chapter eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
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Your feet dangled in the water, and you found yourself mesmerized by the glow of your tanhì, the glow of it underneath the water—even with the sun high in the sky. Your skin felt warm, the breeze ruffled your hair. You inhaled deeply. It was strange, waking up in this body.
Tsonu’e did her best to assure you, but there was a part of you that still felt like a fraud—waiting for the other shoe to drop.
You were, officially, completely, one of the People. You were Metkayina now. A member of the clan in full.
Hana te Ue Tsonu’e’ite. You were a weaver, spirit sister to Ame. And one day, you hoped, mate to Tonowari and Ronal.
You splashed your feet in the water. That, however, included actually seeing them occasionally.
It had been two days. Two days since Ronal had transferred you from your human body to your avatar one. Permanently. She and Tonowari had dropped you off with Tsonu’e. You wanted to spend time with them, but you knew their duties took precedent.
Uäloä wanted to step down. Ronal had mentioned it weeks ago, quietly. The tsahìk thought Ronal was ready. She’d taught her everything she could, at this point, anything Ronal didn’t know was something she would need to learn herself. This meant Ronal and Tonowari would mate soon. You weren’t sure how you fit into this, or if you even could. Ronal had been so busy she had hardly any time to search you out during the evening meal, her eyes finding yours. You knew she still did it, because every night you felt the burn of her gaze from across the fire.
You missed her—them.
You sighed, flopping back on the netted path. You pursed your lips, your mind wandering. When this thing between you had first started, it was because you’d gifted both Tonowari and Ronal something you had made. You could do that again. It would need to be special though, this time. More then just some pretty shells you picked up.
Idea forming, you stood quickly and dove into the water, clicking your tongue to call an ilu. You made tsaheylu quickly, feeling her breath, her heartbeat as you instructed her forward.
You rarely ever went beyond the reef, and when you did, it was with someone else. You weren’t going far though. The spot in your mind was clear, mostly open water, and your ilu cut through the water quickly as she went to the spot. Carefully, you released her, swimming to the surface to take a large breath before swimming to the bottom of the ocean. Your fingers worked their way through the sand, your eyes focused as you caught site of your price. The tooth glimmered in the light, and you beamed at it.
At one point, this had been a fairly popular spot for akula to come for breeding. They lost their teeth regularly, like a shark or alligator. You stuffed the tooth into your bag, continuing your search.
You couldn’t say how long you were out there, but by the time you had enough teeth for what you had planned, eclipse was nearing. You clicked your tongue, calling for your ilu. She came quickly, squalling as you made tsaheylu. She’d eaten, her belly was full as you directed her to the direction of your marui. You hopped up quickly, grabbing onto the net to pull yourself up quickly.
Tsonu’e looked up as you entered, holding her hand out and offering you a piece of fruit. You took it gratefully, your stomach rumbling.
“Busy day?” she inquired. “You missed tonight’s meal.”
You grunted, shoving the fruit in your mouth greedily. “I was looking for akula teeth; I’m going to make Tonowari something. Ronal too, but I’m not sure what yet.”
“Akula teeth?” Tsonu’e mused. “That is a good idea. Shows he is brave, strong.”
“I thought so too.” You grabbed your basket full of your weaving supplies, including the bone you’d fashioned to resemble a crochet hook. “I was thinking a necklace, what do you think?”
Tsonu’e glanced over, quietly observing the way you had arranged the teeth. She titled her head, before reaching over and grabbing a few pieces of a more fibrous seaweed. It was harder to work with, but the color was better suited and it would hold the teeth for longer—hold up to wear and tear better too.
You deflated slightly. “I’m not really good with that type.”
“I’ll help,” she offered, but you shook your head.
“No,” you said. “I think this is something I need to do myself. If you would show me how you would connect the teeth though…”
“Of course,” she smiled, grabbing an extra piece. She moved slowly, showing you how she placed her fingers. It was a little difficult translating it, with your extra finger, but once you got the hang of it, you found her technique to be a lot easier then the way you had learned from another weaver.
“Thank you,” you said. “Is this a bad idea?”
“No,” she said quickly. “He will love it. What are you thinking for Ronal?”
“She likes white shells—the iridescent ones,” you explained. “I am not sure beyond that.”
Tsonu’e said, “Wait right here.” She disappeared into her room for a moment, coming back with an oval shell in her hands.
“Oh,” you said softly. “It’s beautiful.”
“Show me what you make with it,” she requested, giving it to you.
“Always,” you said, turning to your weaving.
“I will miss you,” she declared suddenly, cutting into the silence. “When you move to be with them.”
“If,” you said. “Nothing is certain yet. They might reject me.”
Tsonu’e rolled her eyes. “They will not reject you.”
You exhaled slowly. “Never say never,” you muttered. “Anyway, I wouldn’t even be going far. And I would still see you everyday.”
She hummed her agreement. “And you could work on giving me a grandchild.”
You huffed. “You would care more about that—I’ve seen you with Haolìp‘s baby.”
“I like babies,” she admitted freely. “But I would love yours.”
You grinned at her, a warm feeling in your heart. You could have children. Pandora was safe. Warm. Alive. You’d always wanted kids.
“Well, I’ll give you as many grandkids as I can manage,” you promised her.
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