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The clean up after the battle weighs heavily on them all. Their collective heartache doesn’t fade with the passage of time, especially for the Metkayina, who were still mourning the loss of their fallen brethren from the previous fight, the one that resulted in the death of Toruk Makto’s eldest son.
The cove is muddied with disturbed silt, bodies and machines alike sunken to the depths of the ocean. There’s a general consensus among the varying clans to lay their dead to rest here, and to clear the water of any human remains. Eywa does not absorb the sky people’s bodies into the Cove of the Ancestors, nor do the sea creatures devour them, believing their flesh to be poisoned.
Lo’ak throws himself into busy work just as his father does. Most of the Na’vi adults and teenagers work in shifts, ensuring that they get some well-needed rest before returning to their duties, but not him. His upper body stings from the progressive sunburn that he hasn’t had a chance to heal from, and it’s only thanks to Tsireya that he remembers to wear any sunscreen at all.
“My mother taught me this recipe,” she explains, “It is a paste made of ochre.” Her smile is kind, though there’s a wobble to her words that strikes Lo’ak’s heart. He sits motionlessly as her fingers gently apply the paste to his rosy cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his shoulders. Their fleeting moments together remind him that he’s alive, grounded to the earth beneath his feet as the days move forward.
Even so, it’s hard to stay focused when his mind goes blank under the waves. He forgets how to breathe at times, going longer and longer without air while he dives into the metal hulls of groaning ships. He goes alone, without his siblings, without Tsireya, and definitely without his father.
The rift between them hasn’t completely healed yet, with something hanging in the way of true mercy.
From the corner of his eye he spots his father’s figure swimming at the other end of an airship’s ruins, pulling up a heavy case of firearms. The injury to his thigh hasn’t even scabbed over yet, the wound wrapped tight with a poultice that’s sure to wash away the longer Jake stays in the water. Lo’ak is almost tempted to tell him to rest, the guns can wait after all, but he knows his words will fall on deaf ears.
He turns back to the task at hand, pulling up a bent metal beam to release the body of a deceased ikran, its rider’s whereabouts unknown. Maybe they had survived. Lo’ak certainly hopes that’s the case. He can’t lift the creature out of the water, but he doesn’t want it to stay stuck underneath a wrought metal cage. Let it return to Eywa, to the sands below, where it can be absorbed back into the planet.
Lo’ak watches as the colourful, patterned body sinks from the wreckage to the ocean floor, surrounded by flotsam yet to be cleared. He sees his brother’s body at the bottom, nestled amongst the bioluminescent seagrass, calling to him. Such an oddity isn’t possible; Lo’ak knows it’s a trick of the mind, but he smiles anyway, waving at him until the vision disappears from sight, his smile fading with it.
Nightfall welcomes the weary, the sound of nocturnal animals blanketing the coast of the Eastern Sea, chirping and lulling most of the tribes to sleep in their temporary camps. It’s hard to feel lonely when there are so many Na’vi gathered in one area, but Lo’ak feels it nonetheless. He walks along the sandy beach with Tsireya, Aonung, Spider, and Kiri. Rotxo’s body was recovered earlier that day, the discovery met with tormented cries from his parents. Lo’ak tries to shake the image from his head, unable to reconcile his death with reality when he was alive just days ago.
The group is quiet as they walk the night, aimless in their destination. Their families are well-aware of their evenings spent in companionable silence, learning to grow through their tribulations together. Kiri breaks the stilted air with a gasp, catching their attention as she points to the water.
“Oh Eywa, look…”
A queue washes up upon the shore, nearly grey in colour and completely severed of its body. Bile rises in Lo’ak’s throat, a sickly feeling of nausea readying itself through his chest. He hurries to cover his mouth with a hurk, saliva already pooling on his tongue and around his teeth. There are gasps all around him, the others reacting similarly to the ghastly sight. Who did it belong to? How would one even go about identifying who it belonged to?
