chapter forty-five
Chapter Forty-Five
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When she was little, Ko’oä liked to pretend she was olo’eyktan. Her dad had seemed like the most powerful man alive. Strong, brave, with many tattoos detailing his deeds to the people—and her mothers too. She spent hours daydreaming about getting her own tattoos, and being reborn as an adult within the eyes of her people.
As she got older, and her mom started to teach her the ways of the tsahìk, how to heal and commune with Ewya—Ko’oä had wondered if maybe that was her place instead. Ao’nung could be the olo’eyktan, and she would be his tsahìk. Her mom had smiled affectionately at her when she explained that she would become Ao’nung’s tsahìk and they would rule the clan together.
Tsireya could help too, but she was just a baby then—so Ko’oä couldn’t imagine how useful she would have been (now, she couldn’t imagine Tsireya being anything but tsahìk one day.)
“Ao’nung is your brother,” her mom had said kindly. “You cannot mate with him.”
“But I love him,” said Ko’oä. “Who else would I marry?”
“Someone you love,” you had interjected, as Ronal brushed the hair from Ko’oä’s eyes. “Someone who will make you happy.”
At the time, she had decided she would just go ahead and marry her dad if she couldn’t just marry Ao’nung.
For obvious reasons, Ko’oä had ultimately decided against this. And still, her place in the tribe had seemed so unclear to her.
The ocean called to her.
She wanted to know what was beyond the horizon—to walk among the stars as Claire and you had once. She wanted to explore the water and see shells that had never seen the light of the stars and she wanted to find new homes for their people.
You were a voyager, she learned as she grew. It seemed very natural to follow in your footsteps.
But still, once upon a time, she had wanted nothing more than to be useful to her home by staying.
She was still a better weaver than Ao’nung.
And Ao’nung was good.
He’d taken in all the lessons from you as a child like a sponge—and Ko’oä remembers her own days spent sitting between your crossed legs while you wove a basket, a hammock, a net, or anything that was needed.
Ko’oä felt smug as little Tuk leaned forward, her yellow eyes growing wide as Ko’oä carefully tied off the newly made bracelet.
“So cool!” cheered Tuk, beaming at her.
Ko’oä grinned right back. “I can show you,” she said. “My mama taught me when I was your age. It’s a symbol of friendship.”
Ko’oä’s own bracelet made by her sister sat frayed on her wrist. She held it out dutifully, and Tsireya copied the gesture, showing her own matching bracelet.
“Kiri!” shouted Tuk. “Look! Can we make them? Please!”
Kiri looked between the bracelets with a bemused expression, but her eyes softened as she sat beside her sister. “Of course, Tuk.”
Ko’oä smiled. These strangers weren’t so strange it seemed.
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“Ao’nung!” Ko’oä whined, flipping backward into the sand. Her brother huffed, but she could see the smile he tried to hide. “Come on! Grandma never says no to you.”
He rolled his eyes. “She does now. You’re the one that left to travel—she’d probably help you hide a body.”
You glanced at them with a raised eyebrow. “Bring Rulì,” you advise sagely. “Tuk, too, if you can manage it. Make it seem like their idea.”
Ko’oä squinted at you skeptically, her brow furrowing. “No way.”
You gave her a pointed look.
Ko’oä stared for a long moment, before she stood quickly and grabbed Ao’nung by the arm. “Come on, let’s get the children.”
“I don’t want to babysit,” Ao’nung complained, but followed anyway.
“Do you want her to make it or not?”
Remembering the sweet treat, Ao’nung conceded defeat and followed his sister without a word.
Later, when you saw them they looked a little to pleased with themselves. You grinned at them, ducking your head so your mother wouldn’t see your smug grin.
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The tulkun arrived a week after Ko’oä did. It was a cloudless day, the sun was high in the sky—and a even a week apart was too long. Yinge is the air in Ko’oä’s lungs, and it’s hard to breathe without air.
“I missed you,” she told her spirit sister gently. Tsireya was embracing her own spirit sister, and Ame wasn’t far, so Ko’oä got a front row view of the gentle way you rested your head against Ame and smiled. “I’m staying with you, next time.”
Next time, teased Yinge.
“I don’t know how they do it,” said Ko’oä. “It was miserable without you.”
Don’t be dramatic, said Yinge. Ko’oä wasn’t being dramatic at all. She pouted, poking her tongue out.
“Seriously, next year I’m staying with you,” Ko’oä promised.
Yinge gave her a look. Don’t make promises like that—we both know you wander too much, my dreamer.
“Nah,” said Ko’oä. “Not about this. I love you too much! Let’s go say hi to grandma, I know she missed you.”
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Ko’oä didn’t leave with the tulkun, not this time. Yinge was right about that, anyway. The tulkun had brought some news of the humans and their paths in the water. For the most part, they avoided the tulkun pods that were attached to the Na’vi. The voyagers did their best to pass along that message to any unaffiliated pods, and they protected them as best as they could.
But the ocean was large, and it wasn’t possible to save everyone.
Roa was cold by the time they got there. Her mom screamed, and something cold settled over her as she watched in sorrow as her mom mourned her dearest friend.
Ko’oä had felt the fire that sparked in her before—she’d felt it in the way the ocean called to her, the urge to explore, to never settle down and stop moving.
The tribe raged, and Ko’oä saw the same spark ignite in Lo’ak.
“Where are you going?” she hissed, grabbing his arm. She thought that out of all the Sully siblings, she understood Lo’ak the best. His face was so different from hers, his eyes yellow and his skin darker, but the eyebrows, the extra finger, when Ko’oä looked at Lo’ak, she saw herself.
“I have to warn Payakan,” he snarled back, ripping his arm away. Ko’oä scowled, whistling sharply for her ilu.
“Don’t be a fool,” she said. “Going alone is a suicide mission.”
The look in his eye was almost worth it.
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The bullet wasn’t, she didn’t think.