Chapter Text
“They're here! The Wind Traders have come!”
It was always a wonderful feeling for the Tlalim to be hailed as a harbinger of joy. Nearly every clan they encountered welcomed them with such warmth and excitement that it made even the most strenuous journeys worthwhile. Before they would turn to merriment, however, the caravan first had to dock and anchor their ships.
As captain of the largest gondola, Peylak bore the responsibility of leading them. After years of sailing across Pandora, he knew how to manoeuvre the ship through and in accordance with the wind well. He was not the only one of his crew with such experience, but it had been his feats as a leader in face of the most violent storms and aptitude for diplomacy which had made him stand out and had earned him the title of Olo'eyktan.
It was an honour Peylak had honestly not expected to be bestowed on him, but he had accepted it as his duty without hesitation. Over the past few years, he had grown in his role with much success and his people's respect for him had been solidified.
After anchoring the ship to one of the large trees near the edge of a cliff at the outskirts of the settlement, Peylak descended alone to greet the leaders of the clan and request permission to bring in the other ships and unload their goods. This was the first time the flotilla had visited this particular clan while under Peylak's command, but both the local Olo'eykte and Tsahìk were willing to welcome them as expected.
Peylak gestured to Awul, his second-in-command, back on the ship to send word to the others to land. By the time he set foot on deck again, most of the merchants had already rushed to meet their fellow Na'vi while the crew remained behind to take care of the ship and the creatures carrying them.
“We travelled far today. Feed them well,” Peylak instructed as he looked up at the Medusoid carrying the gondola they stood on. “Let the Windrays free to feed once we are settled.”
“Tail-chaser is taking the Windrays out after the eclipse,” Awul replied as he followed Peylak around to inspect the ship.
“Again?”
“What better way to make sure he won’t cause another diplomatic disaster than to keep him as far away from our hosts as possible?”
“You ought to let it go sometime soon, Brother. Lìawme is foolish, but also young. You of all people should understand it well. I still remember your antics as a young sailor…”
“I never managed to get a Tsahìk’s daughter to sneak onto our ship for me just before departure, though.”
“Jealous?” Peylak smirked at his oldest friend.
“My father would have thrown me into the sea,” Awul huffed and crossed his arms. “How long are we staying here?”
“We agreed on three days at most. If the wind beckons, we will set out earlier.”
“A short stop then…”
“You know these clans get antsy if we stay too long. The war with the Sky People has claimed many of their hunters and resources. We become distractions and have too many mouths to feed.”
“It does not look like a large settlement either,” Awul noted as they observed their surroundings from the edge of the deck. “I hope we can trade some bones and plants for the fabrics we picked up from the Omatikaya.”
“That would be good…” Peylak hummed in agreement.
“Are you looking for anything in particular? Or are you planning to chase some tail since you are so sympathetic to Lìawme's wiles?”
Peylak laughed.
“No, no tails for me. I am looking for beads,” he said as he pulled one of the necklaces around his neck out from under his bright captain's cloak to show to Awul. “I traded this when we met that flotilla in the desert a few seasons ago. Supposedly, the artisan who made it lives here. I would like to see if I can get some more to take with us or at least meet the person who made it.”
“I’ll keep an eye out,” Awul nodded.
The two parted ways soon after to inspect the other gondolas and take note of anything that needed to be repaired or restocked. The fixing of a rather sizeable gap in one of the rattan foundations kept Peylak on board for long enough to find the other Wind Traders had already set up their wares in the town when he set foot on the green earth again.
Peylak leisurely strolled through the bustling market, nodding to members of his own tribe and the local clan whenever they greeted him with reverence. The hunters offered plenty of bones and hides from their expeditions to exchange for the Traders’ exotic goods. Peylak found the clan’s craftsmanship seemed to value practicality over ornamentation and judged that their tents and weapons would serve his people well through the more challenging stretches of their travels. However, he regretfully concluded there was no one offering what he had hoped to find.
With a deep exhale, Peylak sat himself down a little distance away from the crowd. He watched the other Na’vi laugh and wonder at the treasures and stories they shared. It was a sight he committed to memory, knowing this was what kept him going. Through every storm, through every ambush, through every hardship in his heart, Peylak would remember his people’s joy and cling to it.
