowly. He can’t look at his son now: "I can't say that. I can't call him your brother nor my son. If I do, I'll have to face what I've done- or rather what I didn't do for him." Cold, dark, miserable. All of it in a lockbox in the back of Jake's mind. A case with a bulletproof surface that no light can shine into. Something only Neytiri and Eywa have been allowed to see. Something his son can hear a fraction of now. His greatest shames.
Spider was nestled in there. Befitting of his chosen name, but not of his importance. Spider shouldn’t be some memory buried deep, the same way that Jake’s original betrayal of the Na’vi was. That had been a cruel, selfish act on his part. One that reflected his past skyperson-ness. But Spider was far better. Far more important. The memories of him should be pleasant, bright, beloved things. But Jake had tainted them black. And now they were out of reach. Each and every single one seeping out Jake’s self-hatred.
The disbelief at the fact that the boy had died.
Jake had seen Neteyam take his last breath and heard the horrid screams of his mate, and he’d promised himself: never again.
Had Spider even made it an hour? Two? How long had it taken for him to die after Neteyam?
Never again… Except when it came to Spider.
"I-" Lo'ak starts, but his voice doesn't continue the thought. How could he? He wants to scream and shout. Why admit these regrets now!? He feels so angry, but at the same time, he is no different. No better than his father . He didn't go save Spider either. Didn't fight hard enough for the Omatikaya to go after him. Didn't choose to protect his brother when no one else would. Rather, he ran away. And when they got Spider back, he went right back to ignoring his existence the exact same way he had been doing on Awa'atlu for months before.
He hadn’t noticed his own best friend’s death. Hadn’t realized he wasn’t around. How could that have come to pass?
“I know there is anger within you. Towards me, towards the world. Kiri says you are even angry at Eywa. But anger won’t release you from the pain you feel. It won’t bring back the joy Spider once gave you,” lulling, that was the only way Jake’s voice could be described now. “You won’t feel happy until you free yourself of the past.”
“I just-” Lo’aks’ shoulder slumped. He just wanted to lie down and sleep the day away. Maybe today was just a day doomed to fail.
“Armoirer!” A Metkayina speaks up from the nearest woven path. “You are needed.”
Jake’s head twists to look at who he perceived now as an intruder in his conversation with Lo’ak. “In a minute,” he called back, and scowled when the Metkayina simply chose to cross his arms and lean against the closest marui wall in wait.
“You should go, Dad,” Lo’ak says, his voice a bit high as he clears his throat in discomfort. He pulls back and grabs onto the reins of Huou. She is ready to go, and so is he as soon as he blinks away the stubborn tears of guilt that still wallow in his eyes. “Seriously, it’s no bother. I was pretty much done speaking anyway.”
“Son. I don’t want to leave the conversation unfinished,” Jake says as he waves for the man nearby to go away. Lo’ak took priority over any tasks he may have had as the armorer.
“I want to reach the Slärwion islands before nightfall. It’s much safer during light hours. If I don’t go soon, I will miss my window,” Lo’ak says, his voice stern and clear. He was a man, grown. He could make his own choices, and the one he was making now was only smart in consideration of his safety.
Jake blinks quickly and once again waves away the Metkayina, trying to hurry him up.
“Lo’ak. Just know that I love you and that you can talk to me about anything. I don’t want us to be like we were…” He grabs onto Lo’ak’s arm out of instinct when the boy hoists himself up on his mount. Lo’ak needs no help now, standing nearly as tall as Jake himself, but a father can’t help but offer aid even when it isn’t needed. “And please stay safe. Come home quickly.”
“I will. Say goodbye to Sa’nok and my sisters for me,” /mother/ Lo’ak requests and straightens up on his mount. He flips open a pouch on the side one more time to check that he had a bit of food and his favorite knife. He pressed on the leather water skin next to it to make sure he could feel it squelch with fresh water.
“Of course,” Jake promises. He reaches up to cradle the side of his son’s face quickly, not missing how Lo’ak presses against the affectionate gesture briefly.
He takes a few steps away to follow the man fetching him, sending him an annoyed glare for being pulled away from his family. He’d wanted to say a proper goodbye, but this was nearly as rushed as his farewells had been to his brother on earth.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?” Jake grunts as he hoists himself up on the woven path above. He turns to his son as the water drips down his body. By instinct, his hands reach out to squeeze water out of his dreads.
“Ronal says that it’s abnormal that the tulkun haven’t returned yet. That they haven’t stayed away for this long in decades,” Lo’ak’s voice is unsure, but he trodges on. “I thought it was because the seas were so unsafe for a while. But we haven’t had a proper battle in over a year now. And they still aren’t back.”
“Well-”
“I think they’re punishing us by staying away.”
Notes:
Chapter two <3 If you found anything confusing about the setting/timeline of this story, please ask away, and I'd be happy to clarify. All of it will become clear later on, but if you have difficulty enjoying the story due to it you can always ask <3
Please remember that, unless otherwise stated, all my Avatar stories are separate, and unless certain details are repeated here specifically, then nothing happening in the other stories is canon here.
-𝑇𝑜𝑓𝑓
Chapter Text
Lo’ak smiled as he woke up that morning. He could hear the susyangyayo flapping their leathery wings outside of his marui, no doubt emerging from their nests in the cave walls as the day began.
He loved waking up to the sounds of life like this. Early so that the creatures began their day alongside him with no people around to create unnecessary noise.
He yawned, a habit he’d had from childhood, and pushed his arms straight above his head before arching his back. His back gave a quick pop, and his neck ached from the poor choice of positioning he’d had all night long.
Lo'ak tightened his armband and adorned himself with his jewelry. Most of it was made by his beloved Tsireya. All of it different shades of brown like Neteyams had been. And he’d not had to even ask. She made him feel so Seen, so understood.
As much as he could appreciate the time alone, he missed her completely. Even more than he did his sisters.
Without Tsireya, nothing felt like home. He missed her laughter as they greeted each other in the morning. She made him feel at home, like eventually, a long time from now, all would be well. She was so patient with his healing, not pushing or prodding, simply waiting by his side for his mind to settle and clear itself. She didn’t mind the weight of Spider or Neteyam at his back, rather choosing to bear some of the burden herself alongside him.
Since being with her a lot had changed about Lo’ak. He was serious about his future, focusing his energy on becoming a better, more reliable man. He took being a Metkayina more seriously, losing his Omatikaya traits slowly over time in favor of the traditions of the sea clan. He even had Metkayina braids!
By now, they were a mess. A lot of work went into maintaining them, and despite his efforts, Lo'ak had never gotten the hang of redoing them. On date nights, Tsireya would fix them up. It was one of Lo’aks’ favorite ways to spend time with her. She’d take her time, humming a tune while she undid and rebraided his hair.
His hair was completely designed by her.
He no longer had both sides of his head shaven clean, only a shorter cut on the left side with a shaven-in wave pattern. His omatikaya braids, loosely tied back against his queue, were replaced with tinier braids that ran tight along the scalp. Seamlessly attaching to his queue to protect it without the need for any bands or ties.
In a few weeks Lo’ak would leave Slärwion to go home and be by Tsireya’s side again. He had no doubt she’d give him a look and drag him off to fix his hair straight away. He couldn’t wait. Not just because the braids were feeling tighter and tighter along his scalp, but also because it meant seeing her again.