Lo’ak’s feet give out from under him, his lungs seizing in shock at the realization of who could’ve done this. He can’t breathe, he can’t hear, he can only sink into darkness as his vision blurs at the edges.
The next time he wakes, he’s swaddled in soft, woven quilts, a fire going strong in his family’s designated marui back in Awa’atlu. His mother sits by his side, her hand softly running through his salty hair. The urge to push up into her touch is strong, missing her comfort more than he ever has. Lo’ak’s thoughts drifts to his early childhood, when he was still small enough to be carried in Neytiri’s arms. Her voice, more lyrical than that of any Pandoran creature, would sing in his ears, weaving delightful stories of his ancestors.
He took it all for granted, that gossamery peace. Their family used to be whole, and songs were sung aplenty. The only music he hears these days is Neteyam’s song, his mother absentmindedly humming it under her breath.
“How are you, my heart?”
He can’t think of a single word, Na’vi or English, that he could respond with, his mind far too groggy to process the question. Lo’ak feels like he’s swimming through forest hive syrup, his muscles slow to respond. Minutes pass in silence before he finally opens his eyes, squinting up at his mother’s concerned face. She’s beautiful, serene, haloed by the blaze of fire. A cursory glance around the marui shows that they’re alone, and it’s enough to relax the tension in his chest, though he’s unsure why he feels so uneasy in the first place.
Dad’s not here. It’s shameful but he’s relieved of his absence. Things have been… tenuous between them, to put it lightly. Their relationship is still in the works, but he thinks they’re on the right track. At least his father isn’t barking at him like he’d been mere days ago.
The words still won’t form on his tongue despite his best efforts. His hands come up to sign instead, much to Neytiri’s surprise.
“I’m okay.”
“No, Lo’ak. Do not lie to me, I am here.” At this, she places the palm of her hand to his chest, holding it there but not pushing. “I am here.”
His lip trembles, embarrassed and overwhelmed as tears well up in his eyes. Nothing gets past her; she can see into his soul even without the connection of tsaheylu. Lo’ak sits up, scrubbing the back of his hand against his eyes, rubbing the tears away until he sees colourful spots. His brother had never cried like this, though why would he have? He had never seen someone lose their very connection to Eywa.
“We saw someone’s kuru on the beach.”
“I heard.” Her eyes soften. “Kiri and Spider told me when they brought you back. I am so sorry you had to see that, Lo’ak.” Neytiri’s hand rubs at his back, but he moves to lean away from it; his body suddenly feels awful, goosebumps running along his arms and thighs as if in preparation for a lurking threat.
“I saw Varang cut a wind trader’s kuru back in the forest,” he signs. “It wasn’t natural, mom. It felt like she was holding me by a leash.”
He doesn’t notice the tremor in his fingers, nor the frantic way he begins to sign his words. The panic comes back to him, refreshed in its terror and despair. Is Varang even alive? Kiri had scared her off towards the end of the battle, but could someone have killed her after that? In his heart of hearts he knows that the witch is still alive, and that she’ll come back for vengeance someday.
The fire glows brilliantly as he heaves in short breaths that do more harm than good. Neytiri’s voice sounds warped, beyond comprehension as Varang’s laughter rings in his ears. She’s going to come back and scalp me.
He has to protect himself. If he can’t protect himself then how can he protect the family? He wraps his arms around his knees, hiding his face as he pants against his skin. It wheezes out of him as his throat constricts itself, the lack of air burning his lungs from the inside.
“Calm, Lo’ak!” Neytiri exclaims. Her kuru entwines with her son’s, urging love and comfort through the bond. The feedback she receives in turn makes her gasp, breathless at the fear wracking her son’s heart. She sees the world through his eyes, the burden he carries with him even in the boring, mundane moments. There is happiness, though very limited, and only present with certain people in his life. None of it is with Jake.