“Olo’eyktan.”
Peylak turned to find the local clan’s Tsahìk looking at him. Her true name had been abandoned upon her ascension to the prestigious position.
Respectfully, Peylak returned the greeting and the woman sat down at his side. She did not smile like the others, but she did not strike Peylak as unfriendly either. Like most of her clan, her body was only scarcely adorned with practical fabrics carrying simple patterns and few trinkets.
“How do you find our humble village?”
“I do not believe any humility is warranted,” Peylak replied in an attempt at polite flattery. “Your people are strong.”
“We lost many brothers and sisters when the Sky People attacked. We are still grieving… and rebuilding.”
Peylak nodded in understanding. While their caravan had remained untouched by the Sky People, many of the clans they had visited had not. Of some communities barely any survivors remained.
“The wounds will heal,” he noted as some children ran past them. “New life grows from the ashes, unscathed by the fire.”
“The memories remain. They remember as the trees do,” the Tsahìk retorted pensively. “Do you have any sons or daughters?”
“No.”
“A mate?”
“No,” Peylak denied with a gentle shake of his head. “The wind is my companion. My people are my care.”
“You are alone,” she frowned in pity.
“I am never alone,” he disagreed calmly.
“GIVE THAT BACK!”
Peylak’s ears twitched as a sharp voice pierced through the air, clear and commanding. He spotted two boys dart out of one of the tents from which he deduced the cry had come from. The children laughed as they ran off with some sort of cord clutched in their hands. Peylak expected someone to chase after them, but the flap at the entrance remained closed.
“Volup! Ayn!” the Tsahìk called the children angrily, making their childish glee dissipate. “Come here.”
The boys pattered over with a guilty look on their face before she had even begun to truly reprimand them.
“Did I not tell you not to go near that woman again and to behave while we have guests?”
“But-”
“Yitsi and I told the Olo’eyktan our people are raised well. Would you make a liar of me and your Olo’eykte?”
“No, Mother…” the older boy pouted. “We are sorry…”
Peylak’s eye was caught by the cord in their hands. It was a long cable made of beads and one or two larger pieces of bone. He suspected it to be one of many in a curtain to span the full height of his body.
“It is not nice to steal,” Peylak told them.
“It’s only from the One-eyed Bat!” the youngest piped up. “If Volup didn’t have such heavy feet-”
“Shut up,” his brother hissed, feeling their mother’s glare burn at their disrespect.
“It is not nice to steal from anyone,” Peylak reiterated, retaining his calm disposition. “Someone devoted their time and energy to making that. They put their mind to each piece and placed it there with a purpose. They shared their vision with the world by creating this and you took it away.”
The boys looked down at their feet in shame.
“If you are interested in this and ask them kindly, they might share it with you, but you have to ask.”
“I don’t want it,” Volup huffed and dropped the cord to the ground, his little brother following suit. “I don’t want anything from her!”
Before the adults could say anything more, they ran away and disappeared in the crowd of mingling Na’vi. The Tsahìk sighed.
“I do apologise for my sons. I have no excuse for their misbehaviour other than my own failure to raise them...”
“Children can only grow through mistakes,” Peylak eased her embarrassment before reaching down and picking up the cable the boys had stolen. “In their absence, I shall return this.”
“No, I should do so,” the Tsahìk asserted. “There is no need for you to bother yourself with her.”
Peylak’s brow furrowed as he noticed the thinly veiled disdain in her tone, perhaps even more pronounced than her children's.
“Who is she?” he wondered curiously.
“Nobody,” she replied with a sharp exhale through her nose. “A relic of the past. A warning for our young. A memory of failure.”
“I do not believe any artisan who could make this would be familiar with failure,” Peylak argued in the stranger’s defence and stood. “I will bring it back to her.”
“Do as you must,” the Tsahìk resigned with a bow of her head. “You should be aware she is not called one-eyed for no reason. She will not see you, let alone recognise to respect you, Olo’eyktan.”
Peylak ignored her warning and wound the beads around his wrist to keep the ends from touching the ground. He made his way over to the tent, the noise of the merry crowd fading away. Lifting the fabric of the tent, he ducked his head and stepped inside to find himself in unexpected darkness. After blinking a few times, his eyes got used to the dim environment and he heard the sound of crackling flames further inside.