Hopping down from his marui, Lo’ak’s feet hit cold stone. The sun rays were beginning to peek from the horizon, the yellow rays of the light creeping across the ocean surface and illuminating the floor of this intricate cave system.
Lo’ak walked to the edge of the ocean, kneeling down by the water to wash his face. The sun was so bright that even the water in his cupped hands was bright yellow. Within the hour, the light would begin to stream in from the holes of the cave walls and ceilings and wake up the whole village. Till then, Lo’ak could get a head start.
He marveled at the wonder that was the Slärwion island. The whole thing, maruis, ilu pens, and fisheries were all inside a cave structure, like a cracked eggshell with thicker parts that housed long caves and tunnels. It acted as a dome above the whole village, letting light through long holes that the susyangyayo nested in. It kept away harsher winds and colder weather, but came at the price of easy flooding.
The maruis were built around the cave structures, anchored along the cracks of the walls. They had narrower, longer roofs that prevented cold water from trickling in along the cave. In Awa’atlu, the marui were built around the roots of mangrove trees, right above the water, so the people could jump right into the ocean from their homes, here, only a few marui reached the sea, and the rest had the sand of the cavesystem below them.
The susyangyayo created beautiful pink and purple blurs along the cave roofs, flying in their small family colonies from one nest to another, sometimes flying down for the fruit that the villagers would leave out for them.
Lo’ak himself wasn't much for breakfast, so he opted to go straight to the tsuraks once he’d enjoyed the quiet of the morning long enough. Since the area around this village was a bit more active, the tsuraks were kept in pens even overnight. The northern side of the village was infested with akulas since it was breeding season, and the southern side had a few too many RDA sightings for the tribe’s comfort.
Lo’ak hadn’t known it before his arrival, but these people had been one of the tribes the RDA had attacked. That was probably why the RDA lingered around like leeches here when they’d dissipated from the majority of the reefs already. They’d scared this tribe with their threats, and now the people here steered clear of the skypeople, forced to turn a blind eye to their actions in favor of survival.
That’s why Lo’ak was here now. He would train their tsuraks to stay calm around guns so this tribe could finally pick up arms and face their fears. Drive the enemy out of their waters.
Lo’ak paused on the sand, looking at the spot he knew Spider had stood in. A week into staying here, he’d overheard two teenagers speaking of a skyperson boy no older than themselves.
For a moment, it had felt like Lo’ak was choking. Something stuck in his throat, like an air bubble that wanted to come out as a horrified or relieved shout. “Was the skyperson boy still here? Did he live in the village? When had they last seen him?” In his rush, he’d grasped onto one of the boys, demanding answers in English like an idiot.
But no. Spider had been here years ago, begging for the lives of these people while his father's men burned the maruis down.
Of course, he had.
Holding back the small, disappointed laugh had been an impossibility. His chuckle had quickly developed into a sob. He’d been miserable. The first real sighting of Spider since he disappeared, only for it to be just a piece of the boy’s past. A story told among this tribe about the singular skyperson they’d ever witnessed advocating for them. As if Spider would ever do otherwise.
Where he stood now was where the two boys had brought him. Happily recreating the scene to the best of their imaginations, running around to play the different parts of what had now turned into a folk tale. They’d spoken gibberish in place of English, not knowing a word of it. They pretended to be who Lo’ak guessed to be Quaritch, by standing on their tiptoes and yelling loudly to come across as someone strong and dangerous.
They imitated guns with sticks and made swooshing sounds as they acted out the soldiers burning down the marui with flamethrowers.
And Spider… The younger of the two boys took his part, looking very much distressed and worried for the people, apologising profusely in a hurt, agitated tone, while the other boy pretended to drag him away.
Just… dragged him away…
The sand under his feet was cool from the previous night. He could imagine Spider standing in it still, asking a beast to spare the people here, uncaring that the sand was cold or the grip on his arm was too tight; more concerned over the fates of the many.
Lo’ak couldn’t help but wonder how Spider must have felt in this village. Forced into the servitude of that monster. Wanting to get back to his friends, to the forest, to his freedom, but unable to do so. How he must have yearned for rescue. Needing someone to talk to so badly. To get all the bad thoughts out. Only to have no one listen, and die so suddenly without any closure or comfort.
He’d just been freed. And he hadn’t gotten to enjoy even a day.
Since Neteyam and Spider’s deaths, Lo’ak hadn’t returned to that stone on the Three Brothers’ rocks. Hadn’t felt its slippery surface then, only choosing to stare at it from afar as waves lipped at it, and parted to avoid it. Here, however, he could place his feet where Spider had been, could feel the same sand, could imagine his fear.
It was so much more visceral now…
Slärwion was the third village Lo’ak had gone to help out with their tsuraks. While the need for ridable mounts that tolerated gunfire had been very much needed in the first few years after Neteyam’s death, it wasn’t a priority any longer. The RDA, for the most part, had backed away from the oceans, even fully retreating to land for the last six months. Awa’atlu was safer than it had been for years now, and only weak links like Slärwion were still suffering from the presence of skypeople. It seemed like they simply wanted to keep some level of oceanic control, even if it was over just one or two little islands.
Lo’ak wouldn’t have it. He was determined to chase the skypeople away for good, and training these tsuraks was the first step to doing so.
“Morning, my little tsukarems,” Lo’ak said and smiled as he hopped down into the water over the tsurak pen. The pups surrounded him as always, knowing he was carrying the morning fish in a basket for them. When he’d arrived, the pups had still been so small the parents had to chew the fish for them and then spit it out into the water where the pups would argue over chunks. /my own word for an affectionate way to refer to baby tsuraks/
But tsuraks grew fast for the first couple of months before slowing down, so now Lo’ak could feed the pups directly.
When the pups were fed, Lo’ak moved over to a basket of larger fish, throwing them as far as he could into the pen, watching as the adult tsuraks would fling back their neck to catch the fish from the air. It was an awkward movement that Lo’ak could not imagine feeling too good.
Tsuraks were built for catching flying creatures as meals as well, but that was always while gliding and in high speeds. Not in too small a pen with no chance to accelerate.
The Metkayina of Slärwion didn’t choose to feed them so. They were forced into it by the threat of the skypeople. Tsuraks were naturally ambush predators despite being amphibious fish. In Awa’atlu, the adult tsuraks would take a deep breath and then fold in their wings so they could dive and move like sea snakes underwater. They’d settle down somewhere by a rock and simply wait for prey to pass by. When the air from their lungs would deplete, they’d use their gills to filter oxygen from the seawater so they could continue waiting for prey without needing to return to the surface for air.
But it was hard to monitor them like so. They blended in underwater and stayed so still. Easy prey for skypeople with harpoon guns to simply shoot at a heat signature and drag them up to their boats.
No living creature on Pandora was safe while the skypeople stayed. Their presence affected even the smallest of daily tasks, like feeding their mounts.
Freedom for the seapeople was so close, so close Lo’ak felt he could touch it. Maybe that’s why he’d been so dead set on working far longer into the night than normal, giving up his own sleep in favor of progress.
Wading through the water, Lo’ak gathered up the pups into a side pen and secured the gate with twine to lock them in. The pups tended to be especially playful and got terribly in the way when doing- well anything really. They were cute with their lighter coloring, eyes too large for their current skull size, and teeny tiny fins that were more fit for swimming in their parents’ water drag than on their own.
