Awakening
Someone's calling my name.
That's the first thought, called up out of nothing.
Jake, come back.
"Jake." That's me. A second thought.
The twin thoughts revolve around each other in silence. They fill the universe—not because they're big, but because nothing else exists.
A tug comes from somewhere, and now the thoughts are revolving in the middle of a great void, and I see them from outside. I see them hanging there, surrounded by empty space.
More thoughts start appearing—bright dots of awareness blinking awake against a backdrop of infinite nothing.
I see a face, and somehow I know it's my face.
I see a different face, and somehow I know that one's mine too.
Then I see her face. And now the thoughts pour in like a torrent—a rushing river of memory, a movie in fast forward—and with each new thought, my awareness gets more complete, more textured, more layered with context. I see a rich, green world. I know that I've been there, and that it has a name. I see sky. I hear moving water. I feel the memory of wind and the warmth of the soil, and I remember them all. I know them.
I hear a voice – her voice – and now there's a new dimension. Time. Change. Images join and become events – things that have happened to me – and those swirl together and become a story. I remember chasing her through the forest. I remember her teaching me to speak and to See, teaching me to hunt and ride and shoot. I remember the viperwolves—my first glimpse of her—and from there I remember our first flight and our first kiss. It all comes back to me – simultaneously and out of order, faster and faster. I remember a great menace and a great tragedy. I remember the rejection and the redemption and the feel of her hand on my shoulder as Toruk carried us. I remember the thrill and horror of battle—a chaos of fire and blood and shattered glass. Images of war flash before me in a rising tide of death and destruction, pushing forward, culminating in a remembered violence, a desperate struggle, a powerful enemy, a hopeless choking, and then—
... holy shit.
I died.
That guy – the one who owns this name, these faces, these memories; the one I keep calling "I"—he's dead. Gone from the universe. And yet... these thoughts...
What the hell is going on?
There's a shift, and now everything makes less and less sense instead of more.
I see her face again, and now there's this single-minded urgency—an unshakable truth in the confusion, like a boulder in the surf. There's a tugging coming from somewhere and I instinctively fight my way toward it, knowing it's important – so very, very important that I reach it. Everything fades – the whole crashing storm becoming background – leaving only this one need behind.
She needs me. I need to reach her. I hear her voice and it buries itself in my mind like a harpoon, tearing at me, dragging me toward some unknown destination. I struggle desperately to follow it, to keep up, to reach its source, while the wind pulls me everywhere at once. I fight my way forward—reaching, slipping, falling back, reaching again.
I'm climbing a waterfall on a greased rope.
Jake, come back.
I'm trying, Neytiri. I'm trying.
Don't give up. Please don't give up.
Her voice is closer now. I lunge blindly forward, scrabbling for purchase—for something to hold onto. I fall into empty space, but something catches me before I can disappear, and I try again, then again.
Dimly through the noise, I become aware of their voices, and dimly, I recognize them as the voices of my clan—my people. I recognize the rhythm of their chant, and suddenly I remember Grace Augustine. A scene flashes in my memory like lightning, and I remember trying to save her at the Tree of Souls. I remember the same pulsing energy, and with dawning realization, I understand what's happened to me. And now I'm aware—horribly aware—of just how fragile I am right now. I'm aware, somehow, that only their effort is making me something instead of nothing, giving me form through sheer force of will. Their voices beat in unison like the pounding of a drum, guiding me forward, holding me together—calling to me.
I don't know if they can hear me. But I call back and tell them I'm here and I'm coming. I promise I'm fighting with everything I've got and beg them to hold the door for me just a little longer.
Goddammit, but I am so close. Like I could just reach out and touch her – pull her close and tell her I'm sorry and that I'll do anything to put things right again. I can feel her beside me, inside me, and it makes no goddamn sense because that only makes me miss her more. And that's how I know this has to work—that I gotta make it work. Because this wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to lose her so soon.
I throw myself toward her, thrashing wildly against the wind. But I'm having that nightmare where you're chasing a door that's just one step away. It's all so fucking difficult – harder than I ever thought anything could be. Harder than being Toruk Makto, harder than being a Marine, harder than being a cripple. Losing my legs was nothing, 'cause now my entire body is gone, and the very cosmos seem dead set against me getting it back. But I don't care, I tell her. I'm going to be part of her life again, because we've done the impossible before, and we'll do it again.
Then suddenly, everything goes wrong.
Somewhere above, the rope snaps. And now it doesn't matter how I fight, my support is gone, and I feel myself falling, falling, falling from an endless height, the wind tearing at me as tumble toward some kind of dark, roaring chaos.
I'm sorry.
The memories strip away as I fall – one-by-one, faster and faster – dissolving in the wind. In my last moment, I muster a titanic effort of will and throw a net over them, unable to keep them from flying away, but trying desperately to keep them in each other's vicinity, in a formless cloud of spirit.
Drifting through the void, fragments of a forgotten... something.
