Chapter Text
Lo’ak’s never seen Kiri this angry. She comes sweeping down from the treetops once the last raider has left, leaping off her ikran and immediately trying to wail against Dad’s chest.
Although her fists do nothing.
Lo’ak’s never felt such helplessness, not since Neteyam’s blood covered his hands. It’s seeping into his very bones, making him colder than his ikran who lays dead at his side. He supposes its born of the same rage making Kiri try to pound Dad’s chest in, just a different flavour.
They let Spider go. He got taken, right in front of their eyes, and Dad did nothing. Mom said nothing. And Lo’ak wasn’t able to do anything because his ikran was dead and his bow was broken in the fall, the one Neteyam helped him make before his iknimiya. All he could do was watch, and shout.
“What the hell Dad! You–fucking–” Kiri screams, still pounding against his chest with all the strength she has, even as Tuk tries to tug her away, little face covered in tears.
Around them, the freed elders and the woman with the topknot take time to remove the last of their bindings. Two of them stand protectively over a body, their heads bent and shoulders shaking as they weep. They’re watching them out of the corner of their eyes, but making no move to approach. The destroyed ship still burns, but where there were pockets of fire, there’s only embers.
“Why didn’t you do anything?” Lo’ak says quietly once Kiri’s tired herself out, her head pressed against Dad’s cummerbund. “You had the perfect chance to fight, to shoot that woman, grab Spider, and get us out of there.”
“Lo’ak,” Dad says with an exhausted air but Lo’ak’s having none of it.
“No, Dad,” he snaps. “We could have easily taken them on and got him back. Hell, you could’ve shot the guy carrying him to their ikran so easily it would’ve been funny. But you didn’t. Why?”
“I couldn’t put you or the girls in any more danger,” Dad says, but Lo’ak laughs at the pathetic excuse.
“Like we haven’t been in danger for years,” he scoffs.
A twig snapping puts him on edge, but it’s only the woman with the topknot gingerly making her way over to them. The small incision at her neck has stopped bleeding, but the red trail has connected with the tiny cut on her chest. It nearly looks like war paint.
“Thank you, for saving us,” she tells them, her voice wobbling with emotion. “I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t here. And I– I’m sorry–”
“You’re the lady who traded us seashells,” Tuk suddenly pipes up from where she’s cuddled at Dad’s side.
The woman nods, her eyes brimming with tears. “Yes, yes I was. I was also the one to take care of your brother while he was on our ship,” she tells them, and it’s like a punch to the gut but Lo’ak keeps his cool. “Such a polite boy. I’m so– so sorry I couldn’t do more to save him. But if you need assistance with how to get to the Mangkwan village–”
“No, thank you,” Dad suddenly says, and Lo’ak’s heart plummets. “We’ll just wait until you’ve found the rest of your clan and then we’ll be heading back to our village–”
“What?” Kiri asks, her voice so small. “What– No thank you?!”
“Kiri,” Dad says, but she’s already shoved herself upright.
“Yes please, we’d love some guidance on how to get up there, considering we’re going to be saving him,” Kiri snarls before Dad can even argue, aiming the anger at him.
“Good,” the lady replies, composing herself and wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I was concerned already because his mask hadn’t been changed before the ship crashed–”
“Wait, that wasn’t his spare?” Lo’ak asks, alarmed.
“I do not think so,” the lady replies, shaking her head.
The world blurs at the edges, his chest tightening around air he can’t get into his lungs. “We need to find it. It could still be in the wreck and his spare battery pack might be here too–”
“Lo’ak, no,” Dad barks, halting Lo’ak’s second step forward. “We’re not spending anymore time looking for something that’ll be impossible to find.”
“Isn’t that his bag?” Tuk suddenly, pointing towards the ship wreck.
“Where?” Kiri asks, ears upright and tail twitching as Tuk points again. “I can’t see anything.”
“Ugh,” Tuk says, grabbing Kiri’s hand and yanking.
She ignores Dad when he protests and orders them to keep away from the danger. Lo’ak just manages to squeak past before his hand is grabbed, hurrying after his sisters. Kiri is already unearthing whatever Tuk found when he gets there.
It’s Spider’s bag, not quite as whole and undamaged as it had been the last time they saw it, but Lo’ak would recognise the light green of Kiri’s shawl peeking out. Even if half of it was blackened.
“That’s his spare battery,” Kiri says, when Tuk fishes it out with a triumphant noise, taking it from her little sister and holding it to the light. “So then, where’s his spare?”
“It must be here somewhere,” Lo’ak surmises, already scanning the forest floor for some black rubber, or a glint of plexiglass. “We need to look–”
“You need to get back here,” Dad suddenly hisses, and the worry in his voice causes a shiver to go all the way up Lo’ak’s body, from the tip of his tail to the top of his head. “Incoming scouts.”