“I will play with you later,” Lo’ak promised and got to it. In the morning he always started with Reík, the tsurak of the Slärwion Metkayina olo’eyktan. He was the largest in the pod and at the top of their personal ‘pecking order’ as his father would say.
Reìk was not easy to work with. He wouldn’t allow Lo’ak or anyone other than Ekìhun, his bonded rider, on his back. So Lo’ak would stand by him in the water, hold onto his reins, and modify everything he’d normally do to work just with him standing by his side and not sitting on his back.
It worked, but it took longer. The fastest way to work with the tsurak would be to make tsaheylu with them during training, but ilu and pa’li are communal tseheyly makers. Tsurak and ikran only bond with one.
So Lo’ak took the long route-
“Tsurak’eyktan!”
Lo’ak hated that name. It was a moniker given to him by the Metkayina, and in a way, he could appreciate how grateful they were, but it felt wrong to be called something so official. ‘Tsurak leader’ when he isn’t even a born Metkayina. There were so many people on just this island who knew more about the mounts than he did.
The only reason he knew how to tame them to guns was because he understood these weapons. He was secure and sure with them, knew how skypeople move and shoot and behave. He understood the fear of guns, but could still wield one without worry.
He has confidence and determination. Or in a less nice way Kiri always said he was too stubborn to give up and thought too much of himself. She was probably right, but he’d never tell her that.
The Metkayina also had their culture of not forcing living beings to do things they don’t want to, so they wouldn’t train the tsuraks so. Lo’ak had no such reservations.
“Tsurak’eyktan!” The voice repeated and Lo’ak had to crane his neck to look over to the approaching villager.
“What is it, Txonto?” Lo’ak tilted his head and let go of Reìk knowing his training was over for now.
Txonto was running over looked unsure and afraid, leaping in large strides over rocks and boulders.
Lo’ak’s hands are suddenly clammy, his heartbeat picking up just because of the look on the man’s face. Eyes wild and eyebrows raised. A picture of concern. A face like that was never bringing good news.
“The skypeople ship is making strange sounds under the water. It’s pushing all the creatures of the sea away,” The man spoke with urgency, moving his arms quickly to gesture for Lo’ak to hurry to the Olo’eyktan for a plan.
“Sonar? Why would they be-” his brain slows to a halt, knowing what the answer to his question is before he can even ask it. “Are there tulkun in the water?” He asked, his breath hitching, thinking of Payakan that was staying near the island for Lo’ak.
“Yes! We had a tulkun pod of our brothers and sister’s approaching, they seem to be turning away now, driven by the sound.” Txonto was already turning away, looking back at Lo’ak to rush him: “Come, come, all warriors are needed.”
Lo’ak rushed out of the pen, jumping over the fence to place his feet onto the sand of the beach. He landed with such force the sand flew everywhere sticking onto his wet body like a splashed pattern.
He grabbed a spear that had been left against a rock close by. It wasn’t meant for fighting- a fishing spear as it was, but anything sharp could kill a skyperson in a pinch.
“If any of the tulkun have young with them they will target the mother,” Lo’ak said, knowing the man most likely already knew this. All Metkayina had been informed of the tulkun hunting after the battle at Three Brother’s rock, and within a year afterwards almost every single Metkayina tribe had sent word to Tonowari of the skypeople trying to hunt their tulkun. There had been no choice, but to learn.
“We know, but tulkun hunting has not happened near us since the very beginning. The skypeople near us do research, not hunting. We are unprepared. The warriors can’t go underwater and the ilu won’t dive. The sounds are hurting them,” Txonto’s voice wavers and cracks at the last words. His hand lands on Lo’ak’s upper back to guide him as they weave through maruis with great urgency.
People were running rampant, warriors picking up arms and rushing to the same direction. Children were being boarded up in their marui with worried elders giving them guidance and reassurance amidst the chaos.
Lo’ak grabs hold of a few warriors he recognizes and requests both a better spear and bow and arrow. They get thrust into his hands and he strikes the fishing spear into the ground in wait.
Trudging forward Lo’ak weaves through the people until he can see the Olo’eyktan. “The Olo’eyktan is there, I must fetch my weapon and fight beside my mate.” Txonto says, gripping Lo’ak’s arm momentarily before nodding and dissipating into the crowd.
The Olo’eyktan of the Slärwion tribe of the Metkayina wears bright green leaves across his waist and chest. It makes him easy to spot and recognize among his people. He stands on a tall rock right at the edge of the water, pointing and giving orders both by yelling and signing. Two flowing conversations at the same time one to instruct his warriors and the other to reassure those who would stay on land to look after the children.
The Tsahìk is closeby, lower on the same rock to lead the people bringing in weapons and medical supplies to have on hand. She looks far more settled than he does, her gaze strict and certain, ready for anything that might be coming.
“Olo’eyktan, oel ngati kameie,” Lo’ak says quickly, the man replying to him with the same. “What is the situation?”
“The tulkun are closeby, no more than a thirty minute swim. We have warriors almost fully ready, but… They don’t do as well in battle when they have to stay fully above the water,” the Olo’eyktan speaks with a clear voice, with aditation crinkling in through the sentence. Someone hands the man his spear and he touched the tip quickly, assessing its sharpness.
“How many ships are on the hunt?”
“Five. Peyot, you are too young to fight, go with the children!” The Olo’eyktan roughly yells out, pushing aside a warrior rushing to him in order to focus his gaze on his only child.
“Father, I am ready for combat, I am only a few months away from my Iknimaya!” /coming of age ceremony/ The girl argues back. Lo’ak has a hard time spotting her from the crowd at first until his eyes land on a young face covered in warpaint. The girl looks ready for war, her spear in hand, and a neat row of bones across her chest and arms for protection.
That doesn’t change the fact that her face is soft and her build slim. She may have dressed for war, but she is clearly too young for it. Just like he himself had been. Just like Neteyam was…
“I do not care. You are the future of this village. It is your duty to your people to take over being Olo’ayktan should something happen to me,” The Olo’eyktan’s voice is stern, and his eyes hard. There was no argument to be made against him now. “Go with the children, protect them for they will need you if things go wrong.”
The daughter swallowed, her eyes flashed quickly back towards the marui and then skirted over the many warriors on the beach, all older than her, all mentally more prepared. It seemed a father knew what his daughter needed to hear.
“I will not let you down. The children will be safe with me,” the girl nods as she speaks with conviction. She hands her spear off to a warrior in wait to receive a weapon from the Tsahìk, before rushing off back into the core of the village. Lo’ak spots her yanking a blade from her belt, ready for an attack should one occur.
The Olo’eyktan’s eyes travel on his daughter for as long as the girl is in sight. Then he releases a breath in a quick, harsh exhale. “And the tsuraks, are they ready?” The man asks as he turns back to Lo’ak. His eyes a cold blue behind especially long eyelashes. His tail snaps in the air and drags across the rock as he lowers it.
Lo’ak shakes his head: “No, they might be a bit less jumpy, but they need more time.” He knows there is no time and wishes he could have arrived here earlier.
The ocean seems to be preparing for a storm. The waves start hitting the rock they stand on in harsher hits, spraying the people around it. The white froth gets to barely recede as a new wave comes in.