There’s no time to dwell on it as her son sobs against her chest, his arms coming up to cling to her in desperation. Unconditional love coils back and forth through the bond, responding strongly to Lo’ak’s cry for help.
They hold each other through the night, until the embers of the fire burn low and Lo’ak falls back asleep. He’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow, or maybe he’ll rejoin the clean up effort and ignore the turmoil festering in his mind.
It’s the smell of food that wakes him first, then the sound of sizzling that graces his ears. He counts five pairs of feet puttering around their home, moving supplies and getting ready for the day ahead. His movements are deliberately slow as he gets up, pushing himself to his unsteady feet. Spider catches him by the waist when he totters too far to the left, wobbling slightly under his weight.
“Damn, I always forget how heavy you are,” the blond jokes, smiling up at Lo’ak before punching him in the ribs.
“Ow, you skxawng, knock it off.”
“Lo’ak, you’re awake!” Tuk cheers, running to her brother, arms wrapping around him and squeezing with all of her might. She nuzzles her face into his belly, rubbing her nose back and forth and refusing to let go. Lo’ak laughs at the ticklish feeling, gently pushing her away as he takes in the sight of his family.
Everyone looks relieved to see him awake. Kiri pulls him down to sit beside her, and not a second later a bowl is pushed into his hands by his mother. Lo’ak smiles before whispering a prayer under his breath, thankful for the meal Eywa has provided them with. His eyes land on his father across the fire pit, standing still with his gaze fixed on him.
Jake’s eyes are guarded, though it’s long become a typical sight. Lo’ak knows his father is a marine most of all, traversing through life with more vigilance than a thanator, carefully observing for any sign of danger.
Am I still a danger, dad?
Lo’ak averts his gaze at the sudden thought. The sooner he finishes his food, the sooner he can return to the water. Yesterday had never happened, and there’s certainly no need for all this worry from his family.
“How’re you feeling, boy? You doing okay?”
Lo’ak swallows a bite of grilled fish before replying. “Yes, sir.”
He spies a shared look between his mother and father, communicating in their silent language. He swears he’s deciphered most of it on his own.
“Come with me today, will you Lo’ak? I need your help running recon.” Jake clips a chest pack to his torso, double-checking each pocket with checklist precision. “We need to patrol the area and make sure none of the RDA or Mangkwan have escaped into the forest. I need your eyes.”
“Yes, sir.” He places his bowl down against the woven floor. The tag-along would’ve brightened his spirit weeks ago, but he was looking forward to a day alone in the cove. At least he’ll be able to step foot into the forest surrounding the reef, which he hasn’t had a chance to do since Neteyam was alive.
They take off on foot, without Bob or Toruk, trekking into the thick bush with careful purpose. Lo’ak’s footsteps are far quieter than his father’s, almost feather-light as he delicately balances over burgeoned tree roots. He doesn’t have to watch his feet for where he goes, confident enough not to trip.
The coastal forest feels reassuringly familiar despite the time he’d spent away from it. He plucks a melon tree fruit from its trunk, gauging its size in his hand before slicing a piece, pushing it into his mouth by the edge of his knife. It’s perfect, warmed and ripened by the heat of the sun, its sugars lifting his mood bite by bite.
“You used to eat so many of those that you’d get sick,” Jake chuckles, breaking the silence between them. “Your mom couldn’t get you to eat anything else or you’d throw a tantrum.”
“Heh, yeah…” The conversation ends there, the space between father and son growing awkward and heavy. It’s hard for Lo’ak to initiate conversation with him in spite of their tender reconciliation. His father had treated him and Neteyam like soldiers the moment they’d learned to ride an ikran. He can’t shake the dynamic yet, not while it’s still ingrained in him like second nature.
He pushes on ahead of Jake, putting just enough distance between them to feel at ease in the silence. Sunlight pours through the tree canopy, dappling the area with golden rays. There’s perfect visibility for their mission, the darkness driven out from every corner of the forest. Hours go by without any unexpected discoveries, no bodies, no signs of disturbance, not even a broken branch to suggest that someone had walked through the area.
