chapter forty-one
Chapter Forty-One
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Tonowari named her Tsireya. Ao’nung stared at her, his face falling into a sharp frown.
“Baby,” he said, pointing at her. You pressed your face against his gently, snuggling him.
“Yes, your sister. Tsireya,” you said, you signed her name too. Ko’oä watched you, eyes wide as she took it all in.
“Tsireya,” she repeated. “She is little!”
“Soon she will be big,” said Ronal. “And you and Ao’nung can play with her.”
Ao’nung brightened immensely at that, his eyes lighting up. Tsireya was small. Smaller then Ao’nung and Ko’oä both had been.
.
Then, there was Rulì. Rulì was a little clone of his father, but his extra finger and the hair above his brow gave away his parentage. Ko’oä was quickly becoming the most rambunctious of your children, her never ending urge to catapult herself into the sunset showed no signs of stopping. Ao’nung was always right behind her and Spider. Puango and Ko’oä had become fast friends as well, and the little quartet was becoming well known for the mischief they caused.
Alternatively, Tsireya was soft, a gentle soul. She spent most of her days with you and baby Rulì.
Ao’nung sprinted past. Your hand shot out, grabbing hold of his arm.
“Mom!” he screeched. “Let go!”
Your eyes narrowed. Beside you, Tsonu’e glanced up from her weaving. Tsireya watched the scene with wide eyes. “Why are you running?” you asked him calmly.
Ao’nung looked a little frantic. “Uh,” he said breathlessly. “Mom—there was this—and then we, so Spider—!”
You sighed, releasing your grip. “Don’t run through people,” you reminded him. “I don’t want to hear that you have been kicking sand in people’s faces.”
He nodded, taking off at a more leisurely pace. Tsireya watched him for a moment, her eyes wide. You nudged her. “You can go too,” you told her.
She brightened. “Can Rulì come?”
Tsonu’e said, “When he is older. He will not be able to keep up yet.”
Tsireya frowned a little, but stood. “Don’t finish the basket without me,” she said seriously, her puffy cheeks and large eyes making her look so cute you wanted to squish her. “Okay, Grandma?”
Tsonu’e stroked her hair. “Never,” she promised.
Tsireya beamed, and took off in a sprint.
“When did they get so big?” you wondered. Tsonu’e grinned.
“Wait until they are teenagers,” she said. You groaned.
“I can’t imagine,” you admitted. “Ko’oä will probably have run away with the voyagers by then.”
Tsonu’e hummed, and you glanced at her. “You don’t think so?”
“No,” she said. “You are right—but Ko’oä knows her role. She is stubborn, but she knows what she must do for the people.”
“Mama,” you said, smiling a little. “She’s only five.”
Tsonu’e looked at you rather pointedly. You sighed. She was right, admittedly. Ko’oä knew what was expected of her—even if she didn’t really care for it. She had a spirit sister in Yìnge, and spent her evenings with Ronal and Tsireya learning about plants.
You couldn’t help but find yourself surprised at her spirit sister—Yìnge. She was quiet, polite and gentle. Ko’oä was… not. You loved her fiercely, but she was careless and free. Yìnge measured each action she took with a seriousness you almost never saw in children.
Ame thought they were perfect for each other. You agreed. Ao’nung had a spirit brother too now, and Tsireya’s own spirit sister was Ame’s first child. You had cried, hugging your sweet daughter extra tight that night.
Rulì was still just a baby, strapped to your chest. One day, he’d get a spirit brother too. Life was kind, peaceful.
“So were you,” said Tsonu’e, breaking your on your thoughts.
“I just want her to be happy,” you said. “If that is as tsahìk or another role.”
“She is like you. A voyager.”
Your heart clenched. You’d satisfied that urge. That need to see, to do—to go. That desperate ache to see more, to do more, to be more. Somewhere, somehow, between finding a mother in Tsonu’e, lovers in Tonowari and Ronal—you found a peace with it all, some indescribable thing you’d craved so deeply settling down for a little.
The fire burned strong in your eldest daughter. She looked like you—a little clone, down to her eyebrows and extra fingers and toes. She had Ronal’s intensity, your desire to know, and Tonowari’s quiet leadership. You glanced at the kids. Puango stood, puffing his chest out as Ko’oä ordered everyone around. Ao’nung was nodding intensely, Tsireya’s eyes sparkling as she took in her sister’s orders.