A calm morning, turned into a thunderous start for something.
“Then we need to use the ilu. If they panic they won’t cause as much harm.”
Lo’ak stays silent at the proclamation. Something inside him churns, but it feels different from the regular nerves before a fight. This is deeper, an unsettling feeling that claws its way up his throat and settles there in wait.
His eyes glide across the surface of the sea for as far as he can see. The average ilu only swims at the speed of 32 knots. A tsurak can go 50 knots. They’ll be slowed down, and on weaker mounts. And the ilu can’t fight back, the tsurak can. If they get the chance to instead of panicking away.
And if the ilu spook they will surely dive which will leave the warriors incapacitated by the sonar. The tsuraks with some luck might stay above water even if afraid.
The risk is still there, but not as great.
Going into a fight with them would undo all the work Lo’ak had managed so far, but all of that confidence and trust can be built back up…
His mind speeds off with ideas and worries.
“We are taking the ilu into the fight?” The Tsahìk speaks up, walking up the rock to approach them.
“The tsurak are not ready.”
“No one here is,” Lo’ak mutters, refusing to tear his eyes away from the horizon.
The Tsahìk angrily hisses his way, stepping closer in her anger: “We may not have had to face the demons so far, but now as they threaten our spirit siblings we will face them head on. We will be the ones to fight in their stead. We are ready.”
Lo’ak shakes his head: “None of you are ready… But maybe you don’t have to be.”
The Tsahìk and Olo’eyktan share a look, Lo’ak’s eyes narrow as he steps back towards the two.
“How many warriors do you have in the tribe?” He asks, a plan forming in his head as he speaks.
“No more than 36,” The Olo’eyktan says.
“37,” The Tsahìk corrects. “Haììtana finished her Iknimaya a week ago.” /coming of age ceremony/
“And how many in the tribe? Not counting children and the elderly.”
The Tsahìk lifts her hand in the air sharply, signing for her people to stop. They come to a still like a paused video on a holopad, turning their gaze to them and awaiting new orders.
“There are 72 of us.”
Lo’ak nods. “One tulkun hunting ship carries five skypeople on it. And if there are only five ships on the move, that makes twenty-five of them against 73 of us.”
The Tsahìk hisses again: “We are not taking our untrained people to be slaughtered out there. These people are not warriors, they’ve never seen a fight!” She moves to place her hand onto Lo’ak’s arm. “When I called for you to be brought here I thought you would help us. The son of the once great Toruk Makto; disgraced as Tsyeyk Suli may now be.” /jake/ She spits to the ground next to her feet: “But to hear you so willing to get our people killed-”
“There won’t be a fight,” Lo’ak quickly promises. He searches for her eyes, looking at her with promise. He has a plan. It will work because it has to.
“What do you mean?” The Olo’eyktan asks.
“The hunting ships used to stay close to the main vessel. They don’t anymore. They go off on their own to hunt the tulkun because they are fast, and then the main vessel comes over once they have the coordinates for the carcass.” The Tsahìk hisses at a dead tulkun being spoken of so carelessly.
She begins to pace, her tail flailing around as her people close in to hear better. Not much gets their Tsahìk so upset, and curiosity spreads.
Lo’ak can practically taste the anticipation as much as he can taste the salty sea air. His lungs fill and clench with each breath.
“If we take the tsurak and intercept the hunting ships before they can separate the mother and her calf too far from the pod, we can create space between them, slow the ships down by forcing ourselves in between it and the tulkun. And then we lead the tulkun to Awa’atlu.”
“To Awa’atlu?” The Olo’eyktan says in confusion, watching his mate rather than Lo’ak when she abruptly stops and her ears perk up. “Why there? We would be leaving our home unprotected. And we’d be too far from the children to make it back in case of an attack on them.”
The Tsahìk takes a breath through her nose, her eyes slowly closing as she spreads her feet a little, taking a steady stance to anchor herself to the ground- no doubt to feel closer to the Great Mother. “We send the children the shortest route to Tonowari and Ronal. Our daughter will lead the way, and our elders will keep an eye on the young,” the Tsahìk speaks with conviction. Her hands curl into fists, no doubt hating the idea of sending her daughter off such a long way without them. But all teenagers have to grow up at some point, and today would begin Peyot’s journey to becoming an adult.
The Tsahìk was losing her little girl, and she’d not even be there to witness it.
Lo’ak nods: “That would be the best course of action. Peyot, the children, and the eldest will reach Awa’atlu at nightfall. We will follow suit some hours later. We’ll be slowed by the calf and the work of guiding her and her mother back to her pod. But as soon as we are close enough, the hunting ships won’t dare approach Awa’atlu with just five ships, and the skypeople don’t have enough boats on water to make an attack on Awa’atlu even if they got the warning to begin preparations for a war.”
It is silentfor a moment, then a slow murmur starts from the villagers listening in.
“You want us to abandon our island, our home,” the Olo’eyktan confirms in disbelief. “There is no certainty they won’t just shoot us as soon as we approach the hunting ships.”
“I want you to save your people,” Lo’ak’s voice is desperate suddenly, his calm having dissipated the second he heard the shock in the other man’s voice. The face of Neteyam before his eyes went empty, flashes in his mind. “Over seventy Na’vi on tsuraks will seem overwhelming to them. If we don’t attack them first, they won’t dare open fire on us when we outnumber them three to one.”
“Your plan is based on guesses!” The Olo’eyktan seethes as he steps closer, but his mate’s hand lands on his chest.
“It will work,” she says; her voice as dead as her eyes now. The animosity dissipates from the Olo’eyktan. Her people become restless around them, the stomping of feet softened by the sand. “It will work.”
Notes:
Ty to my wonderful beta reader AGreenwoodElfmaid for proofreading this <3
Chapter 4: Rescue
Chapter Text
A calm settled into Lo’ak’s very bones as he whistled Huou over. She was the only tsurak not kept in a pen here. Lo’ak hadn’t had the heart to lock her up and trusted her to know the signs of danger.
She swam over with a loud thrill in response to his call. His fingers reach as far as they can to greet her once she is close enough. He guides her in front of him, making tsaheylu so she could See his will better.
He pats her sides, soothing over her fins the way she likes.
He turns to face the beach. The Slärwion Metkayina, nearly all seventy of them, stand in the water with their bonded tsuraks. The ones who only swim with ilu stand off to the side, grabbing weapons from baskets.
“Now listen and learn. What you’ve been handed is gear from Tsyeyk Suli. As you know, he is the armorer for Awa’atlu, and the only Na’vi who currently makes modified gear for tsuraks. Most of it is simple and based on the regular tsurak saddle. I see many of you have already set up some of it, but the gun-specific gear is important to go over before we leave.” Lo’ak does his best to use his ‘teaching’ voice.
He can’t help but think that he sounds like his father. Deeper and steadier, like he knows exactly what he’s talking about and has zero doubt within himself. Like a true warrior.
“But we don’t even know how to use the guns safely,” a woman softly says from nearby. She’d been one of the fastest to fetch her tsurak when called. Her face is set into a determined gaze, and Lo’ak knows she isn’t questioning him; she just wants to be prepared.
The tribe mumbles in agreement as they shift nervously in the water. Many of them were eager to not waste time and to simply charge in, it had taken the Tsahìk and Olo’eyktan both to subdue them into obedience.
