Chapter Text
The sorrow, pain and guilt sit like stones in his heart.
They’re weighing down his chest, his shoulders, until it feels like his feet will sink into the wet rock. Dad’s comforting hand usually helps to ground him, but right now it feels like extra leverage, shoving him deeper into the stone. It should be up to his knees by now.
Lo’ak can’t lift his head from where it's buried in Dad’s chest. Everything catches up to him so quickly it’s like he’s crashing back to reality. Lo’ak inhales the scent of salt water and sweat. There’s an iron tang at the back of his tongue, but he’s not sure if that’s from the blood on his hands, or the cuts littered across Dad’s skin.
He doesn’t dare look up. If he does, the stones will get heavier, until he won’t be able to move even a finger.
There’s a small sniff off to his right. Tuk, or Kiri, he’s not sure. Mom’s been silent since they got back to their little shelter, curled around Neteyam’s–
Neteyam.
Lo’ak’s next breath comes out shaky, Dad’s hand tightening where it’s wrapped around his shoulders.
“I know,” Lo’ak feels more than hears, his voice rumbling through his chest. “It’s alright, son.”
When has he been called that recently and it’s not felt like disappointment? Lo’ak can’t remember.
There was a time, before all this, where he would preen at the word, beaming so widely his cheeks would hurt, and running into the open arms that were always there. He always associated it with love, pride, and sometimes joy.
He peeks a look at his brother, and flinches away.
Guess it’ll only mean disappointment, now, he thinks to himself.
He lets go of Spider’s hand for a moment to scrub at his nose roughly. The salt on his skin stings his eyes, and his wrist comes away smeared with a streak of blood. His stomach turns as he lets it drop. It’s not his.
They’re all holding onto each other as they ride the waves of emotions crashing over their heads. The two boys huddle close against Dad’s side, Kiri grips Spider’s hand and Mom and Tuk hover at the edge.
Lo’ak’s all wrung out by this point, being yanked along by his tail by his feelings. I bet, he thinks acerbically, if our roles were switched you would handle–
He digs his nails into the palm of his hand to shut himself up. Digging the side of his head against Dad’s chest.
Lo’ak has no idea how long they stand there, but at one point Dad gives his shoulder a final squeeze, and steps away to get them all moving. Lo’ak lifts his head to watch his attempts.
Kiri’s staring at Spider like he’ll disappear as soon as she blinks. At Dad’s urging, she stands so that Spider’s shoulder is right against her arm, keeping constant contact. Lo’ak can’t find it in himself to tease her about it, refusing to let go of the Spider’s hand himself.
Tuk is pressing her cheeks against Neteyam’s limp hand, but she goes easily when Dad urges her away gently. If only to latch onto Kiri’s other arm instead.
“C’mon baby,” Lo’ak hears Dad murmur to Mom, arms reaching to take Neteyam. “I need– Please?”
Mom’s eyes, still flickering with some life, cast themselves over them all, before falling back to Neteyam. Her grip tightens as she replies, “No.”
“We can’t stay here,” Dad says, lowering to his haunches so that he has leverage to lift Neteyam up with one movement. “We need to get home.”
“What home?” Mom asks, and shivers arc down the entirety of Lo’ak’s body, all the way to the end of his tail. “You took us away from our home. We do not have one.”
“That’s not true, baby,” Dad says, ears pinning back. “We’ve just fought for our home, for our kids.”
“And one has been taken away,” Mom argues, her voice flat like the sea on a clear day, just not as bright.
Dad can’t find his words, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to figure out some way to fight back against her bluntness. It’s like those times Lo’ak tried to get his ikran to fly somewhere it didn’t want to. Force meeting an immovable object.
The Metkayina say that the sea gives, and the sea takes. Lo’ak thinks that, this time, it’s taken too much.
Mom shifts, and Lo’ak has to look at Neteyam now, there’s nothing for him to hide behind, and the sight is…upsetting. Terrifying. Horrific. Every bad emotion Lo’ak can ever think of rolled into a collection of gut punches that do their best to send him into unconsciousness.
Just about managing to fight back against the dark spots, Lo’ak watches as Dad finally backs down. Head bowing towards Neteyam in defeat.
“Mom?” Tuk asks, her voice the smallest Lo’ak’s ever heard.
Lo’ak thinks that Mom’s going to sink into the same sadness that’s itching to drag them all down. Perhaps, as they have been doing ever since the humans returned, the kids are going to have to step up and help the adults.
Mom’s ears twitch before Lo’ak has a chance to try and figure out how they’re going to get two adults to move without yanking on their limbs.
A yip echoes across the ocean.
“Jakesully!” comes the cry, Tonowari skimming across the water’s surface towards them on his tsurak. Ronal isn’t far behind, both uninjured but missing their weapons, exhausted.
Dad’s head raises just as the Olo’eyktan of the Metkayina dismounts to climb up the rock. He manages to get to his feet, although the movement is less graceful than Tonowari’s.
