chapter twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-Three
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Ronal added three beads to her songchord the following week. The first bead was dark, nearly black in color—this signified the end of her life as tsakarem, as a child. The next was more colorful, this one, you and Tonowari picked out for her. To signify her ascending to the role of tsahìk officially, becoming mates. It matched the bead on yours and Tonowari’s own songchord. And the last one, in some ways, the most important one. Ronal added a new bead on her songchord to signify the baby growing in your belly.
You couldn’t bring yourself to be happy about it yet, Ìweii’s injury haunting you—plaguing you with horrible nightmares. Ronal insisted it was normal, that all new mothers had bad dreams. Na’vi didn’t get periods, so you had remained mostly oblivious until Ronal had rather pointedly told you to lay down and felt your belly. It was firm, not even a bump—but she knew your body just as well as you did and was able to recognize the change in your breast size and you suddenly aversion to your favorite breakfast fruit.
Tonowari was ecstatic. He rubbed your flat stomach, tracing lines over it gently. You did not know how to feel. Ìweii’s injury had hit you hard, much harder then you had expected it would. Your circle of friends suddenly felt a lot smaller—you becoming hyper aware at how close you had come to losing a member of it. You missed her popping up at inconvenient times. Her absence in your daily life made Ame’s feel all the more real, nobody there to fill your days or offer you unprompted advice.
You skulked around, feeling nauseated and exhausted. You settled down beside Tsonu’e in her weaving circle. Her hand came up to rest on your arm as you laid your head on her shoulder.
Haolìp looked at you sympathetically. “The roots from the fyìpmaut will soothe your stomach.”
“Ronal gave me some this morning,” you groaned.
Tsonu’e smoothed a hand over your forehead. “You should rest.”
“I won’t break in half,” you complained. “Besides, I keep having bad dreams.”
Haolìp adjusted Puango, returning to her weaving. “I had a nightmare that Puango was born an akula, and I could not keep him.”
Lehu laughed a little. “An akula?”
Haolìp nodded seriously, pursing her lips slightly. “I woke sobbing. I felt like my heart had been torn out.”
Tsonu’e nodded her agreement. “I dreamed I was in the ocean, drowning.”
You smiled slightly, adding, “I keep dreaming the baby will be a worm.”
Between that and nightmares of Ìweii, you’d had a reoccurring nightmare since finding out about your pregnancy—one where your baby was a worm like creature.
Lehu shuddered. “I am glad I will never experience this.”
Tsonu’e said, “It’s worth it. And the dreams fade once your belly appears.”
That was good to know. You knew little about Na’vi pregnancy beyond the fact that it lasted a little longer then human pregnancy. Beyond that, nobody had ever been close enough to a pregnant Na’vi to ask. You didn’t know what your baby would look like, how big it would be—anything. Everything you knew about Na’vi development was from the children you interacted with, Haolìp’s son and daughter and the occasional child you assisted in wrangling.
You felt better speaking with them, and when you left, the top you’d been making for Ronal in hand, your steps felt a little lighter.
Ronal’s face lit up as you approached, standing to greet you with a sweet kiss. “How do you feel?” she asked.
“Better,” you said truthfully.
She smiled softly, running a hand down your face. “I am very happy.”
Your heart soared. “Me too. I was hoping that you might want to spend tomorrow with me.”
Her eyes crinkled as she grinned, taking your hand. “Yes please.”
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Ronal met your on the surf. You stood with your toes in the water, looking at the rapidly darkening sky. She’d been held up all morning, nursing a sick child.
“Looks like rain,” you said.
She looked up, out toward the water and then glance behind her to the forest. She hefted her basket a little, a coy smile on her face. “Come,” she said. “The waves will not be safe.”