Lo’ak nods: “I know. That’s why we need to do this right. The point is not to fight; it's to appear like we can attack and win, if we so choose to. We are trying to intimidate with deception.” He speaks loudly, his voice echoing back from the cave walls just beyond the beach. “You need to all look like you can use these guns. You need to look like you have endless bullets and unstoppable firepower. So every cartridge holder has to be attached correctly. Every gun needs to be in its own holster, and every last bullet pouch needs to be full.”
He takes a moment in wait. Allowing his gaze to slide over the people.
“We aim to fool them, so every detail has to be just perfect…” Lo’ak stops his eyes on the woman who had spoken before. She nods tightly, her reservations gone.
In the corner of his eye, Lo’ak can see Peyot rushing her people along and into the water from the beach. The children are gathered on the backs of ilu’s with the elders. He can’t hear Peyot’s voice all the way here, but he can see her quick movements, and her hair tossing about as she signs for her people to move faster.
They are escaping the island.
It’s a rare sight to see, to witness a future Olo’eyktan’s first act of bravery and trial for her people. But Peyot looks ready as the last of her people mounts their ilu and begins to move forward. She looks back at her island once more, a distinct pause in her movements- a goodbye. Then she dives and rushes forward to be at the front of the group with her spear in hand.
Lo’ak watches as Payakan emerges from under the waves and takes watch from the back of the group. He would help Peyot protect the children of this village on their journey to Awa’atlu.
He isn’t the only one who sees them disappear.
“Now!” he shouts to regain the People’s attention. “Follow along to my instructions. Help each other if someone is struggling, and the second we are all set, we leave. We have no time to waste, and we have to be perfect to fool the skypeople.”
The Slärwion Metkayina are the most dedicated learners Lo’ak has ever had. They are, of course, under the threat of one of their spirit sisters getting killed, so the pressure makes them work fast. They guide each other and offer aid without asking, keeping their eyes on Lo’ak and even arranging themselves in ways that the tallest were in the back so everyone could see. The younger warriors especially seem to be a tight-knit group amongst themselves, all moving in sync to be efficient.
The ilu riders begin handing out the guns the second Lo’ak is done, showing how the holsters are attached. Lo’ak holds his breath as the tsuraks get uneasy, beginning to thrill and require comforting from their bonded riders.
Those who hadn’t yet begun tsaheylu, and soothed their mounts as they accepted the guns they were handed. These had all been collected from the sea, flung overboard during fights or carried by the currents. Some of them show visible signs of being underwater too long, and Lo’ak sends a quick prayer to the Great Mother that the skypeople won’t notice.
When Lo’ak is handed a gun, he shows how to turn the safety on and off. How to press the trigger if absolutely necessary. He reiterated that their mounts aren’t ready for a gun fight. If they fire, there is a heavy chance their tsuraks will flee or dive underwater and get incapacitated by the sonar.
“I will not lie to you. You are all taking a great risk by going along with my plan. There is no safety net. I can’t even guarantee that your guns work if worse comes to worst,” Lo’ak speaks with grievance. His emotions are wrapping around his throat as he speaks.
All of these people’s lives were in his hands. It was his plan, and it was a terrible one, but it was all they had.
Lo’ak sees the final SMG slip into someone’s holster. The tsuraks seem overly aware of the weapons strapped to them.
The Tsahìk holds his gaze and slowly, with somber movement, she nods her head.
“But to give us a chance, we need to be a united front. You can’t show any hesitation. Keep your hands on your guns, look prepared. Stern faces everyone,” his voice trails off as he mounts Huou.
The Olo’eyktan moves to the front on Reìk, his back straight and his voice certain: “In all my years of Olo’eyktan, I have never had to lead you to war.” He begins.
Something swells in Lo’ak’s chest.
“Now I see that I should have. We have allowed these intruders in our beloved ocean for too long. We’ve allowed them to make our children afraid. We’ve allowed them to restrict our freedom, our tsuraks' freedom, and to keep the tulkun away from us. No more!” The People cheer loudly, grabbing the weapons they were comfortable with, spears in the air, knives pointed up in unison.
Something blazes in the eye of the Tsahìk as she leans forward on her tsurak, ready to order it forwards, practically vibrating in her eagerness.
“Do not think of the home you are leaving behind. Think of what we are trying to claim back. Our spirit siblings need us now, and as they call, we answer!” The Olo’eyktan’s voice is mighty, but in the end, as they charge forward, even his voice is drowned by the war shouts of the people.
The ones without their own tsuraks hop on with those who will take them, and for the first time in nearly a century, the Slärwion island is empty.
Lo’ak could remember every instance that his father had spoken about the quiet before a battle. Of how the leader would make their speech to rally the troops, and then, as the shouts died out, a moment would come in which they all simply move in silence, ready to die fighting.
His father had never spoken of how the silence gets filled with the sound of your heartbeat, and thoughts of every regret in your life.
All that Lo’ak can hear is the chanting of Spider’s name.
Spider, Spider, Spider, Spider…
Like the whisper of wind in the trees.
Spider had spoken for these people. He’d begged for their lives in front of that monster. Had pleaded and made their case for them when the Na’vi themselves couldn’t.
Had thrown himself in front of the Olo’eyktan and the Tsahìk to buy himself time to beg even more.
The monster had listened, and Spider had saved the lives of these people. Now, as they were threatened again, Lo’ak would finish Spider’s task. He’d die protecting them if he had to. Because Spider would have done the same. Because if he did die, he’d die for his brother. For what Spider had believed in. And Lo’ak couldn’t help but think that that was a good way to go.
Lo’ak rode at the front, the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk not far behind him. This was his plan, so he intended to take on the biggest risk, no matter how against tradition it may be.
There is fog over the water now, but he can hear engines ahead. Small waves left by the skypeople ships lap at his tsurak’s tail.
He feels like a hunter, tracking down a much larger prey item.
When they are close enough to hear the skypeople laughing on the boats, Lo’ak lifts up his hand to slow down the people behind him.
The fog gives them great cover, and Lo’ak intends to abuse it.
“She's slowing down, boys!” Someone shouts from ahead.
“We musta knocked the wind outta her.”
The sudden groan of a tulkun above water and a splashing sound gives them the first sign of her.
Lo’ak hears the Tsahìk hiss behind him, and the people’s restlessness turns to anger.
The tulkun screams, a deep sound that carries over the waters ahead.
“We’re getting too close to the tribe, we gotta end her journey here,” one of the men calls out, only to be responded to with unhappy groans from the crew. “We don’t know how much we can get away with before they retaliate.”
Lo’ak separates from the group, hearing the boat’s engine cut back as the boats slow down. He allows his tsurak to lower halfway into the water so he can have more cover. The second he’s close enough, he grabs onto the back of the boat and swings his knife to cut through a spool of wire in the back.
It flings forward with a sharp snap and deadly speed, ripping through the boat. The boat lurches on the water as the strength of the tension from the wire disappears, and Lo’ak has to let go to not end up in the water.
“Fuck was that?!” Someone from the boat shouts, and Lo’ak hears another whipping sound and then glass breaking. The boat yanks forward again, the front lifting up and slamming down on the waves as the tulkun yells out.
“Man overboard!”
Lo’ak’s head whips around, translating the men’s words from English to Na’vi with sign language, and suddenly the whole tribe is gazing into the water.
