chapter forty-three
Chapter Forty-Three
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Statistically, if information regarding a missing person isn’t found within the first 48 hours, the odds of it ever being solved are halved.
Rulì’s hand is wrapped in yours, his eyes wide as he takes quick steps behind you.
The statistic was for Earth, for humans—for people that were presumed dead. This did not reassure you. War had come to the Metkayina once, and while Tonowari had been careful this time, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t come again.
You reminded yourself that the statistic is for Earth, that it’s a human thing. You haven’t been human in a long time—but you are still that little girl that loved fish and would daydream about mermaids who loved marine biology enough to runaway to a strange planet and fell in love.
It’s only been 4 hours.
Ronal was furious. She stormed through the village, her shoulders squared.
“Ronal,” you hissed, louder then you intended based on the way she whipped her head around, wrapping your fingers around her wrist.
“No,” she snapped, fingers moving in a fury. “Our children know better. Before, they would never—“
She cut herself off, pursing her lips. “They know better.”
I know, you said. You glanced at Rulì, and in a weak attempt to lighten the tension you told him, Don’t ever do anything like this.
Rulì looked at you with wide eyes, quickly, he nodded. “I won’t,” he promised.
Ronal sighed, reaching a hand out to pet Rulì’s cheek. She said, “Let us hope this next one is not so troublesome.”
“Like me,” prompted Rulì. You smiled, but it felt brittle, ruffling his hair.
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The ilu were gone. Tsireya’s hands shook, her eyes wide and watery as she turned her head to the eclipse.
“Ao’nung,” she said. “They are going to be furious.”
Ao’nung swallowed. “They don’t have to know we were out here.”
Kiri was quick to glare. “You sound like Lo’ak. Of course your parents will know—we can’t exactly get out of here so easily without the ilu.”
“We can swim,” said Ao’nung, but he didn’t sound particularly confident.
“And drown?” quipped Neteyam. “We can’t swim as fast as you and Tsireya.”
“We wouldn’t let you drown,” said Tsireya quickly, coming to stand beside Lo’ak. She offered him a weak smile.
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13 hours later, long after the eclipse has passed—the children swim to shore. They are tight lipped and you want to throttle them.
Furious, you stormed forward. What is wrong with you? you demanded. Tsireya’s eyes started watering almost immediately, but her gaze remained glued to your hands as you scolded her and her brother.
Ao’nung’s face twisted into a scowl. You wanted to strangle him. You hissed, furious. Beside you, Ronal’s face twisted into a harsh glare.
“It was my fault,” said Lo’ak. To be frank, you could have cared less who’s fault it was—your children knew better.
Ronal’s face was dark, and the scowl on Tonowari’s matched your own—even as Neytiri and Jake began to scold their own children. You spared one last glance at Ao’nung and Tsireya, and informed them, I don’t recognize either of you right now.
You turned away, storming back to your marui in a fury.
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Later, Tsireya quietly told you about the tulkun who found them. Quietly, you told her a story about a girl who fell off a boat and drowned until a tulkun saved her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I am so sorry.”
You hug her. Even furious as you are, she is still your sweet baby.
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Ao’nung came to sit beside you the next morning, his ears low and his head bowed. “I’m sorry,” he said. You watched the movement with narrowed eyes.
And? you asked, quirking an eyebrow.
Ao’nung swallowed, pursing his lips a little. You resisted the sudden, intense urge to whack him on the back of his head. “I shouldn’t have put anyone in that position.” he continued.
You sighed, brining a hand up to stroke his hair. He glanced at you, something intensely vulnerable in his gaze. “I am sorry,” he said.
You looked at him for a long moment, leaning your head against his. I know. I am too.
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Lo’ak scowled, digging his hand into the sand. Gently, you poked his shoulder.
“Payakan is not what they say he is,” Lo’ak told you immediately, his fingers clumsy, but clear.
You smiled a little, bringing a hand up to pat his shoulder. You sighed, and after a moment, you told him, Ame was not either.
He looked surprised, his face shifting through emotions rapidly.
“Ame?” he asked.
My dear spirit sister, you told him. She saved my life too. I was drowning.
You were fairly sure this was the first time Lo’ak had truly seen you. Kindly, you continued, Ame loved me despite who I was, and I loved her too.
“Tsireya said that you became Na’vi just before the war,” he finally said. “I thought it was because you became mates with the tsahìk and olo’eyktan.”
You scoffed a laugh, bringing a hand to your mouth as you grinned fondly. My daughter loves a love story. They helped my choice. But it was my Ame that made it clear I would never return to Earth. I couldn’t leave her. A life without my spirit sister would have been no life at all. If Payakan is what you say he is, then you have been blessed to find him, and he you.
Lo’ak’s mouth dropped open slightly, and you pushed yourself to a stand. Before you left, you told him, Running away is easy. It’s the staying that’s hard. You have a voyager’s spirit like your father before you.