The reaction is instant; the elders and the woman dash for the remaining underbrush, slipping in and covering themselves with the branches and leaves until they’re completely hidden.
Kiri and Tuk dash for her ikran, launching into the treetops, and Lo’ak runs for Dad, clambering on just as Bob kicks up into the canopy.
Mom has already disappeared, but Lo’ak knows she’s not far.
Bob presses himself flat against the branch he lands on, calmed by Dad’s hand on his neck as he’s told to stay quiet. The sound of wings is clear, now that Lo’ak’s focusing on it. Getting closer way too quickly.
If they’d stayed down there a few seconds longer, it would’ve ended badly.
“Stay very quiet,” Dad whispers, holding up a hand to signal the others. “They haven’t seen us.”
A familiar dark blue ikran dives to the ground with a screech, the rider on her back giving her kuru a sharp yank to level out. Lo’ak’s sight blurs at the edges with shock, and fear chases another shiver along his skin. The faintest memory of the barrel of a gun pressing against his head turns him cold again. Dad’s arm, wrapped around his front, is a small comfort.
Quaritch, in all his camo glory, inspects the crash site. His companion makes a noise of disgust at the smell of burning as the two of them climb down from their ikran.
“Neytiri,” Dad murmurs into his comm. “Do not attack. They don’t see us.”
If this, this tsunami of fear and anger is what Lo’ak’s feeling, he’s scared of what Mom’s experiencing. He can’t see her through the trees but from Dad’s harried tone, she must be drawing her bowstring back. Still, they have to stay hidden.
The two men prowl through the wreck, the other - Wainright? Wainfletch? Wainfleet - toeing at the body the Tlalim hadn’t had a chance to hide.
“D’you think the kid would’ve survived this?” Wainfleet asks, lowering the gun he held at his shoulder when he realises the person is dead. “He’s tough, but I don’t think he’s grown wings in the past few weeks.”
They’re looking for Spider? Why? How do they even know he was here? Wouldn’t Quaritch be looking for Dad, to get one final piece of fucked up revenge from beyond the grave. Not so beyond the grave, it seems.
Quaritch paces through the site, pausing at Lo’ak’s felled ikran. His heart squeezes at the sight of his powerful wings draped lifelessly over a branch, eyes burning with tears as the man crouches and nonchalantly pokes his head.
He seethes at the disrespect, straining forward to attack.
“I know, son,” Dad whispers, adjusting his grip so that he’s not at risk of falling.
“What’s this?” Quaritch asks, exposing the arrow. The dry, crumbling fletchling is tinted red at the edges, stark against his ikran’s chest.
Lo’ak had tried, and failed, to get it out in those first few moments of impact with the ground, in case there was any chance of saving him. It had been too blood slicked to provide any purchase. It’d killed him inside to abandon his friend.
“No design that we know of,” Wainfleet comments, getting close to inspect. “Someone else?”
“Dunno,” Quaritch replies, standing back up again.
After a few minutes of further inspection coming up empty, Quartich gives the signal to leave.
Lo’ak’s shoulders slump in relief. It’s premature though, his whole body tensing up again when Wainfleet makes an interested noise from where he’d been shuffling through debris further into the wreck.
“Colonel,” he calls, holding up something, “take a look at this.”
Spider’s exopack, the headband fraying, is handed over to Quaritch. Lo’ak’s heart leaps into his throat, and his body strains further. Is it his spare? He can’t tell from here, not with the daylight glinting against the plexiglass.
“It’s dead,” Wainfleet says, and Lo’ak lets out a quiet breath in relief, slumping against Dad’s arm. “What do you want us to do?”
For a few seconds there’s silence, holding long enough that Lo’ak thinks that the guy might actually be mourning the (supposed) death of Spider. But that doesn’t make sense; the bastard doesn’t have enough of a heart to care. And he kidnapped Spider last time! As if to contradict Lo’ak’s expectations, Quaritch sniffs roughly, pockets the exopack and turns back to his ikran.
“See if you can drag up any details about other attacks on caravans in the past few months, Wainfleet,” Quaritch commands. “If we can figure out who has this kind of firepower, we could find use for it.”
Then, as quickly as they turned up, the two men are taking to the skies again. They wait until their silhouettes become specks in the sky before floating back to the ground again.
Dad’s dismounting before Bob’s front claws hit the dirt, hurrying over with his arms open so that Mom can fall into him. Lo’ak just catches a glimpse of her shell-shocked expression before it’s hidden in his shoulder, body shaking with silent sobs.
He turns away to give some privacy, patting Bob on the neck as he clambers down to the ground.
“Who was that?” the seashell lady asks as the Tlalim creep out from their hiding place.
“Bad men,” Tuk says eloquently. She and Kiri approach together, practically attached at the hip. Tuk’s eyes are still wet. “We hate them. And we thought Dad had killed one of them, but he’s still alive.”