“I am glad we found you,” he says, once they’ve clasped arms. “Is everyone alright–”
He stops abruptly once he catches sight of Neteyam, sea green eyes flickering between shock and surprise, before they darken with sorrow. Tonowari’s jaw tightens, and he stoops so that his gaze connects with Mom’s.
“I am truly sorry,” Tonowari tells her, gently cupping the back of the hand still wrapped around Neteyam’s shoulders. “This is a…terrible loss. He would have been a great warrior.”
“Thank you,” Mom murmurs, her voice still flat but her gaze more present than before.
“You may lay him to rest within the Cove of the Ancestors,” Tonowari continues, a small gasp rippling through them. Dad’s eyes shine with tears, even though he clenches his teeth against it, chin wobbling. “You are Metkayina now. He will join our ancestors as he will yours. The sea will take him to Eywa.”
“Tonowari, we’re so grateful, really, thank you,” Dad rambles, and Mom draws Neteyam closer to her chest.
Relief does little to lift the weight of the stones, but Lo’ak manages a small, grateful smile anyway.
“But first we must–”
“Why,” Ronal suddenly snarls, advancing on the kids with her spear and hunting knife, “is there a human within your midst?”
At the terrifying look on her face, Lo’ak urges the girls to surround Spider. Kiri in front, Tuk tucking in at one side, and Lo’ak on the other. Out of the corner of his eye, Lo’ak can see Dad scrambling to his feet but Ronal gets closer, the blade of her knife glinting in the light,
“He’s with us–” Lo’ak protests.
“--our friend,” he hears Tuk cry plaintively.
“He won’t hurt anyone,” Kiri says, as they inch backwards.
Lo’ak strains his neck when the knife gets within striking distance.
“Stop!” Dad shouts, carefully inserting himself between them, raising a hand to deflect the weapons. “Please, Tsahik, the kid is with us. He was taken in the forest, forced to travel with the Avatars, but he’s as much an Omaticaya as I am. I–We, can all vouch for him. Spider’s not a danger to anyone in the village.”
“He is human,” Ronal spits. “He cannot have Utu’ru asked for him if he is not part of your family. Or will you spit on our ways, Jakesully?”
“No, never,” Dad argues, diverting the path of the blade when it’s pressed towards his neck. “But he is part of our family, and needs to stay with us. Please.”
From where Lo’ak stands, he sees Dad’s head turning to Tonowari, the Olo’eyktan warily watching the interaction.
“Please, brother,” Dad pleads. “Spider was with the group that attacked the villages, but he would never actually harm anyone. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, right kid?”
“Yes sir,” Spider answers immediately, although Lo’ak hears the slight shake to his voice.
“He protected my children, he saved Kiri’s life. I am asking for Utu’ru. Please, do not make me turn him away,” Dad says, and Lo’ak reaches for Spider’s hand. It’s cold and clammy, but responds to the tight grip.
Tonowari watches them, gaze darting to and fro as his wide flat tail twitches.
“Husband,” Ronal snarls somewhere over Dad’s shoulder. “Do not tell me you are considering–”
“The boy was not part of the battle. He has the marks of neglect upon him, which shows the humans did not care for his wellbeing.”
Spider shuffles, and Lo’ak suddenly notices the peeling skin along his shoulders from sunburn, the easy way he can see his collarbones. He holds his hand tighter.
When Tonowari looks at Dad next, it’s with the assessing gaze of the Olo’eyktan. Dad doesn’t shrink against it, he rises to meet it.
“It is obvious the boy means much to the Sully family,” Tonowari concludes. “Therefore, Utu’ru will be granted. But,” he lifts his hand to point at Spider, gaze turning flinty, “it can be taken away just as quickly.”
Ronal clicks her tongue, and there’s a muted noise as she sheathes her weapon. The protective circle around Spider finally loosens.
Dad quickly assesses them for any further injury, hand patting down each of them in turn - although Tuk squirms and Kiri shrugs him off and Spider looks stunned - before approaching the problem at hand.
“We need to get him back to the village,” he mutters to Tonowari, crouching by Neteyam’s side.
Lo’ak urges the girls and Spider to step back, giving the adults room to maneuver. Tuk whines in protest, but it’s for the best as Ronal begrudgingly joins them, lowering herself carefully with a hand on her knee so she can instruct Dad in packing Neteyam’s still open wound.
Lo’ak forces himself to watch, until Mom gently eases Neteyam’s eyelids down, and it’s no longer possible to deny what’s happened.
The stones become so heavy against his heart, Lo’ak finds it hard to breathe.
It’s a delicate balancing act to get Neteyam’s body onto Dad’s tsurak, with the tide yanking at their limbs and the wind snatching their hair. But the adults make it look so easy, in comparison to the desperate push and pull they had to go through to get him onto flat ground.
Netayam’s tied to the harness sitting upright, and Dad places his back against his chest, one arm wrapped around his shoulders. Mom clings to the edge of the harness, making sure he doesn’t slip into the sea.
“We will follow with the children,” Tonowari tells them. “Get back to the village, and ask for Tey’la. She’ll lead you to the infirmary.”
