chapter fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
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Roa had seen the same boats that Ame had. Äa too. Most of the tulkun knew exactly what you were talking about when you brought it up, even Tonowari’s spirit brother. Ronal’s frown was intense, her lips turned down. Tonowari stood straight, and he looked every bit the leader you’d grown to know him as.
Tsonu’e’s hand was wound around yours, you both perched on Äa’s back—Ame carefully occupying baby Luë away from the tense conversation.
“The Sky People are tracking them,” Tonowari said, and your heart plummeted as he voiced your original thoughts. Tsonu’e tensed, her grip almost bruising. You didn’t care, feeling overwhelmed and frankly a little glad for the pain—it was grounding. It reminded you that this was real, that the tulkun were potentially being threatened. Observed.
This was the opposite of what you wanted, of what caused you to carefully craft lies around Ame, around the Metkayina. The tulkun were peaceful and would not fight back.
Ame was peaceful. Äa. Roa. They were gentle.
“We will protect our brothers and sisters,” he continued. You nodded along, finding yourself whooping in agreement with Tsonu’e.
She stood slightly, wrapping an arm over your shoulder protectively. She was scared. Terrified. Her eyes were wide, her pupils blown wide as she took in your face. She pressed her lips to your forehead.
“It will be alright,” she assured you. You wondered what she saw in your face then, why she felt the need to assure you when she was clearly just as scared. Ronal approached you quickly, carefully climbing onto Äa’s back. Roa floated in the water behind her. You reached out, offering a hand as she joined you.
She held it tightly, her hands wet. “We will not let anything happen to them,” she assured you. Her voice was fierce, intense. You let yourself believe her promise, even as fear coiled in your stomach, worry chanted in your mind like a drum.
How did they know? Why did they care? What changed?
What changed? Your mind whirled. Ronal’s hands on your arms, your face, brought you back.
Tsonu’e had you cradled against her chest.
“I don’t know what changed,” you told them. “They never cared before.”
“It does not matter,” said Tsonu’e. “They care now.”
“She is right,” agreed Ronal.
You shook your head, a cold feeling in your chest. “No,” you said. “I need to speak with Tonowari.”
You dove into the water, Ronal stopping Tsonu’e’s move towards you. “Let her go,” you heard her mumble.
Your heart filled with affection for her, for both of them. For Tsonu’e for wanting to protect you, for Ronal for letting you do what you need to do.
You approached Tonowari quickly. His eyes locked with yours, and he pulled you out of the water to stand on the rock beside him with little effort.
“Hana,” he said in way of greeting.
“I can find out what happened,” you said quickly. “Why they want the tulkun.”
He frowned, pulling his lips back slightly. It was an unconscious gesture, you were sure he didn’t even realize he was making a face. “We do not know they want them.”
You disagreed. “No. We do. There’s no other reason for them to be tracking their migration patterns. I’ll find out what happened—why they are curious now.”
He could not change your mind, you were resolved now. You needed to do this—not just for Ame, not even yourself—but the clan. You had to do this.
Tonowari nodded once, giving you his approval.
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The Rig was the same as it had always been. You felt weird walking around in the day, and it took a little to realize you were the change. You had changed. You cringed at the way your shoes slapped against the metal floors—how you had to wear shoes at all. The buzzing of radios, artificial lighting, and the chill to the air from the air conditioner.
You found yourself cringing away from sounds, from anyone that passed by. Despite being allowed to be there, despite having the clearance to be there, you felt like an intruder, an imposter. A traitor.
And in a lot of ways, you were. Your intention going into the lab was to destroy any records they had of the tulkun. Anything they had saved, any information at all. You hoped that if you could prevent them from tracking the pod, that would protect them. It wouldn’t work forever, but it was the best way to protect Ame, to protect the pod and the clan. If anything happened to the tulkun, the Metkayina would not dream of looking the other way.
You wouldn’t either.
You knew what the RDA had at their disposal, and it wasn’t something you were willing to risk being unleashed on anyone.
You logged onto the computer quickly, easily. And it was too easy. The files were vague, mostly crap about tulkun biology—a large chunk of it speculative. They would need samples to make any conclusions one way of the other, but the overwhelming majority of their evidence was pointing to the idea that the tulkun were as intelligent as humans. If not more so. You knew this already, but the otherwise common knowledge for Na’vi felt unsettling in the hands of the RDA.
Deleting the information on the tulkun was laughably simple. You hesitated before signing off, and went ahead and deleted everything that had on the Metkayina. The sea. Everything.