“Perhaps it’ll take more than choking the guy out to make sure he’s dead,” Dad comments, and although he can’t see his face, Lo’ak shudders at his tone.
“You said you had a way to find the Mangkwan village? To be able to rescue Spider?” Kiri asks, continuing their conversation as if Quaritch hadn’t even been there.
“Yes,” the shell lady says. “I mean, my husband will be able to tell you if he’s–”
Her eyes turn glassy again, and the tiny glimmer of hope fades in Lo’ak’s chest. If he’s still alive. If her mate had successfully survived the wreckage. Which feels like a pretty big if.
Lo’ak’s about to suggest something else, that they try to ask grandmother or Tonowari back at Awa’atlu, when a distant shout interrupts him. And a small cluster of people emerge from the forest.
A few of them are leaning on each other, and more of them are covered in blood and soot, but they’re alive. Lo’ak recognises the Tlalim’s brightly coloured clothing.
“Peylak!” the woman cries, stumbling towards the man with the colourful cloak, who’s leading the pack through the trees.
He manages to open his arms before she jumps, grunting at her added weight and swaying. Dad, still comforting Mom and piecing her back together, gusts out a breath of relief that Lo’ak relates to; the happiness that comes with the return of warriors thought dead.
“Toruk Makto,” a few of the other survivors whisper when they catch sight of them. Dad’s pushing Mom back gently by the shoulders, gently wiping her tears away with his thumbs as he asks if she’s okay.
Lo’ak sees the moment Peylak sees Dad, the stress along his brow smoothing away as he loosens his grip and his mate slides back down to the floor. Dad, too, hears the whispers aimed at his back; he straightens and gives Mom’s shoulders one more squeeze before turning around.
Mom’s eyes are clearer than they have been in a while. She, too, watches with some trepidation as the two leaders approach.
“Jakesully,” Peylak says, keeping one arm around his mate’s waist. “I would greet you properly, but,” he gestures to the nasty cut on his forehead dribbling blood down his face, “I’m afraid I cannot.”
Dad waves him off, “There’s no need for ceremony on the battlefield. It’s good to see you whole and hale, Peylak.”
“The same can’t be said for my ship, unfortunately,” Peylak adds, casting an eye over the wreck. “We had to abandon it after it became too damaged to fly. Your boy, Spider, advised us to use the leaves to slow our descent. A clever one, that child.”
His mate makes a quiet wounded noise, and Peylak glances down in concern. When he looks up again he asks, “What has happened?”
“He’s been taken,” Kiri interrupts, her tear tracks shining on her cheeks. “The Mangkwan raiders took him. And your mate– she said you knew how to get to their village?”
A dark look crosses over Peylak, a dark, sad expression. “I have a way there,” he tells them, “but it is dangerous. And if the raiders have taken him, as you say, he might not survive long enough for you to find him.”
“We have to try,” Kiri says, fishing out the battery from the pouch at her waistband. “He’s already changed to his spare mask. If we don’t get this to him by tomorrow, he will be dead.”
“Please,” Lo’ak suddenly says, surprising himself with his own brashness. “Help us.”
The silence, fortunately, doesn't last long.
“Alright,” Peylak says, nodding, “but I will need a stick.”
A few minutes later, they’re settled a few paces away from the bulk of the survivors, crowding around each other and checking wounds. Most are too busy hugging to actually patch up anything, but three young boys dart amongst the crowd passing out the supplies someone was able to scrounge up.
Lo’ak wonders if they’re brothers, with how similar they look.
“The Mangkwan village,” Peylak begins, gouging lines into the overturned dirt, “is at least a day’s flight away.”
Lo’ak’s ears twitch at Kiri’s wounded noise, but Peylak gives her a comforting look. He’s not as intimidating as Tonowari, but the fondness is not what Lo’ak was expecting.
“Do not worry,” he says, as Lo’ak tugs at Tuk’s arm to sit with them, watching long graceful fingers sketch in another line, “you will be flying on ikrans; that will shorten the journey by half at least.”
Someone has found a bugle amongst the wreckage, sounding it towards the sky to request assistance from any nearby ships. Lo’ak’s ears flatten against his skull at the harsh noise, and Kiri opens an arm for Tuk to cuddle close when she jolts.
“It is located closest to the equator of our planet,” Peylak continues, “where the world changes constantly. The ground moves on its own, and the heat can reach boiling temperatures. It is best to take the eastern sea wind, as it is strongest, to reach the border,.”
Another bugle answers the first, a collective sigh of relief rising over the gathered crowd.
According to what Peylak told Dad, at least half of the crew survived the crash, possibly more who have strayed from the site. Apparently, more than half would’ve perished if Spider hadn’t told them to use the leaves to slow their descent.