That’s where they’ll lay Neteyam’s body so it can be cleaned and prepared for the funeral. The thought makes Lo’ak feel sick.
Once Mom and Dad disappear into the horizon, they split up between the two remaining tsuraks. Kiri and Tuk go with Ronal, whose maternal instinct takes over as soon as Tuk sniffles and she begins to fuss over them. Lo’ak and Spider travel with Tonowari, Lo’ak insisting Spider sit behind the Olo’eyktan.
At Spider’s wary glance, Lo’ak says, “You’re lighter, so the tsurak will go faster.”
He gets a fond punch on the shoulder for it, but he feels better with Spider in the saddle than in the water. Lo’ak’s better at hanging on while handling strong currents. Last thing he wants is for Spider to be lost at sea. Tonowari might not stop to go find him.
When they get back to Awa’atlu, Tsireya is there. Lo’ak goes straight to her once they disembark onto the walkway, clinging to her. He inhales her sweet scent, buries his head in her hair to not watch his brother’s body be carried away.
“I’m so sorry, Lo’ak,” she says, voice wobbling with tears. She pulls back, and cups his face with her wide hands. “Are you– No I shouldn’t ask…I should have done–”
“Nothing,” Lo’ak says, wetly. “You didn’t need to do anything, Tsireya, you did the best you could.”
“We ran away when there was a battle,” Aonung argues, laying a comforting hand between Lo’ak’s shoulderblades. “That counts as nothing in our eyes.”
“You were lowering casualties,” Lo’ak shoots back. “Getting out of there meant you weren’t hurt.”
“Still. We are sorry,” Aonung says, and Lo’ak nearly flinches. He didn’t think Aonung could apologise for anything. It’s like a newfound phenomenon.
Tsireya finally nods, but tears still spill down her cheeks. Wiping them away, her gaze catches on something behind him, and the skin above her nose crinkles. “Who is that?”
Spider, who’s gracefully hoisted himself onto the walkway - even though Tonowari offered a helping hand - ducks his head in an awkward greeting. The traditional words flow from his tongue naturally.
Tsireya’s ears flutter at the juxtaposition and Aonung’s gaze sharpens with interest. Lo’ak hopes the it’s not with hostility. He hurries to make introductions before Aonung’s hand can drift to the hilt of his knife.
“Tsireya, Aonung,” Lo’ak begins, gesturing to Spider, “this is Spider. He’s…”
The pause becomes as heavy as the stones in his chest. When it stretches long enough to be awkward, Spider opens his mouth to fill in the gap.
But Lo’ak gets there first.
“He’s family,” he says with conviction, completely stalling Spider in his tracks. “He’s the guy I was telling you about.”
“The one who leaps across the great roots even though he’s small enough to slip through?” Aonung asks immediately.
The tension eases as soon as it’d materialised, Aonung’s eyes sparkling with interest as he demands to know whether it is true Spider can outrun Lo’ak.
Lo’ak tries his best to ignore the stones in his heart as Spider’s hesitation falls away, and Tsireya and Aonung warm to him. There are eyes on the side of his head as Spider opens up under the kind attention; they’re as heavy as the weight in his chest.
When Lo’ak does let himself look, he sees his mother disappearing into the infirmary pod.
The disappointment he feels might be displaced, but below the small smile he plasters over his cheeks, he’s drowning.
⇔
If Kiri counted on her hands how many people have come up to her to apologise, to give her comfort, to expect her to say something about how she and the rest of her family will pull through, she’d have none left and would have to start using her toes.
It’s only been a few days since they committed Neteyam to Eywa’s embrace and already it’s overwhelming. It’s like a whole year has passed. Everything feels so raw, even thinking his name causes tears to well up, and her heart to squeeze so hard in her chest that she curls her shoulders.
Kiri knows she could go to Dad about this, run to him as she did as a kid and still be welcomed with a warm hug. She could turn to Mom as well, she knows, sit next to her by the cookfire and wait for the gentle fingers to brush aside a lock of hair. They understand better than anyone in the village how heavy the weight of grief is.
But there are times where she can’t even get near them. When the grief and guilt makes Dad snap harshly even though he says he’s sorry straight away. When Mom becomes so distant Kiri nearly has to scream to get her attention.
Like now. Although, the barrier is more physical than emotional as the calm lilting waters of the cove laps against the rock she sits on.
Below her, she can just about make out the shadows of her family, communing with Eywa and with her brother. The light of the Spirit Tree illuminates their silhouettes. She wonders what they’re seeing, being the first time they’re connecting with Neteyam in such a way.
It makes her endlessly jealous and sad that she’s stuck up here instead. She draws her knees up to her chest in a vain attempt to hide the tears clinging to her eyelashes.
“I wish I could join them,” she says, as Spider lifts himself up from the water.
He shifts uncomfortably, like he’s trying to find something to say. As the silence drags out, Kiri thinks she should apologise; that was kind of a shitty thing to say to someone who can’t connect at all. He’d been as close to Neteyam as any of them.
