chapter thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-Five
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The Sky People retreated later that day.
You missed the majority of it, safe in Awa’altu with your family. Tsonu’e sat beside you with Ko’oä, blowing raspberries on her stomach. The transmission from Jake had come in only a few hours ago, but already the effects of it were visible.
The People had brightened considerably, but there were still wounds from the battle, even as the RDA’s ships lit up the sky and disappeared. Relief came slowly, but once it had started to trickle in, you found yourself laughing in relief.
“They really are gone,” you said to Tsonu’e, partly in disbelief.
It didn’t feel over in a lot of ways. You’d spoken with everyone else, carefully cataloging the losses. The songcords on Ronal’s skirts had tripled, the fallen warriors immortalized on the tsahìk’s dress if their families wished for it.
“I am still thankful,” said Tsonu’e, letting Ko’oä jump in her lap, arms moving up and down to let the baby bounce. She was careful to face you when she spoke, her words a little louder and slower then usual.
You glanced at her, eyes widening a little in confusion. You almost thought you misunderstood. Tsonu’e was focused on the baby, but you knew she was sincere when she said, “If the Sky People had never come, I never would have met you.”
You swallowed. “You’d still have everyone else.”
Tsonu’e looked at you. “Yes,” she agreed. “I would.”
Ko’oä giggled. “I did not know, but I was searching for you,” she said slowly. “I would have never stopped looking for you.”
Your eyes stung a little, your nose burning.
“You’ll always be my family,” said Tsonu’e. “Nothing will ever change that.”
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You watched the sky that night, feeling a little overwhelmed as the last of the Sky People’s ships disappeared into the distance. Relief wasn’t the right word. Ko’oä was sleeping in Tonowari’s arms. He stood beside you, watching the night sky and the disappearing lights of the Sky People. You turned to Tonowari, who was standing nearby, his expression somber.
“We did it,” you said, trying to sound optimistic.
Tonowari nodded, but you could tell that he was still processing everything. “We did,” he said. “But at what cost?”
You knew what he meant. You’d lost a large portion of your hearing—the awkward tests Yates had been allowed to conduct under Ronal’s watchful gaze had confirmed you were now severely hard of hearing in your left ear, and mildly so in your right. It meant that you could follow along easily enough, if not with some effort on your part. As long as the speaker was facing you or on your right side. It was particularly frustrating—you were just grateful the clan already had a sign language, and switching to use above water was not difficult for anyone.
The losses of the People hit hard too. You thought about Yitì almost constantly.
But for now, you were just grateful to be alive. He looked down at Ko’oä, his expression softening a little. You watched him fondly.
“We’ll rebuild,” you said, your voice soft. “We’ll make the village even stronger than before.”
Tonowari looked at you, his expression thoughtful. “And what about the Sky People?” he asked.
You shrugged. “I don’t know,” you said. “I hope they listen. I’ve been wrong before.”
Felix, namely.
Ìweii’s sobs haunted you, the devastated look on her face at Yitì’s funeral. Your heart ached for her, for the families that lost people. The Reef people had suffered less loss then the forest people—the Omaticaya specifically. Their numbers had been devastated by the loss of Hometree, and the rapid transitions between olo’eyktans. Jake Sully had taken the mantle, and had personally ensured the Sky People left.
Claire had regaled you with the details, and somewhere in the midst of it, you learned that Grace Augustine had died. It shocked you how much that had stung, your heart heavy. Yitì’s death was sharp like a knife. You’d had a responsibility toward Yitì, he was one of the People—someone you were supposed to look after. He’s slipped through your fingers and never returned. Felix was alive, but her words around him had been stiff, like she didn’t want to talk to you about it. You didn’t know if he was still at the base with Claire’s human self, or if he’d returned to Hell’s Gate. His Avatar was dead, and so was Yitì. You thought, in someways, it meant Felix was kind of dead too.
Grace’s death just sucked. You hadn’t been there, and there was nothing you could have done to stop it. You didn’t have to wrestle with the guilt you felt for Yitì, and in a lot of ways, you had an easier time processing her dying then you did anyone else.
It sucked.
“Felix was not your fault,” said Tonowari. You didn’t know how he could read you so effortlessly, always knowing your deepest thoughts by expression alone.
“It feels like it was,” you said. “If I never introduced him to the People, Äa and her baby would still be alive. I did that. Felix told the RDA about the tulkun, but I introduced him to them. Everything that happened—Ìweii getting shot, you—that’s on me.”
He turned his head, face a little sad. “Hana—“
“No,” you insisted. “It’s the truth. This is the truth. I have hurt the People so much since I came here. Without me, you never would have become involved. The Metkayina would have been safe from this war.“
“Maybe,” he said finally, heavily. “You think they are coming back.”
A part of you did.
“A little,” you admitted. “I’m afraid that our children will grow up in a war zone.”
“No,” he assured. “No. The Sky People will not come back now. We have time.”
He placed a hand on your shoulder, pulling you toward him. You buried your face in his chest, careful to not squish the baby. You covered his hand gently. You hoped he was right.
For now, all you could do was focus on rebuilding and keeping the village safe. It was a daunting task, but you knew that with the help of the other warriors and the support of the community, you could do it.
And you would do it for Ko’oä, for Ronal, and for the future of the Na'vi people.
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Ronal revealed her pregnancy three days later. You added four beads to your songcord. One, you added for the baby in her stomach. It was a shiny, pretty purple color that resembled the one you’d picked for Ko’oä. The second bead was for the war, to remember those lost and to remember the RDA left. You picked a small piece of scrap metal for this. The third one, a tiny shell—one that parents often used as a rattle for their babies; to represent your personal loss of your hearing.
The last bead was a piece of wood that Yitì had carved for his hair.
As you added the beads to your songcord, you couldn't help but feel a sense of bittersweetness. The joy of Ronal's pregnancy was tempered by the loss of Yitì. You took a strange comfort in the fact that life continued to move forward, and that new beginnings were still possible even in the midst of tragedy.
You resolved to honor Yitì’s memory in whatever way you could, and to never forget the sacrifices they made for the planet, the People. And as you looked ahead to the future, you felt a sense of hope and determination, knowing that you and your community would continue to fight for the protection of your home and the preservation of your way of life.
For Ko’oä, you could have filled the ocean with everything you wanted for her.