Lo’ak remembers teaching Spider that technique, because he’d whined and wheedled until his patience had cracked. They’d been out in the forest together, and he’d felt sick watching Spider fall to the ground. But every time, he somehow managed to catch the handholds and stay unharmed.
Lo’ak won’t deny that his chest hadn’t burned with pride, although Kiri has claimed that she was the one to teach him. Lo’ak calls bullshit.
“The border?” Mom suddenly asks.
Peylak adds a few strokes, and jabs the end of his stick into the ground. “Where the influence of the volcano ends.”
“Volcano?!” Lo’ak yelps, his ears perking, eyes widening, heart jumping in his chest. “You said nothing about a volcano.”
“They’re called the Ash clan, Lo’ak,” Tuk suddenly says. “Where are they gonna get their ash from?”
“Uh, a fire?” Lo’ak snaps back, rolling his eyes when Tuk sticks her tongue out at him.
Kiri flaps at them before they can fall into an argument.
“Yes, the volcano,” Peylak replies, sketching it in. “It erupted first decades ago, but it remains quite active. We tend to avoid its territory as the ash cloud irritates the rimo’a’s skin.”
“Can you actually see the lava?” Lo’ak asks, doing his best to hide the fear from his voice. He can see Kiri’s suspicious look from the corner of his eye; he won’t give her the blackmail.
“Oh yes,” Peylak says, ignorant of the further widening of Lo’ak’s eyes. “If you get too close, you could be caught in its pyroclastic flow. But that is besides the point.”
He points with the stick again, “Its influence stretches wide across what once was an expansive forest. It is obvious when you get close, as the remaining landscape is blackened and void of life. Nothing grows, and the animals give it a wide birth during their migrations.”
Lo’ak shudders at the idea of a place on their planet not bursting full of life. It’s wrong, the image of land void of greenery or mountains or seas. Something terrible must’ve happened for it to turn it into such a desolate place.
Kiri visibly shivers, one hand clenching into a fist as Lo’ak shuffles a bit closer.
“You should give your ikrans rest stops before reaching this area,” Peylak continues. “There is very little for them to drink, and few safe places to set down once you reach this territory. I recommend the islands just a few hours out from the border. There, you will be able to restock on water, and prepare yourself for the next part of the flight.”
His gaze turns intense, pinning all of them to the ground as easy as anything. “This is very important,” he says, a hush falling over their little group at his tone. “You must not fly in direct sight of the village. The Mangkwan will see you, and shoot you down without mercy. I recommend you approach from the northern side, where the patrols are lighter.”
He sketches in another arrow in his mini map, which is actually quite impressive; if Kiri had been doing it, it would just be a bunch of unintelligible squiggles. Lo’ak wouldn’t have even tried.
“Hang on,” Dad suddenly says, pausing where he was helping one of the elders to his feet, “you’re speaking as if I’m going to let the kids go after Spider.”
“You’re not going to let us do anything,” Kiri snips. “We’re going to follow him, even if you don’t like it.”
Dad splutters, but the elder holding onto his arm starts complaining about how his old bones can’t hold himself up for long, so he’ll need to sit down now, and Dad has to lead him to a log to perch on.
Kiri ignores the look she’s thrown as he goes. The one that says he’s not done talking about this.
“I would also recommend that you spend as little time as possible retrieving the boy,” Peylak tells them. “The ash from the volcano has since suffused the air around the village, making it damaging to our respiratory tracts.”
“How are they able to handle it, then?” Lo’ak asks.
“They’ve evolved,” Peylak replies, “much like our brothers and sisters of the sea. Their lungs have become used to the constant damage wreaked by the ash, and use the pain as a teaching tool to their young. Adapt and survive, or die with the weak mentality.”
Kiri shivers again. Lo’ak throws an arm over her shoulder.
“It would be wise to remain for only two hours maximum, unless you wish to be coughing your way home,” Peylak comments. “The boy’s mask, does it have methods to affect the air quality?”
“It has filtration systems,” Kiri supplies. “It should help with the worst of the ash.”
“Good,” Peylak says, suddenly taking on a pensive look as he leans on his stick. “I owe that boy a great debt. I would be saddened if I was unable to repay it.”
He glances out to the crowd, now raising their arms in relief as another ship slowly descends to rescue them. The lady who spoke about Spider, Yu’nar, is the first to guide the others aboard, even though she has yet to be patched up. The blood trail down her chest has since dried, but the cut needs to be bandaged and cleaned. Yet she leads the first of the elders up the ropes.
“He saved my crew,” Peylak murmurs, “my family. That is more than I ever expected from a human.”
Lo’ak’s heart squeezes in his chest, his free hand fisting where it lays on his knee. The anger that had been bubbling in the background roars to its full strength, and he jiggles his leg restlessly.