“Yeah,” Spider suddenly says, beating her to it, “but if you tried, you’d be like me without a mask.”
Spider gasps, his breaths hitching and his exopack suddenly working harder to provide oxygen as his hands reach for his neck. Kiri’s heart rate spikes even as Spider teasingly falls back to the rock.
She shoves him when he tries to get up again. “Stop it,” she says, but she’s laughing.
“I’d rather you here,” Spider says, staring at the sky above them, “than down there and in danger.”
“But then I’d be able to talk to Neteyam,” Kiri says, the joy giving way to more sadness as she leans her chin against her knee. “Or ask the Great Mother…what went wrong last time.”
She doesn’t remember anything after meeting Ma. Only darkness, until she woke in their pod and sobbed. Kiri had felt it keenly though; her connection to the planet, to Eywa, had deepened drastically, to the point where she could nearly feel the Great Mother’s breath upon the back of her neck. It scares her.
The humans have told Dad that it’s not safe for her to connect again, that it could trigger something in her brain to make her seize and possibly drown. So, she’s stuck up here while Lo’ak and Tuk get to chat with their brother, stewing in a well of jealousy that keeps getting bigger.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Spider suddenly says, and Kiri quickly scrubs the traitorous tears that slip down her cheeks. “It must’ve been really scary.”
Kiri shrugs her shoulders. “It was alright,” she says, then tilts her head to slyly grin at him as she adds, “Five out of ten, might try it again.”
A laugh escapes Spider before he can help it, and Kiri’s grin widens as he bats at her arm. It’s good that she can still make him smile, that there’s some happiness left in their world.
“I’m serious though,” he reiterates once they’ve both settled again. “I should’ve been there to help. I should’ve been there, period.”
“Well Monkey-boy,” Kiri says, stretching out her legs and leaning back on her hands, “you were too busy being kidnapped by the worst man alive instead. You couldn’t be in two places at once.”
She expects a witty comeback, or a click of his tongue. Even just a noise of disgust would’ve been good. Instead, the silence she gets feels too heavy to be normal, and the expression on Spider’s face is unreadable. His brow all furrowed, his normally kind brown eyes darkened, and his mouth turned down.
Kiri sits up, attentive to how Spider nearly goes to say something. Behind his mask indecision closes his mouth again, and there’s a gentle scrape of rock against stone as he clenches his fingers.
Kiri keeps her expression neutral, body language open, the tension between them stretching so much it’s uncomfortable.
“What?” she murmurs, stomach now fully sunk to her toes. His gaze cuts away as an irritated noise falls from his lips.
“I need to–”
“Kiri,” Mom suddenly says, slicing through the gentle waves towards them with quick uneven strokes. The water splashes against her face and the salt makes her wince, but she’s covering ground - water? - fast. She’s also ignoring Spider completely as she holds her hand out to her daughter. “It is time to head back.”
Spider has closed off again. Kiri can tell that, even without Mom there, she wouldn’t get anything out of him. As Mom hovers until she slips into the water and calls for her ilu, she wonders if she ever will.
“I’m sorry you were left behind,” she says to Spider once everyone has gathered around the pod’s cookfire for food.
“Nah,” Spider replies with a mouthful of food. “Y’needed to go. Besides, Lo’ak wanted to show off his ilu anyway.”
He yelps at the elbow that’s jabbed into his side, and either doesn’t notice Mom’s look, or ignores it. Kiri tries to glare at her mother over the fire pit to get her to stop anyway.
Any opportunities to try again are dashed, as Tuk decides it’s her duty to stick by Kiri’s side at all times. To the point where it really, really, gets on Kiri’s nerves. She’s usually…fine with her little sister’s shadow-like tendencies, but her patience is worn down so thin it’s hard to keep a tab on her emotions.
“Tuk,” Kiri groans when she hangs off her shoulder to watch as she folds their food into its seaweed wraps.
The sudden weight throws Kiri off, and a piece of fish tumbles from her fingers. Tuk doesn’t shy away from Kiri’s cross look.
“Tuk,” Kiri whines as Tuk bumps into her leg at her sudden stop.
She’d been trying to find a place to just sit in Eywa’s presence. Just to get some peace. Now she has to take her baby sister with her. Even when she tries to get Tuk to go play somewhere else.
“Tuk,” snaps Kiri when Tuk tries to follow her and Roxto to the rock pools. “Go hang out with your own friends!”
Her little sister just pouts and stamps her leg, using the same tactics she always does until Kiri relents with a harsh groan. Roxto’s slightly awkward comforting pat on her shoulder doesn’t help.
“Tuk!” Kiri shouts when she scrambles up to follow her as Kiri goes to grab more of the fish drying outside in the sun. “Can’t you just– leave me alone!”
“But I want to come with you,” Tuk pouts, and Kiri’s two seconds away from yanking on her hair.
Behind them, their parents watch with tired, bruised eyes as they fight. Kiri hates how glassy Mom’s gaze is, how still Dad’s tail remains as it lies on the ground.
“I’m literally going outside the pod,” Kiri says, trying to claw back her anger even though it’s a thrashing ikran. “Can’t I go two feet away from you?”
