Chapter Text
—+—
Awnga lu Sarentu.
Nìt'iluke emrayey.
—+—
The condensation on the glass blurred the ugly sight of Bridgehead city.
Those un natural straight lines already giving Tamtey a headache.
The only reason she sat here every morning was to see the sky, however grey or polluted. It was the only thing that accompanied her from home.
She still felt it. The connection that festered in her heart to the land of her people.
To Eywa.
Tamtey willed for the all mother sometimes, in hope that she might free her from this prison, or let her fall into her nurturing hands so she wouldn’t have to walk this painful life anymore.
Though she wouldn’t have to for much longer. Not with the 15th annual hunger games looming over her head. The inevitability of Tamtey’s death waited in the shadows like a stalking palulukan.
Her name had been drawn from the shiny bowl- her doom undeniable in the calloused hands of Colonel Angela Harding- head game maker. Fingers clutched around her death certificate.
Sixteen Sarentu children had been taken from their homes as a punishment to their clan for rejecting the new order. Now only five remain.
Condemned to live the last years of their lives in the ambassador programme- run by Director John Mercer. The man behind careers, and the man responsible for their severed roots. Forced to learn the ways of the arena until their names were plucked from the draw.
It was like a slow motion whirlpool. Inescapable and impending. The centre would come for every last one of the Sarentu eventually and drag them beneath the water stained by blood.
The twelve year old who had to watch as her kin disappeared two at a time each year, was now four years in training.
But sometimes it didn’t matter how much you knew when the weight of so many fallen rested on your shoulders. Yuyat. Telisi. Okni. Yefti…
All dead, so that the sky people could broadcast their desperation fuelled actions and claim it as natural instinct; to show the world that they were nothing more than the savage natives of Pandora. To justify themselves in rounding up the clans into ‘districts’ and destroying their home.
Her sister, Aha’ri- became a mentor after winning the 10th games, though she was never the same. It was memorable to the western frontier because it was the second time, since the Zeswa victor- Kín, that a tribute who wasn’t career trained had come out on top.
Tamtey’s older sister didn’t receive the same preparation she did. Aha’ri was among the first Sarentu, after their clans rebellion, to be thrust into the arena out of the group of sixteen.
‘Last minute career’ she was often called. Words that were used spitefully, but a name that only reminded her of how strong Aha’ri was.
And however heartbreaking it might be, she would be Tamtey and Teylan’s mentor now. She would tell them what they needed to know to have any shot at winning these games.
Tamtey drew her knees close to her body, the uncomfortable human clothes tugging at her as she did so. The morning light had traveled closer.
“Is that you, great mother?” she whispered against the window.
“Tamtey?”
The girl in question turned in a jolt at the new voice- relaxing when she saw who it was.
Teylan climbed onto the window still opposite her, his nervous fidgeting seeming to slow as his eyes found the light outside.
Her Tsmukan, only fourteen years of age, had been chosen as the male tribute this year, along side her.
It broke Tamtey’s heart.
He was such a gentle soul. So forgiving.
But this type of doomsday doesn’t care for good attributes.
She would protect him until her dying breath.
“Were you talking to someone?”
She smiled, leaning over to brush the hair from his face and poke his nose.
“I was.” She looked outside once more, but the rays of sunlight had faded under the heavy emissions. Her tail lashed in irritation.
“But she can’t reach us here.”
—+—
“Why do we have the games?”
Collage lectures would be the death of Jake Sully.
Who would have thought taking a few military classes would land them in these waters.
“We have the games to punish the Na’vi for resisting order.”
Thomas Abernathy. He always did know what to say.
Jake sighed, the tapping of his pencil itching his boredom as he looked out the small window to the side of the lecture room.
The only colour that could be seen was from the advertisements lighting up the sky.
“That is correct, Mr Abernathy. If the native savages of Pandora are left un regulated, who knows what kind of hindrance they could release upon the RDA.”
Native savages. Jake let his finger brush against the feather in his braid.
Where had he heard that before.
“You Thomas Sullies brother?” A man had asked him in the streets before class.
He nodded.