When he stepped forward, he found the curtain from which the cable had been taken and pushed it aside. A figure sat hunched over on the ground in front of a small fire, their back facing his way. The twitch of their ears alerted him of their awareness of Peylak’s entrance.
Reaching for a sack at their side, they threw powder into the flames to make them spark up higher and illuminate the circular space beneath the tent’s thick canvas. The light reflected off the surface of the crates and baskets filled to the brim with smooth beads and bones and the cords suspended from the ceiling. Peylak could now also make out the figure more clearly.
After hearing the way the Tsahìk and her children had spoken of her, he had expected to find some sort of old witch that would perhaps not even be one of their own kind. However, even as she was turned away from him, the so-called ‘One-eyed Bat’ appeared to simply be a Na’vi woman with the muscle of one no older than himself.
“I do not recognise you.”
Unlike the strong voice he had heard earlier, she now spoke with a lethargic meekness.
“I believe something was stolen from you just now,” Peylak spoke softly in response. “I am here to return it.”
Her ears twitched again. When she turned her face towards him, Peylak saw a piece of cloth was strung over her right eye socket and obscured it completely. The other eye stared in his direction and moved around, but never met his gaze. He held out the cord in his hand.
“Shall I put it back with the others?”
“You do not have to.”
“It is no burden,” Peylak insisted.
He turned to the curtain and reached up, attaching one of the ends to the hook at the top. Carefully, he untangled it from his wrist and let the other end drop. The beads rustled against one another and brushed against Peylak’s orange coat, which felt much too hot in the small heated space.
“You are one of the Wind Traders,” the woman deduced.
“I am,” Peylak smiled, though she did not return it. “May I sit with you?”
“I cannot stop you, but I do not see why you would want to,” she said coolly and angled herself to the fire again. “If you were sent here as a punishment or a challenge or another cruelty at my expense, I would prefer you leave.”
The woman curled into herself, her tail wound tightly around herself under her knees. She clearly did not expect to find any genuine kindness from him.
“I do not wish you any harm or offence.”
Peylak approached cautiously before sitting down next to her. She turned her face away into her shoulder to hide it from him, not wishing her wounds to be gawked at if her distrust would prove warranted.
“It is curiosity which moved me to seek you out,” he spoke warmly and courteously, “and the wind which brought me here today. You see, some time ago I bartered with another of my people from a different fleet. He gave me a necklace and claimed it was made by an artisan from these parts… I now suspect that artisan might be you.”
After removing the beads from his neck, Peylak held them out to her. When she still did not react, he draped it over her knee. Finally, she stirred and grasped it. She ran the tips of her fingers over each bead and lifted the cord up an inch away from her uncovered eye.
“I did make this,” she confirmed with a mellow hum. “I gave it to Nupil in return for a shell from the shores of my father… Nupil was a kind man… You are not him.”
Her tone hardened a bit at the end, but it was no accusation.
“No, as I said, he gave it to me,” he said and placed his hand on his chest. “I am Peylak.”
At last, she turned towards him, albeit with much apprehension. Now that he was closer to her than before, Peylak could see white scars run over her nose all the way across her left eye to her temple. He was unsure whether it was merely a trick of the firelight, but her iris seemed much more orange rather than yellow like her peers.
Peylak found himself unusually unnerved by her unwavering stare searching his eyes. As he returned her gaze, however, he realised the truth. She did not see him. Her eye could not find his soul in his gaze and yet she somehow seemed to judge him.
“I gave this to Nupil as a token of friendship. Nupil gave this to you,” she spoke and offered him the necklace. “So I will give it back to you in accordance, Peylak.”
“I would like to know who gives this to me,” Peylak requested and did not take it from her yet.
She remained silent for a short moment.
“Huvang.”
“Huvang,” he repeated and accepted the beads, his finger brushing over hers as he did. “Thank you.”
“There is no need to thank me,” Huvang said coolly.
“I do believe there is. Your craft is one I very much appreciate. I have carried this piece with me through many travels and I am glad to have been graced to know the name of the one who made it.”