“No, because I need to see you,” Tuk says, petulantly.
If Kiri was in any way calmer, she would’ve noticed the underlying emotions in her sister’s voice. As it is, it just annoys her more.
“Why?” she asks emphatically, nearly tipping her head back. “You can see me perfectly from over there.” She points to the cookfire, where they had been sitting two seconds ago. “There’s no point coming with me!”
“Yes there is,” Tuk argues, and Kiri has to laugh.
“Oh really? What’s that? What’s your important point that means you have to come with me?”
“Kiri,” Dad says, warningly.
“I–I,” Tuk stutters, eyes welling with tears.
“What?!” Kiri exclaims, her voice rising so much she might as well be shouting. “Do you think I’m gonna trip outside and fall in the water–”
“I don’t wanna be left behind!” Tuk shouts right back, little chest heaving with the effort.
Kiri doesn’t think she’s ever heard her little sister be so loud. It shocks her into stillness for a moment, which is broken by the loud sob that comes free from Tuk’s mouth. Her tiny face scrunches, tears stream down her face and, usually, this would be where Kiri would get down and hug her, or desperately try to get her to stop before their parents heard.
But she doesn’t do either of those things.
Kiri starts crying like Tuk. She can’t hold it back, and it turns into sobs, and then really loud wailing as everything becomes too much and she sinks to her knees. It’s like when she woke up from the seizure, uncontrollable even as she hears Tuk’s cries get louder too.
It’s like their emotions are bouncing off each other in a really echoey cave and making each bigger. Until they’re too large to hold in their bodies and they have to come out.
Kiri doesn’t even notice her parents scrambling over until Dad is wrapping his arms around her shoulders and drawing her close. She goes so easily that she flops into his side, her head landing on his collarbone with a painful clack that doesn’t even disturb her wailing.
Through blurry tears, Kiri watches Mom sweep Tuk into her arms. They go into the pod, leaving the other two on the dock. Dad situates her head more comfortably on his shoulder so he can cradle the back of it, his big hand warm against her hair.
Distantly, Kiri can still hear that her little sister’s still crying just as loudly.
She can also hear Dad shushing her, and his pointless words of comfort.
“Hey, sweetheart, calm down,” he says, beginning to rock them gently.
No, she won’t.
“It’ll be okay, it’s gonna be okay.”
No it won’t. What part of this is okay?
“I’m here, shhh.”
Are you?
“Is it…Is it Neteyam? Are you missing him?”
Isn’t that obvious?
“Okay, okay, stupid question.”
Oh, she’d said that out loud.
Dad huffs, and Kiri makes some sort of effort to reign in her sobbing, at least enough to tell when she is speaking. Her nose streams badly, and her eyes itch with the drying tears layering with the fresh ones.
“Talk to me, babygirl,” Dad says, once she’s got control over herself. She’s still sniffling, her breaths still hitching, but she’s no longer wailing hard enough for the entire village to hear.
The release of emotion doesn’t make her feel any better. Kiri can still feel the emotions sliding around her chest and stomach. Like bile.
“I miss N’teyam,” Kiri tells him through her stuffed up nose. Sadness flickers briefly through Dad’s gaze.. “‘Nd Tuk wouldn’t leave be alone.”
Her breath hitches, and she nearly starts crying in earnest but Dad’s rhythmic stroking of her head keeps her calm. His expression is scrunched, like Tuk’s, but he’s not close enough for Kiri to scrub at the frown on his forehead like she did as a kid.
“What else?” Dad says.
Searching for another reason for her sudden meltdown comes up empty. She could blame it on the scrunched up ball of bleugh currently occupying her stomach, but that doesn’t feel right. Scrambling for an answer just stretches the silence between them, until Kiri has to look at Dad and tell him (pathetically), “I dunno.”
From the look on his face, neither does he. But then, she wasn’t expecting him to. Kiri just wants someone to tell her whether this feeling will go away soon.
“That’s okay,” Dad says, although Kiri doesn’t entirely believe him. “Y’know I’m here to talk.”
“You’re not very good at this,” Kiri says blankly, and Dad’s chuckle comes out strained.
“I think your mother has the empathetic touch,” he says, and although Kiri doesn’t verbally agree, she gives a consolidatory pat on his arm anyway.
“Your sister, she wasn’t trying to annoy you,” Dad begins, even though Kiri turns away petulantly. She knows Tuk wasn’t trying to annoy her, but she did a pretty good job of it. “I think she’s missing your brother too. We all are.”
That makes her loosen a little, shifting in Dad’s lap at the empty space they all now hold in their minds. The cold hammock that used to hold her brother.
“And,” Dad continues, “she just wants to make sure that nothing happens to you when she’s not there.”
Kiri forgot. Tuk was still on the ship when everything happened. She only found out about Neteyam afterwards. Kiri wasn’t even sure who told her, if anyone actually did. If she’d seen Neteyam’s body laid out on the rock and had just known.
Just like Kiri.