“Spider’s not like any of the humans,” he says, breaking the silence between them, yet keeping a neutral tone. “He was raised with us in the forest, learning our ways before even putting on human clothing. He’s more Na’vi than anything else.”
He’s family, he doesn’t say. Kiri nods determinedly as if he has.
Peylak gives them all another kind look, although the smile he attempts doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I hope you find him,” he says. Kiri nods in agreement, and Lo’ak tightens his fist, nails biting into his palm. “And I shall repay my debt when he is returned.”
Behind them, the body of the wind trader is hoisted up to the ship, hands reaching to buoy her upwards as a mournful tune crests and falls.
Peylak pats Kiri’s shoulder twice, his eyes dark with sorrow, before unsteadily getting to his feet. Lo’ak tenses, ready to catch him, but Yu’nar’s suddenly slipping herself under his arm and propping him up with a fond, exasperated smile. Leading him away with a few tuts over his head wound.
They pause though, just before the ropes and, quicker than Peylak can keep up, Yu’nar’s spinning on her heel and striding back towards them. Kiri’s tail swishes against Lo’ak’s back in interest as Peylak stumbles, trying to keep his feet.
“My love?” he calls after her, but Yu’nar’s on a mission, crouching down so her eyes connect with theirs.
“Are you his friends?” she asks, and her tone is so arresting and stern that they all nod.
Yu’nar hums, her hands suddenly cupping Kiri’s cheeks, her gaze practically digging into Kiri’s with the intensity of a nangtang protecting her cubs. Lo’ak has no idea how Kiri keeps so still under it.
“He spoke of you,” Yu’nar mentions, dropping her hands and glancing at Lo’ak, then Tuk, “very fondly. As if you were family.”
Those few seconds, the brief understanding, is enough for Lo’ak to loosen his fist. The ball of emotions currently sitting in his chest gets heavier, everything rushing back in the face of this motherly figure. He hadn’t been able to do anything, only watch, heart and mind screaming in abject agony, as his best friend was argued over.
He’ll never forget the look on Spider’s face when they’d appeared. The fear, the absolute terror that had practically screamed ‘no go away!’. And the expression he’d made as he was yanked along by that raider is burned into Lo’ak’s retinas. Like Neteyam’s blank gaze.
Spider’d been so desperate, so scared. For him or them, he’s not sure. Lo’ak had never seen so much tension bunching up his shoulders. Even the way he kept that woman in his peripheral had told him immediately that she was bad. Worse than Quaritch, even.
And wasn’t that a kick in the teeth. Lo’ak thought that dude was properly dead and had been scooped up by an akula as an early lunch. Obviously not the case.
“Did you follow us?” Yu’nar suddenly asks, yanking Lo’ak out of his own thoughts.
“We couldn’t let him go without us,” Tuk says plainly. “He’s our brother.”
Yu’nar hums again, the corners of her mouth twitching with a hidden smile.
Peylak calls her name, holding tight to one of the anchoring ropes and waiting for her to board. Yu’nar’s ears twitch but she doesn’t move.
“When you find him, and return him,” she suddenly says, completely serious, “you will contact us.”
Lo’ak blinks at her, but Kiri has the smarts to say, “How?”
“We will be travelling across the northern coast,” Yu’nar replies, even as Peylak calls for her again. “Send a scout, or an outrider, and we will divert our course.”
“Just like that?” Lo’ak asks.
Yu’nar nods, “Our crew is in his debt. We will see him again so that he can be repaid. And so that he may pay his respects to T’ue.”
“We’ll do it,” Kiri says resolutely, and with one final, grateful smile, Yu’nar picks herself up and joins her mate at the anchoring ropes. Wrapping a supporting arm around his waist before they’re lifted up to the ship.
As it’s turning to leave, Lo’ak drops his arm from Kiri’s shoulders and pats his knees. “So,” he says, “we should go now, before the eclipse so that we can–”
“No one,” Dad suddenly says, “is going anywhere. I’ve had enough of my kids deciding when they can throw themselves into danger. And Lo’ak, you don’t even have an ikran to fly on.”
“Then I’ll go,” Kiri cuts in as Lo’ak opens his mouth to argue.
Dad’s anger swings around to Kiri. “No you will not–”
“Dad, you cannot keep me from saving our best friend. I know you’re worried about us, and I know some of it is because of Neteyam, but we’re old enough to make our own decisions,” Kiri interrupts, her voice calm and level. “You didn’t let us go after him the first time because he was taken by the humans. But these are Na’vi, ruthless people who won’t bat an eye at ripping him apart once he dies– and he will die if we don’t go save him now!”
It’s like a ticking time bomb suddenly appears above their heads. It ratchets Lo’ak’s stress levels up something nasty. If he peers close, he can see the shape of Spider’s spare exopack battery in the pouch at Kiri’s hip.