A head emerges with gasps from behind Lo’ak, arms flailing to swim him to the surface.
He barely has the time to look at the human before the Tsahìk strikes out and grasps the man by the hair, yanking him up into the air, and cutting his neck with deadly precision to silence him. Her blade is just a gleam in the fog before it is covered in dripping crimson.
She throws him back into the water without care, like ridding herself of the peels of a fruit. He would not get to warn the skypeople of their arrival.
Lo’ak gives the woman a nod and signs for the tribe to slowly spread up around the boat.
Flashlights turn on, pointing into the fog in search of the lost man. The sound of the engines disappears, and the boat is left going forwards only by the pull of the mother tulkun at the front.
Her cries are gut-wrenching. Without the engines, even her distressed calf can be heard, and the sound of her tail and fins trying to desperately escape her captors.
The sound of the sound cannons leaves an electric whumming sound in the air, no doubt still pointed at the tulkun’s head crest to keep her confused and moving.
The warriors all around Lo’ak spread out, and the blood thirst on the Tsahìk’s face leaves his skin crawling.
“Do ya see anythin’?”
“Nah, the cow is pulling us too fast away from him.”
“Do we go back?”
“For one man? Fuck no!”
“This damn fog…”
One of the flashlight beams slides over Lo’ak, and he ducks down against his tsurak to avoid detection.
The Olo’eyktan signs to him, and together their tsuraks swim forwards. The Na’vi emerge from the fog slowly, as the skypeople are distracted. They appear like ghosts around the boats, surrounding the whalers as much as they can.
Lo’ak takes the left side of the main boat, and the Olo’eyktan the right. They have their hands on their guns as a warning. Fingers gripping onto triggers and eyes cold, an unspoken warning.
Lo’ak can hear the Na’vi hissing behind him, baring their fangs and snapping at the air.
Lo’ak’s eyes were already searching for whoever might be in charge.
The two boats on the sides that aim the sound cannons turn them off. The muzzles drop to point towards the sea. The electric sound goes away, and a small whine of relief emerges from the tulkun.
The Tsahìk’s eyes refuse to leave the mother tulkun, a fury on her face that gives way to grief and pity. She aches with the calf and the mother, her heart a frail thing when it came to the suffering of the innocent.
A man is standing on the deck of the middle boat, blue and big, but not an Avatar. One of those undead motherfuckers who already died once and then had the nerve to come back. Lo’ak may not know all the ranks of military, but he knows who holds power here. The amount of shiny metals hanging from his military jacket gives him away.
His face is aging- little grooves appearing on his face, so he must have been in this body for more than a few years. Lo’ak hates these monsters from the past; they have no right to these stripes stretched around muscles. They look like Na’vi, but couldn’t be further from it.
His hand is up to order his troops still. Every man on board is either keeping their eye on the Na’vi or their commanding officer. No doubt he’d been the one to spot them first. He has experience written all over him.
Lo’ak keeps his gaze strong, turning his head slowly to follow along the wire that’s attached from the front of the boat to the tulkun. To his relief, it’s not sunken into her underbelly, but wrapped around itself and then her tail. Whatever had happened when it had been shot had bought them time, and most likely saved her life.
A bit of her tail was missing, and the wire kept tightening as she moved, chafing a groove into her skin and sinking the wire even deeper.
They’d been playing with her. Watching as the wire cut off her circulation, waiting to see how long she could bear it.
The tension in the air is immeasurable.
The Tsahìk broke the stillness, moving her tsurak towards the tulkun. A soldier from the boat to her side pulls out a gun and points it at her.
The Na’vi’s hands fly to their weapons if they weren’t on the verge of pulling them out already. Lo’ak can hear both knives unsheathing and gun safeties being clicked off.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the demon in Na’vi skin says, a smirk rising on his face as he stares at the Tsahìk- as if his gaze alone could will her to stop. He marks for the soldier who’d been emboldened by her movement to back down. The gun is lowered a bit, but only points at the Tsahìk’s back now, instead of her head.
“Tìftang si, Tsahìk,” /stop clan leader/ Lo’ak says, and the woman pauses, tongue clicking at her tsurak to seize it. “Poan plltxe tsonta tìftang si.” /he says (speaks) to stop/
The man’s eyebrows raise to peek over the sunglasses, his chin tilts, and Lo’ak knows the man is looking at his hands. Five fingers, not four.
“You speak English?” he asks, lifting his foot to toss his weight against the side of the boat, leaning over the edge to intimidate.
He wears odd sunglasses, even in this fog. Something about him makes the back of Lo’ak’s mind tingle, as if there is something missing here. Some detail he wasn’t seeing. His eyes. Lo’ak wanted to look this man in the eyes. “Yes. But I’m not here to negotiate.”
“Oh, you’re not? Tell me then, boy of Sully. What are you here to do?” The man asks. Lo’ak doesn’t miss the sneaky hand gesture the man makes, or how the soldiers around him grip their weapons tighter, pointing them ever so slightly upwards. Not directly at the Na’vi yet, but close enough to show how prepared they are.
Boy. His teeth grind and his eye twitches. He owes no pleasantries to these men: “We are taking the tulkun and her calf.”
A few of the soldiers chuckle at his proclamation, but as more Na’vi move in from the fog, Lo’ak can tell they grow worried. One of them moves to the turret at the back of the main boat, taking hold of the controls, but not turning it on yet.
Lo’ak’s eyes trail over some of the soldiers to assess them; hands twisting on guns, clutching harder, fingertips white from squeezing. These men are not usually fighters. Their stance gives it away. They’re inexperienced at the very least, but maybe even just excess soldiers, sent in to look after the whalers and be an extra set of hands, nothing like their commander.
“And how do you suppose you’ll do that? This whale is ours,” there is an odd quality to the man’s voice. His voice sounds almost honeyed even as he speaks in threats and agitations. He pulls out a cigarette, and the Na’vi jerk at the action. He presses it to his lips and lights it, puffing smoke slowly. The boat jerks once, twice, and then the pulling from the wire stops.
Even the man turns to look, wants to watch as the tulkun gives its low groan before stopping. She is exhausted, unable to keep pulling the weight of the people and the boat.
The Tsahìk begins to whisper assurances to her, promises of freedom and recovery, safety to her calf, and a chanse for rest soon. “Ayoe tsun tarep ngenga sì ngeya’eveng,” /we can save you and your child/ she keeps her voice soft and low, most of her words covered up by the whines of the tulkun who now just floats on the surface. Her eyes shut and open slowly, the calf rubs up against her, refusing to leave her side.
“You are on waters you don’t belong to. Hunting whales that are not yours to hunt. You cross onto the lands of the Slärwion and expect not to be pushed out,” Lo’ak keeps his voice stern, her eyes cool, refusing to part from the commanders for even a second.
The man takes another drag of his cigarette, casually enjoying it as if he isn’t being actively threatened.
Lo’ak’s irk rises at the action, so nonchalant, so uncaring. As if he wasn’t even being spoken to. “We outnumber you,” he says when the subtle threats gain no reaction. “In fact, we outnumber you three to one. All of us are trained warriors,” a lie, “we have as many guns as you do,” a lie, “we won’t hesitate to turn this into something more deadly than it needs to be,” a promise.