There’s a knot in his chest that releases itself after some time, reassured that they won’t run into any enemies out here. He isn’t ready for another fight so soon after the last. I don’t think anyone is, he surmises. Lo’ak is well aware that his people are suffering just as he is, haunted by pain both physical and emotional. His parents are still recovering from their wounds, never mind the fact that they haven’t been able to properly mourn together as a family yet.
Tsireya, Aonung, and baby Pril have lost their mother. Tonowari has lost his mate. Countless Na’vi are still looking for the remains of their loved ones, missing in action even though the dust has settled. Lo’ak takes no comfort in their shared anguish, wishing instead that he could take it all upon himself. Pandora would be better off for it.
The tightness in his breast returns tenfold. Lo’ak stops in his tracks to grip a slim tree, nearly crushing the springy trunk in his four-fingered grip. What would Neteyam do if he were here? He wouldn’t be freaking out like this, would he? He was, was, so much stronger than Lo’ak in every sense of the word. It’s not fair to any of them, his older brother should be here, not him.
He vaguely registers the feeling of a wide hand pressing between his shoulder blades, warm and solid against his skin. Lo’ak tries to bring himself out of it; no good soldier would ever space out in untrodden territory unless they were looking for a death wish. It’s a hideous reminder of what he’d almost done to himself that awful night, of which he has no desire to think about.
“—‘ak. Lo’ak.” His dad suddenly appears in front of him, both hands on his shoulders now, peering down at him with worried eyes. “Easy, son, easy. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Can you do that for me?”
“Huh?”
Has he really been breathing that hard? He swears he was fine just a moment ago. His eyes flit to and fro, taking in the trees around them. When did it get so dark? He doesn’t even recognize where they are, but he knows damn well that it was midday not too long ago.
“Dad, where are we? What time is it?” Lo’ak swallows nervously, his mouth tacky and dry. Eywa, what’s happening to him? Why is he like this? A million questions zap through his brain but there’s no time to process any of them, not when his dad looks so worried.
Panic is one thing; he can live with that to an extent, but losing track of time is new to him, he’d never experienced it unless he was having fun with his siblings and friends. Jake wraps an arm around his skinny shoulders, guiding them to a mossy clearing. A gentle stream runs across it, water bubbling clear and pristine. The surrounding plants begin to give off a luminous glow, offering enough cool light to chase away the shadows.
“Come, sit. We’re almost home, but let’s just stop for a bite before we head back, huh?” Jake offers. He opens one of the many pockets on his chest pack, pulling out some dried strips of spiced and smoked arrow deer meat. Lo’ak takes a small piece with a mumbled thanks, absentmindedly nibbling at the leathery snack.
He knows a talk is coming, the anticipation growing in his belly until his knee bounces repetitvely. Jake notices the movement, sighing before finally breaking the lull.
“I always hated opening up to my old man, y’know? It wasn’t easy, not like when I would talk to your uncle Tommy.”
Lo’ak looks up at him in wonder, not expecting the mention of his human grandfather, and especially not of his uncle. His father seldom talked of his family from Earth, choosing to forego that connection to his past.
“It was hard talking to him, he was so stuck in his own ways that there’d be no point in having a conversation. But Tommy, Jesus, your uncle Tommy was so smart. You could talk to him about anything and he’d be able to match your enthusiasm just like that. You would’ve really loved him.” His voice cracks on those last few words, struggling to get them out evenly. “You would’ve really loved him, Lo’ak. He was just like your brother.”
Lo’ak flinches at the mention of Neteyam, ducking his head to hide the sudden heat that builds up in his eyes. Sharp teeth gnash away at the morsel in his mouth, grinding it to a tasteless, grey pulp. Chew, chew, swallow, repeat the motion.
“Why are you telling me this, dad?” He finally asks. He can’t stand the strained atmosphere in the air any longer. Better to speed this along so they can go home. “Why bring this up?”