“Take this.” And slipped him a lead card which he flipped over to find an engraved phone number. Jake opened his mouth to question the man when he realised he was gone.
His brother, Tommy, had died in a street mugging two years ago when Jake was sixteen. He had received the news on his birthday.
He pulled out that same card now as he leant back in his seat. Studying what little he could extract from just a piece of metal.
“Next lesson is district zoning on Pandora. Don’t forget to study and Jake-“
He halted, already half way out the door now that the lesson had ended. Taking a slow, dramatic step back as the rest of the class exited.
Mrs McCoy looked him over as he stood in the doorway.
“I see you staring out the window, Jake.
I know this stuff bores you, but if you want any shot at getting to Pandora you have to pass this class.”
Jake kicked his foot against the ground, eyes trained on the floor. “What do jarheads care for good grades anyway?”
He mumbled.
She walked around the desk, stopping in front of him. “The RDA”, she corrected. “Care that you understand how things work over there.”
He met her eyes, trying to assert himself but ultimately giving up and letting out a short sigh of defeat. “Got it, Mrs.”
An artificial chill hit him when he exited the building- emissions warping his sense of direction. He found a nearby bench to recollect his thoughts.
Jake pulled out the card and studied the number once more, then rummaged in his bag for the cracked phone Tommy bought him from the market.
What could go wrong.
—+—
“Get in.”
So’lek didn’t understand the strange words coming from the sky person.
The only thing he understood was that he would never see this place again. He caught a glimpse of his parents, both being held back by the metal suits as they cried out his name.
He saw Wawen, the only mentor he’d ever have, distraught as he watched the boy he had taken under his wing for so many years being shipped off to his death.
So’lek did not cry. He would not show them his fear.
But when the strange metal box shut him and Txuratrri inside, his heart shattered into a thousand pieces.
He looked to his clan mate and their eyes met with horror. They weren’t ready for this impending doom.
So’lek didn’t want to die.
—+—
“Demon!”
Bukowksi tilted his head at the young Na’vi woman currently in the clutches of an amp suit. The flames of a ruined bulldozer turning the sky a brilliant orange behind her.
“Where’s the other one?”
“Here.” A second amp called out as he dragged a battered Tsu’tey from the tree line, kicking and snarling.
“Mawey, Ma Tsu’tey.” The woman commanded. She was brave, he would give her at least that.
“Where did you learn to speak English?” Bukowski asked in perfect Na’vi. She stayed silent. Tail lashing as stared the man down.
“Dr Augustine’s school?” He didn’t need verbal confirmation that he was right because the faint look of surprise along with her pinned ears told him everything he needed to know.
He now addressed both of them, still in Na’vi. “Why do all this? Huh?” Bukowksi gestured to the bulldozer.
“Are you with the resistance?”
The woman hissed, fighting her containment. “You destroy our home.”
Her English was a little broken but still understandable.
“You expect us to lay down and die. We will not.”
Bukowksi looked down. Unlike the soldiers in the amp suits, his face was not amused. He did not find pleasure in this. But Earth was dying, and it has become them or the Na’vi.
“Bring them to Bridgehead. Tell Mercer to hold back on the Ometikaya careers this year.”
Bukowksi crouched down to Neytiri’s height in his exo skeleton.
“We have our district four tributes.”
—+—
The tribute centre.
Mangkwan and Tipani careers had already been transported, locked up in their pampered prison cells, awaiting a morning of gruelling training.
The hour was late, and tomorrow the rest of the tributes would arrive.
Nine districts. Tamtey thought.
Nine clans with histories and traditions dating back millions of years- only to be snubbed out by intruders in the last few seconds of their entire existence.
It was only a matter of time until Na’vi heritage was completely scrubbed from the western frontier.
What happened when the clans ran out of children? Ran out of the generation meant to succeed them and pass on their knowledge?
“Sa’nok”, Tamtey whispered to herself, wrapped up in the bed next to Teylan’s.
A black blanket for her mournful mind.
“I don’t want to forget our ways.” Her voice wavered as she spoke.
“Awnga lu Sarentu”, she whimpered into the darkness.
“Nìt'iluke emrayey.”
We will survive forever.