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“Why is Dad’s songcord so short?”
The moment she said it, the four half-grown kids—some with Suli in their names, some without—froze with their hands still and turned to their little sister. She had just stopped solemnly chewing on her thumb after most of the day, which was a serious sign. The four of them quickly exchanged a look.
This is it. The moment they’d been preparing for.
Every child realized their family—and especially their father—was different at a different time.
Kiri had it easiest. She learned the truth early, hearing it directly from her birth mother while connecting to the Tree of Voices. Neteyam and Spider barely struggled with it either. Scientists’ avatars had always lived among them, and once Mo’at explained how the Tree of Souls worked, which wasn’t that different from link units, it all made sense.
Lo’ak had it rougher. For a while, he thought he was an avatar too. He wandered the base half-asleep, flipping open link units, looking for his sky people’s body—until Neteyam and Kiri beat some sense into him. A good, timely beating. Otherwise Jake and Neytiri would’ve done it themselves.
Now it was their youngest sister’s turn. She’d just turned four and received a tiny wooden knife from their mother. To mark it, she’d threaded her first cork wood bead onto her songcord.
The kids exchanged one last look, confirmed the plan, and delivered their rehearsed lines.
“Dad used to be like our Sky People friends,” Neteyam said, standing up and pointing at the sky.
“He came from a star very, very far away.”
“He came to the Omatikaya in an avatar,” Kiri continued.
“He fell in love with Mom, and with the Omatikaya,” Spider added.
“So he decided not to go back to his Sky Person body.”
While Kiri and Spider were acting out Jake and Neytiri hugging, Lo’ak gagged dramatically from the side.
“Sky People don’t have songcords,” Lo’ak concluded after clearing his throat.
“Dad started his later than everyone else. That’s why his is short.”
Tuk tilted her head. Listened very carefully. Then she protested at once.
“That’s not fair! I’ll make lots and lots of beads for Dad! His songcord should be as long as everyone else’s!”
“But, Tuk,” Kiri said gently, “you have to make your own beads. And each one needs a song to mark something that happened.”
“Yeah,” Lo’ak added, ruffling her head. “You can’t just make them for no reason.”
Tuk wasn’t having it. Her mouth drooped. Her ears flattened. Big golden eyes filled with tears.
“But Dad can’t write songs,” she sniffed. “And he sings off-key… Doesn’t that mean his songcord will always be shorter?”
“Well, yes, but—”
Lo’ak didn’t get to finish. Tuk burst into tears, spraying them all.
“You made her cry again!” Kiri scooped Tuk up and shot Lo’ak a look that could kill.
“She was already about to cry when you said the beads had to be made yourself!”
“That’s when you started talking!”
“You’re way too literal!”
“So what, do you mean I should lie?”
“I hadn’t even finish my sentence!”
Neteyam and Spider stepped in automatically, each grabbing one sibling and calming things down.
Tuk stayed curled against Kiri’s shoulder, still sniffling, until Spider coaxed her into his arms so Kiri could wipe off the tears—and the drool.
“I don’t care,” Tuk muttered into Spider’s chest. “I’m making beads for Dad.” She’d never felt this wronged in her whole short life, and suddenly all the rules just seemed awful and stupid – so annoying, so annoying!
Clearly, crying wasn’t going to stop unless they did something. This family broke enough rules already. One more wouldn’t hurt. The generous Great Mother Eywa will forgive them.
Neteyam stood up first and lifted Tuk.
“Okay. Then we’ll make beads.”
Tuk smiled so hard she blew a tiny snot bubble.
They followed their usual path to a small creek and split up to look for materials.
Neteyam found a shard of shell in the water. Dad didn’t have a shell bead yet. He remembered being taught to shoot fish here. Perfect. He wrapped it in a leaf and put it in his pack.
Turning around, he saw Lo’ak kneeling in the grass, butt in the air, digging.
Neteyam crept closer. His little brother never noticed the shadow over his head. Neteyam leaned in until his mouth was right by Lo’ak’s ear.
“What are you doing?”
“AAH!”
Lo’ak face-planted into the grass. He popped up, covered in leaves.
“Bro! What is wrong with you!”
“You weren’t watching your back.”
The eleven-year-old huffed and brushed himself off.
“I just found a fkio’s tail bone and you messed it all up!”
Neteyam pushed the grass aside and saw the delicate skeleton.
“Fine. My bad,” he said, patting Lo’ak’s head. “I should’ve scared you to death directly.”
“Hey!”
After a gentle fight, they picked the prettiest tail vertebra and buried the rest.
By the time they got back to the creek, Kiri and Spider were sitting on rocks with their feet in the water. Seeds, driftwood, and bright feathers were spread across their laps. Lo’ak wedged himself between them and shoved the bone at Spider, earning an annoyed yelp from Kiri.
“Where’s Tuk?” Neteyam quietly flicked Lo’ak’s tail, making him jump back.