They’d get some of it back, but you didn’t want to make it easier for them—this way, they might not get all of it.
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I deleted everything the RDA had on the tulkun, you signed. Tonowari blinked slowly, a slow smile crossing his face as he realized what it meant.
Truly? Ronal asked, grabbing your arm so she would not drift away. You nodded.
Ame chortled, a happy, beautiful sound. One that you would never grow tired of.
They’ll come again, but this will hold them off for now, you warned her. Ame hummed her agreement.
I trust you, she said. You pressed your forehead against her side, carefully smushing down the tinge of fear you felt. The worry. You swam to the surface, Ronal and Tonowari following.
“I’m scared,” you admitted to them quietly. Ame watched you carefully as Ronal’s fingers wrapped around your arm gently.
“We will—“
“Ronal,” you interrupted. “The RDA will realize someone deleted their files—they will realize I did this.”
“What will happen?” Tonowari asked. “When they find out?”
“If,” Ronal cut in sharply. “If.”
You didn’t have the heart to tell her they probably already had. “My contract will be void.”
“Meaning?” Tonowari pressed. Ronal’s gaze was sharp, but there was something in her gaze you’d never seen before. Fear.
“I’ll be sent back to Earth.”
“No,” she said. “No. I will not allow this.”
Ame agreed, expressing her displeasure at the same time as Ronal. Tonowari’s hand went up to rest near Ame’s eye.
“Calm,” he soothed her and Ronal. His eyes did not leave you. “You did this for the tulkun.”
“For Ame,” you agreed. “For you and Ronal. I deleted everything they had on the Metkayina too. It wasn’t much.”
His head tilted, his eyes softening.
“I will not allow you to be taken,” Ronal hissed.
“This we all agree on,” said Tonowari. “You are Metkayina now.”
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Tsonu’e was waiting for you when you arrived back at your marui. She looked up at you, her blue eyes glowing with the embers of the fire. She was singing to herself, and when you listened to the words you realized it was her songchord.
You sat next to her, listening quietly as she finished the last verse—the one about you.
She smiled at you, petting your hair gently. “Your braids are coming loose,” she noted. “I will fix them?”
You nodded, sharing her smile. “Yes please.”
Her hands were gentle as she tugged out the braids, letting your hair flow loosely around your shoulders. Your hair was curly in this body, thick, spiral curls that were almost unmanageable for you alone. The length had overwhelmed you. Tsonu’e worked quietly, parting your hair with her fingers. She was going with a different style then the one you’d had before, this one sleeker, designed to keep the hair from your face.
“What would happen if I was sent back to Earth?” you asked her, voice small.
Her fingers paused briefly before continuing. “That will not happen.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” you protested. You wanted to know she would be okay. That Ronal, Tonowari—Ame, would go on and live a beautiful life. One without you.
“If you are sent back to Earth, I will go with you,” she said simply. You didn’t expect to laugh, and yet you did.
“They wouldn’t let you!”
“I would make them,” she teased. “You are not going anywhere without me close behind.”
“I mean it though,” you said finally, smile fading.
“I do too,” she said. “If you were taken from me and sent to Earth, I would follow. And if they keep you from me, I will come for you. You do not have a child yet—so you do not understand. But they will not keep you from me.”
You swallowed thickly, quickly wiping at your eyes before she could see your tears.
“Oh, my sweet girl,” she said, wrapping you in a tight hug from where she sat behind you.
“I’m fine,” you protested, leaning into the embrace anyway.
“You are scared,” Tsonu’e observed. “I am too. But I trust the Great Mother, I trust that she would not bring you to me, only to take you from me so soon.”
“Ronal says she will not allow me to be taken,” you mumbled.
Her hands caress your face, gently wiping your tears. You looked up at her, admiring the shadows as the light danced across her face. “She cares for you deeply,” said Tsonu’e. “Her and Tonowari both. When you are ready, they will make fine mates for you.”
You smiled. “Aren’t you supposed to say nobody is good enough for me?”
She squeezed you. “Nobody is good enough for your child until someone is.”
Your smile dropped slightly, and you let yourself relax into her grip. Almost a whisper, you asked her, “Can I call you sa’nok?”
“Only if I may call you 'itetsyìp.”
You sat up, taking her hands in yours. “I love you,” you told her. “I am so happy it was you.”
“Eywa blessed me with you, thought I do not know what I ever did to deserve you. I love you, my Hana.”