“No,” Dad says, stubborn right down to the end of his tail, steely as he stares at them. “You’re not going after Spider. Why can’t you understand I’m trying to keep you safe? Why can’t you just follow orders–”
“Because we’re not soldiers!” Lo’ak exclaims, the words rushing from his mouth like stampeding pa’li. He’s shocked at himself, but keeps his expression determined.
“And what happened to accepting Spider into our family?” Kiri adds. Lo’ak can physically see her patience fraying. “Are we seriously going to abandon him, again, when he’s in danger because it keeps the rest of us safe? We’ve done that before, Dad. You’re actually asking us to do it again?”
“Yes,” Dad says without hesitation, and at Tuk’s little gasp, he tries to claw it back. “I mean– yes, but– no I think…we can’t just go after him! It’s crazy, we don’t know what we’re up against and I refuse to put you kids in danger, and you are not going on your own–”
“She won’t be going alone.”
Mom’s voice is the quietest Lo’ak has ever heard it. Soft spoken, almost a murmur, but it shuts Dad up as if she’d screamed at him.
“Baby?”
“Kiri will not be going alone,” Mom clarifies, laying an arm over Kiri’s shoulders and squeezing. “I shall go with her.”
Kiri looks completely confused and enamoured. Dad looks like he’s swallowed a banana fruit the wrong way and it’s stuck in his windpipe.
“What do you mean go–”
“I will fly with Kiri to the Mangkwan’s territory, where we will find and rescue the boy and return him to High Camp,” Mom interrupts, leaving Dad struggling around words that don’t even get a chance to formulate on his tongue. She continues before he can recover.
“You will take Tuk, and Lo’ak,” Mom says, raising a hand when he starts to protest, “to High Camp to prepare for our return. You will also bring your son to choose another ikran.”
Because you didn’t take him the first time.
It goes unsaid, but Lo’ak’s heart squeezes in his chest as if Mom had blurted it outright. It wasn’t Dad’s fault that the humans had decided to rudely claim land that wasn’t theirs the same year Lo’ak came of age. He’s accepted that.
There’s no arguing with Mom when she’s like this, but Dad’s tight jaw is telling.
“You’ll come straight back once you have him?” he demands. “No funny business, no side quests?”
“Duh,” Kiri says with a roll of her eyes. “They won’t even follow us home because we’ll be gone before they notice.”
Dad doesn’t believe her. Lo’ak doesn’t either, but if he starts to protest, his head will get bitten off for sure.
Kiri relents to the hand on top of her head better than Lo’ak would, leaning into the touch when Dad stares at her earnestly, nearly pressing their foreheads together.
“I mean it,” he says.
“So do I,” Kiri argues back petulantly. “But you need to let go if we’re moving, or else we’ll lose the daylight.”
Lo’ak’s not sure whether it is her words that gets Dad moving, but nevertheless he’s calling down Bob as Kiri and Mom are signalling to their ikrans.
Lo’ak’s heart squeezes again, his steps slow and hesitant as he finally comes face to face with reality.
His wings are cold to the touch, his eyes half open and his chest still. Lo’ak falls to his knees so he can stroke his ikran’s nose, biting his lip against the swell of sadness that rises in his chest.
It was his fault. The arrow sticking out from his ikran’s ribcage was his doing as much as it was the one who fired it. Tears burn his eyes and trail sticky lines down his cheeks. Lo’ak’s not sure if he looks pathetic or ridiculous. He doesn’t really care.
A large comforting hand presses against the back of his neck as Lo’ak curls his shoulders. It’s the first time in a while Dad’s comforted him, and he’s not sure if he should shove it away or relish it.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says in a quiet rumble. “I know you two were close.”
“He helped me feel close to– to Neteyam,” Lo’ak admits, his voice thick with unshed tears as his fist scrubs at his cheeks. “It was the only place I could– talk to him. While we were flying.”
The hand on the back of his neck tightens.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says again, this time with more meaning. “We’ll get it back, don’t worry.”
Usually, Lo’ak wouldn’t really believe him. Because of the amount of times he’s been let down. The flicker of hope burns brightly enough he can’t snuff it out.
“Are you going to say goodbye to us?” Kiri suddenly shouts. “Or are we going to have to say farewell to the back of your heads?”
Lo’ak scrubs away the last of his tears and abruptly stands. But not before giving Dad a grateful look. “You could’ve left at any time, y’know.”
“I wanted your good luck,” Kiri replies cheekily, although Lo’ak can see past the bravado to the nerves underneath. “Don’t die on your second iknimiya, yeah?”
“Don’t die trying to get our brother back,” Lo’ak mutters, trying to take a swipe at her knee. Her ikran snips at him, but Kiri just twitches her kuru. Out of his periphery, Lo’ak can see Mom and Dad saying goodbye; their tails intertwined and their heads pressed close.