Following Spider’s point, they saw Tuk sprawling on the bank, face nearly in the pebbles. She picked up a stone, squinted at it close, then at arm’s length, tossed it aside, and grabbed another.
“She’s been doing that all afternoon,” Kiri said, smacking Lo’ak when he squeezed back in. “Won’t let us help.”
“What good are feathers by the way? You can’t make beads from them.” Lo’ak compained.
Kiri raised an eyebrow.
“Because some bad kids didn’t think to bring Mom a gift.”
The bad kid grumbled and went to find feathers.
Neteyam crouched beside Tuk.
“What’s wrong, baby? Still not the right one?”
She gently pushed his hand away.
“It’s not.”
It’s too hard for a four-year-old kid to explain what was wrong with the other pebbles. She just kept picking and tossing, like she meant to turn the whole creek upside down. Her small, lonely figure paced back and forth along the creek, and it was pitiful enough to make the four older kids step in and join the search for pebbles.
They were all exhausted after a long afternoon. If Spider’s oxygen mask battery hadn’t run low, they might’ve stayed till dark. They walked him back to Hell’s Gate. On the way home, Tuk slept on Neteyam’s back, clutching her prize. No one knew why—but that pebble was the one.
It burned warm in her palm, like noon sunlight.
That night, she asked—unexpectedly—to sleep with her sister. When everyone was asleep, Kiri gently took the pebble from Tuk’s loosened fingers and slipped it into her pack.
The next day was hunting day. Jake and Neytiri left early with the hunters.
Lo’ak hauled out the toolbox and drilled his bone. Neteyam polished his shell. Tuk knew she wasn’t strong enough to use the tools, so she asked Kiri to drill her pebble, while she braided cord from leather and plant fibers. By dusk, Spider arrived, breathless, spare batteries rattling at his belt. Lo’ak drilled his driftwood in minutes.
Before the ikrans returned, five very different beads were strung on one cord.
The hunt was good. The whole camp soaked in joy and consequently, the celebration ran late. Tuk yawned in Kiri’s arms, and the kids all said she was tired and slipped away like young pa’lis.
Jake and Neytiri stayed busy, making sure every drunk young hunter had someone with them, and ended up leaving nearly last. When they approached their tent quietly, expecting the children to be asleep, they saw a thin line of light slipped out through the flap.
They lifted the flap. Four older kids sat neatly on the rug—three blue, one painted blue—eyes shining.
Neteyam smirked and rocked a hammock. A sleepy little head popped out. Tuk scrambled down, arm raised.
“Dad’s songcord was too short! So we made him new beads!”
Jake froze, then knelt to look. Tuk climbed into his arms, pressed against his chest, and explained every bead.
“The shell is Neteyam’s. The bone is Lo’ak’s. The seed is Kiri’s. The driftwood is Spider’s. And the best pebble from the creek—that one’s mine!”
Neytiri knelt beside them.
“And what does the pebble remember?”
“It’s when Dad got a bead from Tuk for the first time!” she shouted, missing tooth on full display.
Jake hugged his little girl carefully, afraid that the Olo’eyktan’s garb would hurt her skin. Then he decided to stand up and take off his heavy feather decorations so he could pull the kids all close. That’s when he realized Neteyam had grown as tall as his chest, and Lo’ak was almost the same height as Kiri.
Spider hovered a step or two away, smiling awkwardly and wringing his hands. When Kiri’s eyes found him, she slipped gently from Dad’s arms, took Spider by the wrist and led him over to Mom.
“Mom gets a gift too.”
She pulled out the new hairpiece and let Spider hand it to Neytiri together with her.
“Mom’s old hairpiece was worn, so we found some feathers and made this.”
As she fixed it in Mom’s hair, Lo’ak stuck his head out of Dad’s arm.
“Hey! You and Spider can’t just take all the credit! We found feathers too, one each!”
Neytiri laughed and brushed the blue children’s cheeks one by one. Spider stepped back—then felt a warm hand on his head.
“Kid, how long will your oxygen last?”
Spider and Kiri understood the hint at once. Their faces lightened up as they nodded hard.
“Enough for the whole night!”
Blushing, Spider was pulled between Kiri and Lo’ak as they argued over whose hammock he’d sleep in. In the chaos, he bowed slightly to his tall blue mother.
“Thank you.”
“Can Mom write songs for Dad’s new beads?” Tuk asked.
Neytiri hadn’t composed a new song in a long while. She studied the five beads, couldn’t quite hide the hesitation on her face.
“That’s… a lot,” she said. “It may take some time.”
“Yeah, that’s really a lot,” Lo’ak said cheerfully after beating his sister in the argument. “So…why don’t we just ask aunt Ninat for help?”
“Oh, let me see who dares!” Neytiri crouched and pretended to pounce. The kids scattered at once, laughing as they ran, darting across Jake’s blurred line of sight.
He lowered his head and tied the new cord to the old one. One by one, his finger tips rolled over the beads.
Now his songcord was just as long as everyone else’s.