“Because I want you to be able to come to me when you need help, Lo’ak. You can’t bear the pain alone, it’ll k—” Jake clears his throat, his hands clenching where they rest against his thighs. “It’ll kill you.”
“It almost did.”
Jake’s head whips in his direction, his face a broken mess of devastation. Tears fill Lo’ak’s eyes all over again, try as he might to stop them. He hasn’t had a moment to process that wretched night when he’d tried to put a bullet through his skull. There’s nothing to stop the flood of grief now that the gates have been opened.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. Sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe, like I’m better off not—not here, if that makes any sense.” The words fall out of his mouth in a tongue-tied mess. “I know it’s my fault, I’ll carry that for the rest of my life. But it hurts, it hurts so fucking much."
He shouldn’t be sobbing so openly, he knows it’s unbecoming of him, but the tears won’t stop. He feels his age, all of fourteen years old, caught up in a kaleidoscope of world-ending intensity that he can’t seem to shake off no matter how much he tries to fall back on his father’s rigid training. Their lives are irreparably changed by his brother’s death, by the countless sorrows that now plague the Na’vi, with no end in sight to their suffering.
Jake tugs him close to his chest, embracing his only son as if letting him go would mean their shared demise. Lo’ak scrambles to hold onto his father, wailing his heart out until the pressure in his brain grows too painful to bear any longer. Pandora is empty save for them; no one else exists in the valley of sorrow that they find themselves in. They are father and son, two together again.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, too many to count on my fingers. I should’ve never said those things to you, Lo’ak, because they weren’t true. I did this to us, I did. Not you.” Jake whispers, running his fingers through his child’s braided hair.
The din of the forest gradually returns to the clearing, the purl of running water weaving through the mossy terrain. Lo’ak doesn’t pull away from his father, too embarrassed to show himself after his emotional outburst. The tears have dried though, and his face itches fiercely with the sting of salt on his still-sunburnt cheeks. He shyly turns away from the embrace to cup some water in his hands, splashing his face until his skin feels clean again.
Head tilting up to the sky, he catches a glimpse of a star trillions of miles away from Pandora. Earth’s Sun. Lo’ak knows of his dad’s home-world from pictures and videos, a derelict mound of metal and concrete suffocated by noxious fumes and disease.
“Do you ever miss Earth?” Lo’ak asks.
“Honestly? Not really. I think I miss what it used to be, which was a lot like Pandora. But we took it for granted, and that’s not something I’m willing to ever do again.” Jake claps a hand on Lo’ak’s back, wincing apologetically when the boy hisses. “Sorry! Sunburn, forgot.”
“Skxawng, watch it!”
There’s a heavy pause between them, both men’s eyes round with shock at the curse. Did he really just call his dad a moron? Had he gotten too relaxed with him already? As if his day couldn’t get any worse, his mouth decided to run itself without any semblance of thought. Lo’ak’s panic is cut short when Jake laughs, the kind of hearty laugh that builds up from his belly and shakes his shoulders.
“Get your scrawny ass up. Your mom's going to worry if we’re not back soon,” Jake chuckles. Lo’ak hasn’t seen him smile this wide in a long time, its year-long absence all of a sudden making itself known to him. He rolls his eyes, cackling at his father’s contagious joy.
They walk in lighthearted silence, for once taking comfort in each other’s company. There’s something urgent he needs to say before they reach the village, a message resting at the tip of his tongue.
Lo’ak grabs his father’s forearm, waiting until he turns back to face him. “Thank you.” It’s all of two words, simple in meaning but pointed enough to bring a light sheen to Jake’s eyes.
Their pain will still exist come the next day, and the day after that, and perhaps even thirty years down the line. It will never truly go away. But with his shoulders set straight and his mind feeling clearer than it has since his brother died, Lo’ak knows that he can face the future with a strong heart. He got it from his parents, after all.