“Don’t strangle our little sister while I’m gone,” Kiri says, giggling at Tuk’s outraged squeak.
“You’ll be careful, right?” Lo’ak says, Kiri’s ears twitching at the serious tone. “You and Mom. Don’t be stupid, don’t be sacrificial and all that shit.”
“I promise, brother,” Kiri replies, leaning forward so that he can’t look away. “I won’t take away your title of ‘family dumbass’.”
She barely escapes Lo’ak’s second swipe, but her laughter lifts his spirits some. At least enough to not feel completely nauseous as Mom urges them into the sky. Lo’ak sways when Tuk presses her weight against his leg, refusing to move until their shadows disappear from view.
“Alright,” Dad says quietly, considering the two of them. “How do we fit three people on an ikran? Any suggestions?”
<...>
They’re flying for what feels like hours before Spider sees the change in the land.
Gone is the sprawling green forest and specks of deep blue rivers and lakes, replaced by the blackened dead world they’re currently zipping through. From where he’s lying, flat on his stomach at the front of the harness with his hands tied, it’s the only thing he can look at, his eyes widening at the lack of life anywhere.
“What the fuck,” he murmurs in English. “What happened?”
No one answers him, of course. He just gets a smack to the back of his head and a snarling ‘Quiet!’ from the guy keeping him still.
As they get further, deeper, the smell reaches him next.
His mask is typically able to filter any strong scents from the world around him; dead meat, animal droppings, strong pastes. Sometimes it gets through though, like the smell of wet earth in the forest, or episoth seeds when they’re boiled down to a paste.
This stink doesn’t even wiggle past his mask’s defences, it takes a running uppercut to his nose.
Spider’s noise of disgust makes his captor laugh, saying something to his neighbour about the human’s weak nose, not being able to take in the smell of the fire.
Spider’s smelt wood smoke before, and this is not fire. He doesn’t say that though, in case they whack his head again. Instead, he stays still and quiet, carefully and slowly turning his head so he can see something else other than the rolling ground.
The volcano is a very obvious landmark to lock onto. It’s also the only one for seemingly miles. Standing proud over its domain as it spits out more fire to add to the destruction.
He can hear it even from the back of the ikran, big booming noises, louder than any explosive stored on the SeaDragon.
“That accounts for the smell,” he mutters to himself, his eyes widening as another spurt of lava crashes down on the mountainside.
“Quiet!” the guy hisses again, shoving so harshly against Spider’s head the muscles in his neck protest. “One more word, human, and I will cut out your tongue.”
“If you damage my prisoner, Riku,” comes the woman - Varang’s - sultry voice as her massive creature pulls level with Spider, “I will do the same to you. But not as…efficiently.”
The other raiders laugh at the promise of pain. Spider shivers at the thought.
Riku grunts, like this sort of threat is something that happens everyday, but he lightens the grip he has on Spider’s neck just a little. It’s still present, very much a threat, able to snap the bones underneath its grip, but Varang pulls away with a triumphant noise.
They keep going, eating through the miles rapidly until the black ground beneath turns into a grey wasteland. The sound of the volcano, like a giant’s booming steps, becomes distant, and the stench fades just a little.
Around him, the raiders become restless, urging their ikran faster as the sight of their home crests over a barren hillside of ash. It’s then that Spider suddenly realises the danger he’s in now far exceeds anything he experienced with the humans. At least they knew what boundaries to cross.
With these raiders, these ash people, the boundaries of cruelty have been taken out back and shot. It’s obvious why from the first glance of their Hometree.
It’s a burnt out husk of what it once was. Only the root columns remain intact, the ends reaching up to the sky with blackened broken fingers that drop rainfalls of ash on the unsuspecting ground. The branches strewn around its base are petrified hands, gnarled, skeletal and disfigured, and the bits of the trunk that remain are strewn across the landscape, nearly hidden by the packed hills of dust and ash.
Spider’s stomach rolls where it's pressed against the harness, a mouthful of bile burning his throat as the ikran descends, and he gets a better look at the village.
They’ve hollowed out the base, two lines of yurts packed side to side leading to one that spreads itself across nearly the entire width of the Hometree. It’s the biggest one, and Spider can only guess that it belongs to Varang. Cookfires and other horrors that Spider’s eyes glaze over fill every empty space available.
The thud of the ikran’s claws colliding with the hard packed ground makes his stomach roll again, but it somersaults when he’s hauled to his feet and practically dragged to the front of their formation.
Other villagers come out from their homes, eyeing him warily and bowing reverently before Varang. A whisper of “Tsahik” rises amongst them, and Spider watches as each person she slowly walks past lowers their heads. As if she’s the only one able to stand straight.
As they get closer to the larger yurt, they pass two tall, terrifying totems with gaping maws. They’re unlike anything he’s ever seen, and Spider tries not to think about what the red stains are.