You took her hand, letting her lead you to the edge of the forest. The sand found it’s way under your toes, and when you heard the crack of thunder and found a dry spot, you sat down beside Ronal. You stretched out your legs, feeling the fat drops of rain hitting your feet and calves. Ronal laid her head on your shoulder, sighing as she watched the waves crash. Your fingers wound together with hers, and you inhaled deeply. The salty spray of the ocean, the smell of the rain, the smell of her—you smiled, content just to be with her for a little.
The rain pelted down. Quietly, Ronal said, “I am so happy to have these moments with you.”
Your grin came slowly, and you quoted softly, “In another life, I would have really liked to do laundry and taxes with you.”
She looked up at you, smiling a little in confusion. “What does it mean?”
“It doesn’t translate well—but it means that I’m happy to be here with you.”
You enjoyed the rain together.
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“Good morning,” you said brightly. You’d woken up a few hours ago after a particularly bizarre dream involving a giant, spacefaring octopus, and had already collected breakfast. Ronal had woken shortly after, having been forced to settle for a piece of fruit. The plant she needed to harvest today only bloomed in the twilight hours. and she preferred working going into daylight then nighttime, and as a result had left around half an hour ago.
Tonowari plopped himself beside you, barely awake as he laid his head on your shoulder. He was, hilariously, not a morning person. You imagined, if left up to him, Tonowari would sleep until late into the afternoon, after the sun had reached its highest point. It did not help that Pandora was entering it’s winter months, meaning the days were vastly shorter and the nights longer. Soon, you would enter the three day period where Polyphemus blocked out the sun completely, allowing for what was more colloquially called the Long Dark. It was only three days, so you found the sentiment a little dramatic, but you understood where it was coming from. Most of the time, the Na’vi were able to operate on an almost tropical schedule.
Storms happened, of course, but the days were long and warm.
“I’m going diving with Tsonu’e, by Three Brothers,” you told him.
“No you are not,” he mumbled, still barely awake.
“Oh?” you asked, voice teasing. “What am I doing then?”
“Staying within the reef,” he said, chewing.
You laughed, frowning a little. “No, I’m going diving with Tsonu’e.”
Tonowari sat up, frown on his face. “I prefer you remain in the reef.”
Your smile dropped completely. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“I am not going to let you put yourself—our child—in harm’s way,” he said, sounding a lot more alert.
“Harm’s way?” you scoffed. “I’m going to one of the most isolated parts of the ocean—with Tsonu’e. She won’t let anything happen to me.”
“I would feel better knowing you are safe here,” he said, looking a little irritated.
“I’m not a child!” you hissed, finally fed up with Tonowari’s badgering. Since learning of your pregnancy, he’d been almost unbearable in his concern for you. But this was too much. “I won’t even be alone, my mother is going!”
He was already shaking his head. “I will not allow this.”
Eyes blazing, you stood. “You think you allow me to do anything?”
Tonowari quickly realized his poor choice in words. “No,” he quickly back tracked. His shoulders slumped. “I do not wish to argue with you. The Sky People are bold, and I fear what will happen if they find you.”
The fire in you was snuffed out with his words. You deflated, letting out a defeated sigh. “We can’t stop our lives on the chance that something bad might happen.”
“It is different now,” he explained. “You will be the mother of my first child.”
You scowled, finding that a little archaic. “So I’m not longer allowed to go somewhere perfectly safe?”
“I did not like you going before,” he said. You stared.
“Are you serious?” The look on his face said he was. You scoffed. “I’m not sea glass.”
“No,” he agreed patiently, infuriating you a little more. “You are a woman.”
Your eye actually twitched. “You can’t possibly—“
“Quiet,” Ronal snapped, appearing at the entrance of the marui. She rubbed her temples. “Tonowari, she will be fine.”
You looked at him smugly, until she said, “Hana, stay close to Tsonu’e, and do not go to far.”
“I’m leaving now,” you huffed, grabbing your bag and walking out without another word. You glanced over your shoulder, ready to glare, but ended up pursing your lips as you shuffled away a little faster.
The look on Tonowari’s face, the look on Ronal’s, you felt like you hadn’t really won that argument at all.