Lo’ak catches the gaze of the Olo’eyktan over the boat; the man is signing to his people, “mawey, mawey, tung tsurak’eyktan krr.” /calm, calm, allow the tsurak’eyktan time/
There is a question, and some level of discontent in the leader as he looks at Lo’ak, no doubt put off by the English.
The demon in fake skin takes his time to look around, his mind doing quick maths about manpower. He puts out his cigarette on the side of the boat, rubbing it in circles on it, contemplating if he can get to kill some Na’vi today. “Is that so?” He chuckles- actually chuckles.
Lo’ak doesn’t bother with a reply.
“You do realize, boy,” the last word is spat out, clearly to mock, “that even if we give you the cow and the calf, she’ll die here anyway, and we’ll just need to fill our quotas elsewhere, and kill another one.”
Lo’ak’s brows lower at the first sign of clear anger on his face. “Cut. The. Wire,” he slowly annunciates.
The man slowly smirks; he actually looks pleased at the outcome. “Well, boys-” he speaks to the soldiers, who look mighty confused now, but too afraid to argue. Ranks mattered in the army, and no one would speak over the man willingly. “you all heard the Sully savage. Let’s cut the cow loose and go find us another mama to kill.”
Lo’ak jerks his head for the Tsahìk; she rushes her tsurak forward, moving over to the tulkun.
Lo’ak watches as one of the men cuts the wire from the front of the boat; it flops into the water in a tangle. The men start moving, starting the engines, causing the Na’vi to become even more uneasy.
Hisses and threats are spat out in Na’vi, ordering the men to go, to leave far and never come back.
Lo’ak stays still, eyes glued to the man. “What’s your name?” he asks, pushed by some deep fury within himself.
The engine of the leading boat bursts to life, the vibrations creating small waves in the water.
The man just stares, so full of himself: “Why do I have the feeling you’re about to make my life a hell of a lot more interesting?” His lip curls up, bemused by the question.
“Your name, you ugly bald bastard .”
“Wainfleet,” the man finally says- he’s proud of his name. Lo’ak wants to beat him till he no longer remembers it. The man’s tail slashes in the air. He’s getting excited, seeing a challenge coming his way. It’s like he already knows what Lo’ak will say before he can even open his mouth.
“While you hunt the tulkun, know that I am hunting you,” Lo’ak swears, his voice low, so low the man wouldn’t hear him at all without his better senses.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he flashes his teeth with a smile, canines bright and white, sharp as ever. He leans over the side of the boat and grips its railing. “Follow the carcasses, and know that every single tulkun I kill- I kill in your name… Lo’ak.”
The boats speed off, splashing water on the Na’vi, one of them bumping against the tulkun purposefully.
The retaliation is immediate, with multiple Na’vi throwing spears after them, only for them to fall short into the water.
The Tsahìk is already attempting to remove the wire from the tulkun’s tail. The Olo’eyktan stays by her eye, signing to her to tell her the skypeople are gone and that the whole tribe arrived to help her.
The Na’vi surround her. Someone plunges into the water to test if the sonar is gone. More follow once it's confirmed.
They check on the calf to see if he has any injuries. They lay their hands on the tulkun, soothing her to the best of their ability. They don’t know what to do, how to help her.
Lo’ak does, but all he can do is sit there and stare into the fog where the boats had disappeared. He wants to chase after them. Wants to kill. It's such a deeply driving force that it worries him. He isn’t a violent person. So why is he so set on ending the life of that demon?
Wainfleet.
“Lo’ak, you are needed,” someone speaks to him, and finally, he gets out of his trance.
“Cut open the orange buoys so the air is let out and she can move properly. There should be a tracker on her back, and it needs to be pulled out,” he starts delegating tasks to the people around him, Na’vi moving immediately in order to help.
They work in tandem, quickly and efficiently. The tracker ends up smashed at the bottom of the sea, red light not blinking anymore. They unscrew the large arrows that held the buoys so they can pull them out without hurting her.
The wire around her tail ends up being the hardest to remove. It takes four villagers and 6 knives to cut through the wire without injuring her. They have to move so slowly that the tulkun's discomfort gets worse before she gains any relief on her tail.
The Tsahìk never goes silent through the process. She chants and speaks to the Great Mother, never stopping her movements for a second. He digs through her pouch for anything to help the tulkun’s injuries. Handing out cloth and herbs to those she has taught the art of healing. Everything they can do for the tulkun is makeshift quickfixes.
They need to get her to Awa’atlu to get access to proper supplies… And Ronal. Together, the two Tsahìks can do some real good for a patient this large.
“Your plan worked,” the Olo’eyktan speaks. His voice is soft and appreciative, but already Lo’ak feels that the man sees him differently. His gaze drifts over Lo’ak’s hands. His extra fingers. His skypeople-ness.
Lo’ak simply looks away.
The tulkun is somehow both in better and worse shape than expected. She isn’t dead, so that’s already a blessing many doubted. But her tail- she can only swim slowly, barely even managing that at times.
Constantly they are forced to stop, to take a break for her sake. She only really checks on her calf and swims, wailing when she has the energy to do so.
The Na’vi keep her surrounded, offering their support, their assurances. They speak of Awa’atlu and promise that she can be healed there so that she can rejoin her pod. They encourage her when her swimming slows down, and even attempt at pushing to keep her going. It feels pointless at times, and yet they do it anyway.
For their sister.
Dawn hasn’t broken over the skyline when the shape of Awa’atlu appears on the horizon.
Lo’ak stays at the back of the tribe, trailing a few hundred feet behind them, often looking over his shoulder for any danger. He never sees the ships again, but he loathes the thought of them out there.
Had they found another mother and a calf already? Were they killing her in his name?
Dark thoughts cloud his head.
He leads his tsurak to the side, breaking off from the tribe as they finally reach the reefs of Awa’atlu. He can see familiar faces rushing in, Ronal and Tonowari among them, to help the injured tulkun.
Lo’ak’s part is done, and he can trust the Metkayina to take over from here.
Sitting at the beach, he watches the sun rise. He focuses on his breath, in and out, the way that Tsireya had taught him, even though he has no intentions of going diving now.
The sand is soft under him, clinging to his wet skin. He sinks his pinkie fingers into it and looks down at his hands.
For a while, he can just rest.
In the distance, he can see that a different pod of tulkuns is already here. They must have arrived when he was gone. He can see the mighty head crest of Tonowari’s spirit brother. That means Tsireya’s spirit sister is here as well.
His face breaks into a small fond smile. She must be happy to be reunited after such a long time apart.
The sound of the sea soothes him; he has to force himself to allow the anger within him to drift away. It’s carried off to sea with his plans for revenge. He is not a vengeful person- hatred will not consume him. He won’t allow it to.
The sun feels like it purges him momentarily. The rays of it begin to dry his skin, it shines in his eyes, and forces him to close them.
Calm. His mind is back to calm.
Footsteps approach him on the sand. Light and careful. Too heavy to be his father, whom Lo’ak had guessed would find him first. Whoever does approach him comes so close that they kick sand onto his feet with an abrupt stop.
He lifts up a hand to cover up the sand and then looks up: “Kiri? You okay?”
Within moments, Lo’ak knows she isn’t. He pushes himself to his feet and comes face to face with her: “Kiri? What’s wrong?”
Her jaw trembles, mouth slightly open as her lower lip quivers. She tries to speak, but can’t.