Each villager has disfigured themselves in some way, either with piercings or wounds, covering their blue colour with the deadened grey of ash and bright red paint. The scars replacing their freckles creates a very stark picture that Spider tries to not think about too much to steady his upset stomach.
Then he spies the cut off kurus swaying in the dry wind and bile burns his throat again.
The people gather on both sides, wary gazes turning to glares, following their group in a trail, until they’re gathered at the entrance to Varang’s yurt.As Varang slows to a stop, their gathering halts at least a few steps behind her. The only one not keeping their eyeline below hers is the warrior still holding onto Spider, Riku. Perhaps he’s her second in command.
Her yurt is bigger than Tonowari’s in Awa’atlu, more intimidating, with a great war drum to its left. Varang turns on her heel, the bones within her plait clinking as she looks over her people, and regards Spider with an expression he can’t understand.
“Our raid was a success,” she says, and the crowd hisses, pumping their weapons towards the sky in jubilant victory. “We destroyed the Olo’eyktan’s Tlalim ship, and have returned with enough supplies to last us a full rotation.”
She gestures, and three raiders trot forward with baskets straining against their handles. Spider recognises the colourful weave immediately, tightens his jaw against his protests.
“We shall be having a feast tonight,” Varang calls, and another cheer rises up through the crowd.
“Tsahik,” someone interrupts.
A hush falls over the crowd, the villager cowering when Varang’s acidic gaze lands on them.
“What about that?” they ask, pointing at Spider. “What is it?”
Spider bristles. He must not hide it well because Varang’s victorious smile dies to a smirk.
“That,” she says, stalking forward a few steps so that she’s towering over Spider, “is my new pet.”
Around them, the crowd laughs, the noises catching in their chests and turning eerie. Spider gives a small tug against the hand keeping him still, snarling quietly when he’s yanked back. As if she’d been expecting it, Varang’s smirk widens, and she flicks her fingers at the warrior holding him captive.
“Prepare the firepit for our feast,” she says, raising her voice so that it carries. “I will see to it that my new pet is…comfortable.”
There’s another cheer as Spider is shoved towards the yurt. Stumbling into the beaded curtain and nearly tripping into something straight out of a nightmare.
In the middle of her yurt, a large flaming brazier stands, casting shadows over the woven items and fabrics that look like they don’t come from this desolate place at all. Tables, covered in bowls and jars, surround the fire, filled with all kinds of pastes and liquids Spider doesn’t even want to smell.
He jolts backwards at the hooks hanging from the ceiling, and the distinct red splatter of blood dying the white bone a rusted red. Spider yelps at the sight of more kurus and skulls covering every available surface like trophies.
Trying to gain control of his breathing, the beaded curtain clinks as Varang follows him in, and he watches as she prowls around one side of the brazier. Collecting a coil of rope from a table that’s so rough and damaged it could hardly hold anything.
“Now,” she says, airily, her eyes glinting as she comes towards him, “let us make sure you are as comfortable as you can be. I would not want you running off while we are having all the fun.”
Spider can’t do anything as one set of handties slip off his wrists, and another is secured. He hisses against the cut off in circulation, gasps when the rough fibres dig into his skin. As if enjoying his noises of pain, Varang tightens the rope just a little bit more. Spider bites his lip to keep them from escaping further.
She smiles at him, tilting her head like a prowling thanator and reaching up a hand to graze her fingers against the plexiglass of his mask. How he wishes he could try and bite them to get her away.
“How fascinating,” Varang says, her hand travelling higher until it settles into Spider’s hair. Not quite gripping, but the threat isn’t unnoticed. “You must tell me how this works. You must tell me everything I wish to know.”
Spider laughs, the sound straining against the fear lining his throat. “For an interrogation tactic, that’s pretty weak.”
“Nothing I do is weak, human,” Varang snaps, tightening her fingers. “And if I wanted to interrogate you, I could use anything in my yurt to get you to talk.”
“Then– why don’t you?” Spider says, tilting his neck so that she isn’t pulling on his scalp.
Humming, she replies, “Because I would like to try talking, first. Is it impossible for a Na’vi and a human to simply talk?”
“Not when the Na’vi is stark raving mad,” Spider mutters.
Varang laughs, crazily, and lets go of Spider’s hair. “Your English words are funny, even though I do not know what they mean.”
She paces around the brazier, now sure that Spider won’t be able to move, stoking the flames so that they climb higher.
“Why keep me?”
The fire leaps with a cloud of powder she throws at it, casting stark shadows over her face and causing her eyes to glow.
“Because I find you entertaining,” she says, throwing in another clod of powder. “And because you are a bargaining chip.”
The flames reach her chest as she adds, “And I won’t be able to use you, if you are damaged or killed. So be a good little human, and answer my questions. And, perhaps,” she brushes off her hands and prowls forward again, “I will answer yours.”