The annoyance drains so quickly from her body it leaves her bonelessly leaning on Dad again.
“What do I do?” Kiri asks, because she can’t just say sorry.
She really hurt Tuk. If someone had shouted at her like that, Kiri wouldn’t talk to them for the rest of the day. And her little sister’s still cuddled against Mom’s chest in the pod.
“You could,” Dad says, trailing off as they watch Tuk finally peel herself away from Mom’s side. The look he suddenly gives her is sparkling with mischief.
He lowers his voice to a whisper; “You could ask Lo’ak if you could see Payakan.”
Kiri gives Dad such a side-eye his ears flick. “What?” he says, innocently. Obliviously.
“I thought you didn’t like Payakan,” she accuses. “You said he could be a bad influence.”
“Did I?” he asks, exaggeratedly scratching the top of his head like he’s thinking. “I don’t remember saying that…”
Dad’s wink isn’t subtle. It’s done on the wrong side too, right in line of sight of the pod. How Mom decided to mate with such an idiot is sometimes beyond Kiri’s understanding. But he gets his point across, and when he nudges her Kiri stands up on wobbly knees.
Mom watches her, assessing as she approaches. Taking in Kiri’s mental state in that protective way only mothers can. Like she’s judging whether it’s good for both herself and Tuk that she comes over so quickly.
Pressing a kiss against the top of Tuk’s head and encouraging her off her lap is decision enough. Kiri sits so that she can draw her knees in close if she needs to and clears her throat to get rid of the last of the phlegm. The skin under her nose itches from the amount of times she’s wiped it.
“I’m sorry,” she says plainly, opening her arms when Tuk’s little face refuses to give in to the tears welling on her lashes. “I didn’t mean to shout at you. I miss Neteyam, but I was just being a stupid penis-face and forgot that you were too.”
“A big penis-face,” Tuk adds as her chin wobbles.
“A massive one,” Kiri tells her, taking Tuk’s weight when she falls into the hug, sniffling and getting her wet cheeks all over Kiri’s shoulder. She doesn’t mind.
As they sit and hug, for longer than they have ever since leaving High Camp, Mom creeps out. But not before pressing another kiss against Kiri’s temple, and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
Once she’s gone, Kiri makes her move, tapping Tuk on the shoulder to get her attention.
“C’mon,” Kiri says to Tuk’s confused look, “let’s make Lo’ak take us to see Payakan.”
The smile that stretches across her little sister’s face is nothing short of mischievous, and Tuk laughing when they drag Lo’ak away from his breathing practice with Tsireya makes things seem a bit more hopeful.
⇔
“Dude, this is so much better than flying!” Spider shouts at one point when they surface, holding onto Payakan’s fin with fingers that went pruney ages ago.
“Cuz,” Lo’ak shouts back, his grin smug, “you’ve seen nothing yet.”
He scrambles onto the tulkun’s back for another jump as Spider laughs wildly, using Payakan’s fin to follow. The tulkun’s squeak is encouraging as their feet pound against thick hide to reach the fins at his head.
Obligingly, or like Payakan knows what they’re trying to do, he flings his head skyward, tossing them so high into the air that Spider’s nearly dizzy. He just about manages to tuck his arms and legs in before colliding with the sea, and the silence envelopes his head.
For a moment, Spider doesn’t know which way is up, and he’s content with not knowing. The deep blue of the water is soothing against his eyes in comparison to the constant state of go go go he’s been stuck in ever since the battle ended. He barely even feels the cut on his chest stinging from the salt water.
Maybe he should stay here forever. It’s not a bad place to be–
A hand grabs his shoulder, yanking him out of dark thoughts, and Spider just manages to paste on a triumphant grin before he locks eyes with Lo’ak. Who finger signs at him too fast for Spider to catch even if he knew what he was saying.
“What?” he asks through his mask. Lo’ak, predictably, rolls his eyes and gestures upwards. That Spider can follow, kicking out his legs until they surface.
“You good?” Lo’ak asks once he’s got his breath back.
“Yeah,” Spider replies, hoping his lapse wasn’t noticed. Payakan, from where he comes up behind them, lifts a fin like he’s enticing them. “I think we can do better than that though.”
Payakan makes a noise of agreement, and Spider doesn’t give Lo’ak a chance to think as he’s tugged up again. Adrenaline fuels them as the tulkun darts through the ocean, his great tail churning the waves until it’s bubbling at the surface before he abouts face and dives upwards.
Yeah, he could get used to this if they stayed.
Spider had thought there would be more hesitation and fear from Payakan, considering what the last humans did to him and his family, but Lo’ak had introduced them and any hesitation had disappeared.
“What’s he saying?” Spider had asked when Payakan had lowed at him. From the human’s ship, he’d never been able to hear the tulkun. Who knew they could sound so musical?
Lo’ak, his grin blinding, said, “He says ‘hello Lo’ak brother friend.’ I think he likes you.”
“Wait– What did you tell him?” Spider had demanded, because he didn’t trust Lo’ak’s smile, or how long it took him to sign Spider’s name. When he hadn’t replied, Spider had given chase, although Lo’ak was much faster than him in the water. Lucky for him.