“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he says to comfort her, placing his hands onto her shoulders and then spreading them across her back as he pulls her to him. One of his hands comes to cradle the back of her head, worry clutching at his heart.
Everyone he can see from here looks fine, the people who knew healing bustling around for the tulkun they’d brought in, the village elders are taking in the Slärwion people, showing them to maruis and handing out supplies and food alike. Kids run on the beach, making friends and teaching each other new games. The youth run along the edge of the jungle, no doubt to go to the tulkuns bright and early.
Why was Kiri so upset?
She sobs, just once, her breath catching in her throat before she coughs. She pulls away and wipes her palms down her face. She has that hurt look she used to get as a kid, lips wonky and brows furrowed in an odd way.
“What’s happened?” Lo’ak asks, much calmer this time. He places his hands sturdy onto hers, pulling them forward to just rest between the two of them.
“It’s-” Kiri tries, but hiccups. “It’s um.” She shakes her head, feet digging into the sand below. “It’s Spider.”
There is no air in Lo’ak’s lungs. He’s drowning on land.
“Lo’ak, he’s here.”
Chapter 5: Rotations
Chapter Text
Spider floated deep in the ocean, his body slowly rising up towards the surface, forcing him to swim back down at intervals. His eyes fondly look below him. He’d not made his three rotations yet, choosing to watch first while the tulkun circled the Great Ocean Breath below him.
Their rotations were slow and deliberate. They all hummed together to the tune of their never-ending song. Whenever a pod member finished their rotations, a new one would join and take their place in the circle and the song.
If you were swimming at the surface, you’d never know what was below. You had to swim down until you discovered the large, pale pink flower blooming from the reef. Fighting back the darkness with its own bioluminescent light, softly encasing everything around it in a dim glow. Its petals swayed softly in the water, so large that their subtle shifts were almost indistinguishable to the naked eye. From the middle grew a large pistil, with anthers that twirled around it.
It was at least 400 meters long in each direction, far larger than the Tree of Souls in the forest or the Spirit Tree in the Metkayina waters. The tulkun were the largest creatures on Pandora, and even they were dwarfed by it, as they swam around it and rejoiced.
Below the flower were its roots thick, translucent, and twirly, with a pattern on the surface that pulsed with the flower’s light. The pulse began from the flower and travelled through the entire root for as far as the eye could see and beyond. The pulse was stronger, brighter, faster whenever a tulkun finished their rotations, moved to the pistil of the flower, and joined in tsaheylu with it.
The tulkun say that the roots of this flower reach far and wide, sinking into the ocean floor and stretching even further under it. That these roots achor The Great Breath to the seafloor, allowing it longevity and vitality.
Looking down at the Breath, Spider could see so much beauty. This place made you respect life, its development, and how it could change. From the little crustaceans that would eat algae off the flower so it could thrive, to the huge tulkun that would celebrate around it. The flower was such a huge part of the sea that entire species evolved to live around it, from flora to fauna; it offered highly oxygenated water and its own light to thrive under.
Under him was an entire ecosystem, thriving, unique, full of life. A place for tradition, for song and storytelling. And for some, breeding. There were nearly sixteen species of oceanic creatures on Pandora that would only breed by the flower, including the tulkun.
Life began here; it ended here. Perfectly balanced.
To Spider, the flower was the most beautiful thing that Eywa had ever made.
He loved being here, watching the life below him, hearing the song. His soul settled for here was its home.
Below him, his father swam gracefully through the sea. Spider knew he felt more peaceful here as well, hopeful for the future, glad that another migration was over.
They’d swum together for seven years now, never far apart, because they didn’t want to be. They were a part of a pod, a part of a family. Why would they want anything else?
Spider began to swim down, approaching his father slowly. He was ready for their rotations and knew that once again they’d be making them together.
His first year, Spider had insisted on doing this by himself. He’d wanted to prove that he can, that he is just as much a tulkun as the rest. But the circumference of the flower was grand, and it had taken him far longer than expected.
Still, he’d pushed through, swimming without pause, humming the song, ending his last rotation at the center of the flower. Tsaheylu or not, it felt important for him to press his forehead against the pistil in thanks for the life that this flower created around it.
He wasn’t so set on proving himself anymore. The tulkun didn’t need to do such things at all. Every family member was important. There was no need for a leader or any predetermined roles; they existed for the sake of being good. And Spider finally knew for certain that he was good.
Reaching his father, Spider smiled and listened as he began to hum. There was no voice better than this. Deep and echoing, low in its gravitas. Spider closed his eyes for just a moment to enjoy it.
He grabbed onto the fin of the mighty tulkun, and together they began their rotations. Spider kicked his feet, though with the strength of his father, he barely contributed to their movement.
He began to hum when a calf finished her rotations with her mother, and there was space for him to be a part of the song.
In a sense, Spider was considered a calf, so he had to sing the part of one. A tulkun's first nameday is the day they finish their first rotation, not the day they are born. So in a sense, Spider was only considered to be just six years old in the eyes of his pod, and he’d be seven soon.
Everything is louder within the current of the rotation, almost as if they are inside a bubble. The song is so immense that it always brings Spider to tears, happy ones, that fog up the inside of his mask.
He watches the tulkun all around him, calves close to their mothers, the elderly on the inner circle of the rotation to shorten their journey.
Tulkun from all around the world are here, all pods merging into one great colony for the Great Gathering. Those who have finished their rotations wait on the sidelines, watching, resting, slowly joined by the rest of their pod members.
They leave in tune, once all of their family is accounted for.
Many have already come and gone, but Spider remains with his father, passing by the rest of their pod thrice during the rotations. Spider doubts he is visible to them, from behind the hulk of the tulkun, but he feels their spirits still, and he has no doubts that they know he is there.
This is what it is to have a family. Traditions and habits, shared joys and sorrows. Support when it’s needed and when it is not.
On the last rotation, Spider only looks at the flower. The Great Ocean Breath. She is beautiful, the very center turns from pink to yellow to orange at its core. The tanhì of the Ocean Breath scatter its stem, and up the pistil, different from other flowers for the fact that it had none of the bioluminescent freckles on its petals.
Spider’s voice is tired by the time that their turn is done, his voice slowly ends the hum into silence. His father pulls him along, causing him to have to adjust the grip on his fin to hold on. As his father creates tsaheylu with the Ocean Breath, Spider stays nearby and places his hand onto the flower.
He may not have tsaheylu, but he, too, can share his secrets with the Breath without anyone understanding. So he leans his head against it and begins to whisper in English.
“I no longer miss the forest as I did the last time I spoke to you.”
“My body is tired from the constant migrations. I am glad they are coming to an end, but I will miss you greatly while I am gone.”
“I love my father more than any living creature on this planet.”
“Two months ago, I was violent, though a tulkun should never be. But I did not kill, I respected the tulkun-way. I would still like to apologise.”
“I wake up happy each day, I’m no longer confused by it.”
“I am sated in life; there is nothing that I wish for anymore.”
When he pulls back and lets go, his father has already swam away and joined the pod.
He smiles and follows. Their migration is done, so they are going to Awa’atlu.
Notes:
Do you all want to see more Spider pov or return to Lo'ak? I've kind of liked Lo'ak pov currently. A bit of a change. <3
Also, updates 2 days in a row? *nod nod*
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