Feeling your gaze, Ko’oä glanced at you. She beamed, a toothy grin with two missing front teeth. You waved, signing at her to watch out for her sister. Ko’oä nodded dutifully, coming to some sort of decision about the game, carefully moving over to make sure her little sister was standing next to her.
“Maybe,” you said to Tsonu’e. Privately, you hoped she’d outgrow it, even if you didn’t think she would.
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Ko’oä shrieked indignantly. You hissed at the high pitched feedback, wincing at the sound. Tsonu’e winced in sympathy, bringing a hand up to your ear to help adjust the hearing aid. You were really starting to get sick of wearing them.
“Ko’oä,” snapped Ronal, eyes narrowed. Ko’oä turned, flustered. She was nine, now. Ao’nung was eight. Tsireya seven. Spider was dwarfed by them, looking closer to a toddler then a child. Rulì was closed in size to him now, even being only four.
Ronal’s eyes zeroed in on Ko’oä. “What has happened?”
Ko’oä pressed her lips together, her tail swishing and her ears pinned back. Indignantly, she pointed at Ao’nung and said, “Ao’nung said I can’t be a voyager because I have to be Tsahìk!”
Ronal’s eyes slid over to you. You smirked, tilting your head as you comforted Rulì.
“You can be a voyager, Ko’oä,” Tsonu’e reassured. Ronal sighed slowly, but didn’t disagree.
Ko’oä was her first child, your first child. She was special, for that if nothing else. You imagined Ronal had envisioned the sweet, wide eyed baby would grow into a wild eyed child who’d want to learn all about plants and herbs. Both her mothers had a fascination with it. You never could shake the label of algae girl—far away, on another planet, living another life, you were still a marine biologist.
“Where will you go, sweet girl?” you asked.
Ko’oä’s face grew serious. “I will visit Ìweii and Taweäng, and then I will see the Tulkun, and I will see all the stars!”
Ronal looked a little pensive. “All the stars?”
Ko’oä nodded proudly. “Mama is from a star!”
Oh.
Ronal scooted forward, and Ko’oä leaned into her touch. “What will I do without you, hm?”
“You can come too!” said Ko’oä. “Ao’nung is coming.”
“Oh?” said Tsonu’e. “Is he?”
“Yes,” said Ao’nung seriously. “I’ll protect her.”
Ko’oä scowled. “That’s my job. I’m your big sister.”
Sensing and argument, Ronal was quick to change the subject, distracting Ko’oä with some beads. “Sort these, pick some for your hair. Ao’nung, you too.”
They did so, obediently. You smiled at her softly, and when your eyes met, your heart fluttered in your chest.
Ao’nung plopped himself in front of you, describing what he wanted carefully. You obeyed, l watching his hands move as he told a story—something about Tsireya knocking Puango off his ilu. His eyes shined, and he kept turning to look back at you. You paused, grabbing him around his middle and holding him to you. He laughed, and you peppered his face with kisses.
“My sweet Ao’nung,” you cooed as he struggled, unable to keep the smile off his face.
“I’m not a baby!” he protested. “Rulì’s right there!”
“You’ll always be my baby,” you promised him. He squinted at you.
“No,” he said seriously. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Yes it does,” you insisted. “Ask your grandma—I’m still her baby.”
It was Rulì who turned, eyes wide to Tsonu’e. “Really?”
Tsonu’e nodded sagely. “Yes.”
Ko’oä sighed. “Don’t fight it, Ao’nung. She’ll only love you more.”
Ao’nung sagged in your grip, and you gestured at a casual Ko’oä, Don’t think you aren’t next.
She giggled, scooting over as Ronal finished her hair. She’d gotten more patient over the years, but still wouldn’t tolerate it for very long. She leaned into your side, and you slackened your grip on Ao’nung to wrap an arm around Ko’oä. You grabbed her face, kissing her cheeks and blowing a raspberry in her neck. She laughed, swatting at you.
“Mom!” she shouted.
“My babies!” you cooed. Ronal laughed, grabbing ahold of Rulì and sitting him in front of her. He sat patiently as she threaded her fingers through his hair, enjoying her touch. His eyes shut as she scratched his head. You glanced to the water, where Tsireya stood with Tonowari. Her face was pinched in a deep frown as she observed the net her father held. His face was gentle, his tone kind as he explained how to fish to her.
You turned your attention back to Ao’nung and Ko’oä. You squeezed them both wrapping your arms around their middle—you jumped to a stand, enjoying their laughter. You’d keep the hearing aid a little longer, you decided. You didn’t want to miss this.