When he resurfaces, faster this time, he hears Kiri screaming as Tsireya’s spirit sister joins in the fun, leaping above their heads with the girls holding onto her fin. Roxto yips in approval, and Spider cheers.
He realises, suddenly, how long it’s been since he’s been able to have fun. Spider’s cheeks are hurting because of how hard he’s smiling.
“Bro!” comes Aonung’s voice, the Olo’eyktan’s son striking out towards them. He would be intimidating, if his look wasn’t so awed. “That was the dumbest, and bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”
For a second, Spider thinks he’s speaking to Lo’ak. But then it’s his shoulder that gets a hearty, wet slap, his smile only getting wider.
“Thanks,” he says breathily. “‘S not that scary though.”
“Not that scary? Where was this guy when we were trying to teach you, forest boy?” Aonung asks, ducking away from the playful slap Lo’ak aims at his head.
Running around with people who tried to kill your fellow clan members, Spider thinks, practically gluing his teeth together in an effort to keep his expression easy.
“Wait, you taught this knuckle head?” Spider says to drag himself away from that thinking. Lo’ak’s squawk follows his attempt to shove Spider under water, but he knows all of his friends tricks, and the sea makes it easy to slip out of his grasp.
“Unfortunately,” Aonung says once Lo’ak has given up.
“Guys, c’mon I’m not that bad,” he whines, slapping the water when both boys turn unimpressed looks at him.
“I tried to get him to make animal traps because we were bored one day,” Spider says. “I lasted twenty minutes, dude. I couldn’t get anything through that thick skull.”
Lo’ak splutters.
“Getting him to learn how to shoot a bow took three days,” Aonung says.
“Teach me your ways,” Spider adds jokingly, his serious expression breaking when Lo’ak practically growls.
“I think he learns best from…specific people,” Roxto suddenly interrupts, gliding through the water towards him.
“Not you too,” Lo’ak says, betrayed.
Spider glances between the reef boys, and Aonung simply leans over him and points. At the girls. Specifically Tsireya.
“Oh. Nice,” Spider only has to say, and the other two chortle at how Lo’ak’s ears flicker in embarrassment.
The other tulkun gather, happy to let the kids roam across their backs, and as the girls approach, the boys try to reel in their giddiness. Even though it’s so funny to laugh at Lo’ak’s expense.
“What’re you laughing at?” Tsireya asks innocently. Kiri, just behind her, gives them all a look.
“Just…talking about Spider’s stupidity,” Lo’ak says, barely dodging a clip to the head.
“You mean my bravery,” Spider corrects as Lo’ak escapes him by climbing onto Payakan’s fin.
“Monkey-boy’s always been like that,” Kiri says, joining Spider as he too clambers onto Payakan’s back. Her mourning paint is so stark against her skin that it’s a gut punch; he doesn’t allow himself to look away. “He was able to outrun Lo’ak before he reached his full height.”
“I’m not that good,” Spider says. “Not as brave as this guy.” He pats Payakan’s hide, and the tulkun whistles.
“Saved our asses,” Kiri adds, and Spider doesn’t know if she’s talking about him or the tulkun.
“It sucks he’s outcast,” he comments, easily catching the water skin Kiri throws at him. He ducks the cap under his mask quickly, taking a sip before replacing it. As he passes it to Lo’ak, he double checks the battery level out of the corner of his eye.
“I’m fine,” he mutters to Kiri’s worried look. He’s still got a few hours of charge before he needs to change it.
The conversation that follows is so obviously a repeat it’s nearly word for word. Something about Payakan being an outcast because he’s been labelled a killer by his kind. A silence follows that’s heavy with too many emotions for Spider to understand. Not for the first time, he thinks he’s been gone too long.
“Oh!” Roxto suddenly says. “The Tlalim airships should be coming back around soon.”
It’s a good distraction, and Spider thinks Roxto is a cool dude because it wipes away the dark expressions on their friends faces and replaces it with confused excitement.
“The who?” Kiri asks.
“Windtraders,” Tsireya says. “They travel by air to every clan that welcomes them, providing trade and information. Without them, the sea clans are unconnected, unable to communicate with each other. Our scouts can’t reach our southern border, so we rely on the Tlalim.”
“They bring wares from all over in a festival. We trade fabrics, food, everything,” Aonung adds. “Although, they haven’t been able to make the trip as often as they did.”
“What do you mean?” Lo’ak asks when a look is passed between the reef kids.
“Yeah guys, y’can’t just leave us hanging.” Spider sits forward with his forearms leant against his knees. He thought he’d learned everything there was to know about the Na’vi in the sixteen years he’s been alive. And yet, in the past few months alone, he’s been introduced to a whole different culture. If there’s more to learn he wants to sink his teeth into it.
Glancing over his shoulder like someone could be listening in, Roxto leans forward so that only their little gathering can hear him. “Mangkwan raids.”
Beneath the kids, the tulkun warble worriedly. Out of the corner of his eye, Spider sees Lo’ak pat Payakan’s flank.