“Your words are flattering, but you must forgive me for not believing them entirely truthful.”
Peylak continued to study Huvang and noticed the tension in her shoulders. She did not feel threatened, but she was not at ease either. He did not know how to convince her of his honesty.
“Believe me or not, but I choose these words consciously,” he told her. “Are you an artisan by trade?”
“Many would say I do not have a role within the clan,” Huvang replied with a hint of bitterness. “But I make cords and jewellery, I weave and I carve… I collect my creations here and some come to see them when no one else is watching.”
“Does your clan not value artistry?” Peylak wondered sceptically.
“They do not value me.”
“Why not?”
“I cannot see, therefore I cannot hunt, therefore I am… dead weight.”
“Any clan needs more than hunters.”
“But the clan does not need me… Tsahìk says so. I have been judged and have no place among this clan anymore… No contributions to make…”
Huvang hung her head as she muttered and Peylak looked at her with pity. Looking around her tent once more, the signs of her outcast status were more clear to him now. While the rest of the clan all slept close together, Huvang had her own hammock. She had her own tools for grooming and cooking whereas everyone else seemed to share. She lived with the clan only in name.
“If anyone saw you enter here, you should not stay long,” Huvang advised. “I am already a bad omen within my own clan, I do not wish for you to bear my burden if your Olo’eyktan has been convinced of the same superstition.”
Peylak did not correct her mistake and neither did he feed into it. Something within him did not want her to know the truth, for she would certainly treat him differently if she did. It was rather freeing to not be recognised as Olo'eyktan for once.
“I do not believe you are a bad omen.”
“Then you are one of few. The only reason I have not been sent away to die in the wild is the Olo'eykte's pity… but if sorrow returns to the clan, the blame will be placed on me.”
“I do not think that is fair,” Peylak shared at the risk of meddling in business that was not his. “I admit I have seen little of this clan, but I do not believe I have seen anyone capable of such artistry as yours.”
“It is my father's craft. He was a storyteller from a faraway land who roamed the world on foot until his path came to an end here… He weaved yet unseen patterns into fabric and composed the most intricate songcords…”
Peylak looked around once more to admire her work. There were stacks of sturdy canvas like the ones the clan used to build their tents, but these were embroidered with thick strands of red and green. A bundle of carefully prepared songcord starters hung above Huvang's head and a pile of finished stories lay beside her. It was a shame to hide such creativity and beauty in the shadows, Peylak thought.
“Won't you share this with my people?” Won't you let us Traders show these to Na'vi across the seas?”
Huvang thought for a moment, a pensive frown shifting the skin underneath her eyepatch.
“You can take whatever you want, as long as you leave some.”
“I have to give you something in return,” Peylak insisted. “It is our way. We do not take without giving. If you join us outside, I can show you all we have-”
“There is nothing you can offer me that I would want,” Huvang huffed. “I do not want for anything.”
She could not see the sympathy with which Peylak looked at her.
“Surely there is something I can give you.”
“There is nothing.”
“We have pots from the desert, furs from the north, pearls-”
“Nothing,” Huvang cut him off with an aggravated hiss before returning to her subdued demeanour. “I do not want anything from you.”
“That will not do,” Peylak remained steadfast and shook his head. “I hope you will reconsider and find something to stir your heart, so we can exchange our wares on equal footing.”
“Then you will find yourself disappointed.”
“I will see what way the wind blows tomorrow… and I hope to find it more favourable,” Peylak said as he slowly rose to his feet. “For now, I will bid you goodbye. Thank you for sharing with me, Huvang.”
While he knew she could not see it, he bowed to her out of respect before turning to leave. The beaded curtain rattled as he pushed his arm through.
“Peylak.”
He looked back obligingly. Huvang held out her hand, presenting a small bracelet.
“Take this,” she urged, “and if you must give something in return, give me your promise to spare me any further empty flattery.”
A sympathetic smile played on Peylak's lips at her request. If only she would accept that his praise had all been sincere.
“Thank you, Huvang,” he said softly as he took the bracelet from her palm.
Peylak saw Huvang's lips curl up ever so slightly. After witnessing her lonely melancholy, he considered her smile a much more significant gesture than the gift in his grasp.