“Mangkwan?”
“Ash people,” Tsireya replies, brow pinching. “They attack the airships to steal their supplies using…barbaric techniques.”
“They do not follow the will of Eywa,” Aonung adds, and Spider feels a slimy sliver of fear work its way up his spine. “Their belief is that every Na’vi should ignore the Great Mother’s way, ignore her wishes and be strong on their own.”
“Scary,” Spider mutters, opening his hand for Kiri to hang on to. He’s a little grateful for the wordless support.
“Why steal supplies?” he asks next, trying to wrap his head around the idea of a clan who doesn’t believe in Eywa. It’s jarring, like when Norm put his wooden ear piece in for the first time.
“Their land was destroyed by a volcano many moons ago. Everything, all plants and animals, were killed, and the Mangkwan were left to survive in the wreckage,” Aonung says. “This seems to be their solution to survival, as they didn’t ask, or seek support.”
“Would no one try to help?” Kiri asks.
“Many tried,” Aonung replies. “They were attacked before they could even get close. Their leadership has changed in the decades since, and they’ve become more animalistic in their ways.”
Spider’s stomach rolls as he imagines the forest, and the reefs swallowed by fire and completely wiped out. Like the expanse of land now occupied by the humans, but way worse.
“Let’s hope they get here safely,” says Tsireya, her smile optimistic. “We should be getting back.”
Even as they return to the hubbub of the village, the pit of dread follows him, yawning wide in his stomach. It’s added to the guilt and sadness already swirling around his chest.
A clan that doesn’t believe in Eywa is nearly impossible, he thinks. He’s asked the Great Mother for many things as he’s grown up, and while he’s never gotten one granted before, he still likes to think that she’s heard him, watching over them all as they continue on the path she’s laid out for them. He can’t imagine that she’s not right there, guiding them with her gentle hand.
Kiri says she’s heard her heartbeat, and the Na’vi can commune with her at the Spirit Tree. How can the Mangkwan turn their backs on their mother?
How far have they gone, in the years following that volcano? How far have they drifted? Tsireya mentioned barbaric tactics, and all he can imagine is Na’vi utilising guns instead of arrows. Bazookas held over their shoulders.
It makes him sick, as he picks at his food at mealtime. He gives half to Tuk when it’s obvious his stomach won’t take any of it, eating around the chunkier bits of meat so that Jake doesn’t notice. Or Neytiri, although she’s too concentrated on not noticing Spider at all.
Doggedly, the unease follows him to bed, hovering as he changes out his exopack and settles into his hammock. Spider closes his eyes against it, and hopes it’s gone by morning.
The world around him is on fire. He can’t do anything to stop it.
“You did this, kid,” Quaritch says almost nonchalantly, stalking towards him with a wicked sharp hunting knife in his hand. “There’s no one else to blame, because it was you who dragged me outta the sea.”
Spider takes a few more steps backwards, hissing at the avatar even as tears stream down his cheeks. “I should’ve left you there!”
Heart thumping against his ribcage, blood rushing through his ears he searches desperately for his knife on his belt and finds it empty. The hissing of his mask is quick and uneven.
Quaritch advances until he’s stepping over their bodies, treading their blood into the sand.
Kiri’s death glazed eyes stare at him. Lo’ak’s body has been flung carelessly to the side. Little Tuk is curled into a tiny ball.
Spider’s stomach turns at the sight as he swipes desperately at Quaritch with empty hands. This is his fault, he murdered them.
“Now, you can either come with me like I offered,” Quartich says, weaving around Neytiri’s feet where they’re sprawled out. “Or…oh look at that, someone’s not willin’ to give up yet.”
A hand wraps itself around Spider’s ankle, Jake’s eyes burning with betrayal even as his chest weeps dark red. He won’t let go, holding tight against Spider’s struggles.
“Y-You!” Jake manages to choke out, before his body goes still and falls to the ground. Spider wiggles out of his grasp and nearly falls over on his ass.
He’s killed them. This is his fault, because he couldn’t let a life debt go, even though the man had nearly killed him and his family.
“I hate you!” he suddenly spits. “I should’ve left you to die! ¡Vete a la mierda!”
“I guess you’ve made your decision,” Quaritch says, and he strides forward so fast that Spider doesn’t get a chance to run.
He wraps a hand around Spider’s throat and squeezes. It takes no effort and a single hand.
Quaritch’s gaze burns like molten gold as he leans forward and murmurs, “You die with them.”
Spider feels his toes lift off the ground even as he struggles and hisses.
The grip around his neck tightens until it’s cutting off Spider’s entire airsupply, leaving him gasping, chest hitching, throat burning even though there’s nothing for him to breathe in. The nails scrabbling at Quaritch’s wrist do nothing.
Quaritch looms over him, his other hand reaching for the mask to make his death quicker. Even trying to turn his face away does nothing as he keenly feels the rubber lift away, letting the toxic fumes of Pandora into his lungs.
He can’t breathe.
He can’t breathe!