Akwey smiled at Kalinkey the first day she returned to her duties as clan healer, her son clasped to her breast in a nivi. "It is good to see you looking so well, Kalinkey," he said. It was one of the few times she had ever seen the old man smile. "How is your son?"
Kalinkey snorted in derision. "He eats, he sleeps, and he shits. Then, when I think he is nothing but a fungal growth at my breast, he smiles and gurgles at me, and my heart melts with joy."
"It is Eywa's way of ensuring that a mother cares for her child," commented Akwey. "Come, let me examine your scar."
Kalinkey removed Stxeli'tstal from the nivi and lowered him to the floor, placing him on the treatment rug. As she removed her loincloth and reclined on the rug next to her son, Kalinkey said, "I will have to ask one of the weavers to make me a rug for Stxeli'tstal, to use in this place."
"A good idea," agreed the old man. "Ilyana is a good weaver, even though she is the daughter of my sister, who could not weave to save her life. You should ask her." Akwey bent over her torso, humming as he examined the scar. "Zha'nelle does very neat needlework," he commented. "In another six months this scar will be almost invisible. Have you been using tsawlapx leaf lotion to keep the skin supple?"
"Yes. No," she said immediately, contradicting herself, and blushing. "Tsawlontu applies it on my skin, morning and night. He makes a game of it."
Akwey chuckled. "The lotion is very good for stretch marks also. You may replace your garment now." While she was replacing her loincloth, he added, "Many of the clan have been surprised how strong a mated pair Tsawlontu and you have made. Your mate was not known for being a steady youth."
"Tsawlontu is very affectionate," she said, blushing again. "Especially after we fight, and we make up."
"You wouldn't happen to fight with Tsawlontu just to make sure he stays loving?" queried Akwey slyly.
"I might," conceded Kalinkey, blushing even more.
The old man roared with laughter, and shook his head in disbelief.
Over the next few years, Stxeli'tstal grew like a weed. Before Kalinkey could credit it, he was crawling, then walking, and then running. However, he was a very biddable and well-behaved child – unlike Zhan'nelle's daughter Sylwanin. If ever her son was naughty, or got into trouble, it was always at the prompting of Sylwanin.
It was probably just as well that Stxeli'tstal was so good most of the time. Kalinkey would never have been able to discipline him – she just did not know what to do. Instead, the few times this needed to occur, Tsawlontu was the one to discipline him.
As far as Kalinkey could work out, this involved Tsawlontu taking Stxeli'tstal aside, and having a long serious talk to him, which then was invariably followed by father and son going fishing. Afterwards, Stxeli'tstal always seemed very happy, as he would not misbehave for months – especially if he managed to avoid the clutches of Sylwanin.
Just what was it about males and fishing?
Most of the time Stxeli'tstal was a very serious little boy, given to watching the adults of the clan working. Kalinkey worried that he did not play enough, especially with the other children – except for Sylwanin. She knew that children with autism had difficulty socialising with others of the same age, and worried that her son had inherited her affliction. She did not want Stxeli'tstal to go through the troubles that she suffered.
When she told this to Tsawlontu, he told her not to worry. The Na'vi were not tawtute, and if Stxeli'tstal truly was an innocent, the clan would cherish and love him just as Kalinkey did. Still, she was worried enough to talk to Mo'at about this matter.
The Tsahik just smiled, and told Kalinkey the same thing that Tsawlontu had said. However, she added that boys were often slower to develop than girls, and that this was not unusual. Mo'at added that once his voice started cracking, and he started growing rapidly in height, Kalinkey might remember this time with longing.
Even this did not reassure Kalinkey. The following day, she took a basket to her cave, and collected all her wooden blocks – the wooden blocks that were the only thing she retained from when she was tawtute. It took two trips to bring them all back to Kelutrel – she had forgotten how many of them there were.
It did not strike Kalinkey how strange this was – before she became a parent, numbers had been the most important things in her world. The number of blocks she possessed would have been as important to her as the value of pi, or even that of e.
"Stxeli'tstal," she said to her son. "I have something for you."
"What is it, sa'nu?" he asked, turning towards her.
This was something that amazed her. How did a child learn to talk, just by listening? She had given him no rules or algorithms, none of the rules of grammar and syntax t o guide him – Stxeli'tstal had just learned, without being told.
"These are my plox," she told her son, with a little catch in her throat. She was giving up her wooden blocks to someone else! What was wrong with her? "I used to play with them. I want you to have them now."
Her son's eyes grew rounder as he studied the blocks with a serious expression on his face. "There are very many of them," he said wonderingly. He picked one up and examined it closely, turning it over slowly so he could study the pictures on each side of the block.
"You have to promise me that after you finished playing with them each day, you will put them away," said Kalinkey. "I don't want your father stepping on one, and rolling his ankle. If that happens, he will not be able to take you fishing."
"No, sa'nu," said Stxeli'tstal with an expression of almost shock, that something he did could hurt his father. He looked up from his examination of the block, and said very seriously, "I promise to put them away." Stxeli'tstal then smiled at her, "Thank you very much, sa'nu."
The thread of jealousy within her spirit from seeing Stxeli'tstal playing with her blocks was blown away by his sweet smile, her heart melting with joy. Kalinkey was so happy watching her son play with her blocks that she did not even jump when a pair of very muscular arms slid around her waist.
"I would not want to step on a plox and roll my ankle, either," whispered Tsawlontu. "Not only could I not take our son fishing, it would mean that I could not carry you off and make love to you deep in the forest. Thank you for thinking of me."
She leaned back into his embrace and wriggled a little, making him growl softly. "Perhaps you could carry me away now," she whispered back. "I could ask Zha'nelle to keep an eye on Stxeli'tstal."
"Already done," murmured Tsawlontu.
"I knew there was a reason I loved you," she said softly, and then shrieked as Tsawlontu tossed her over his shoulder.
Stxeli'tstal looked up and watched his father carry his laughing mother away. He shook his head once, thinking he would never understand adults. His mother's blocks, on the other hand, were much easier to comprehend. He settled down to the serious business of counting them. After all, if he didn't know how many there were, how could he ever be sure that he put them all away?
Kalinkey's concerns about her son were never realised.
As the custodian of her wooden blocks, Stxeli'tstal became very popular on rainy days, all the young children of the clan asking to play with the wooden blocks. When he was asked who owned the blocks, Stxeli'tstal always said they belonged to Kalinkey, his mother.
Very quickly, they became known as kalinkey'plox.
Kalinkey became used to seeing six or eight young children in the healer's alcove, occupying the rug that Ilyana wove, quietly playing the game of kalinkey'plox.
However, what made Kalinkey really happy was what happened on sunny days. The same group of six or eight children played games such as ikran flight and 'angitsa hunt, and Stxeli'tstal was in the middle of the group, yelling and shouting with the other children.
A few months after the game of kalinkey'plox became popular was a difficult time for Kalinkey. Suddenly, Akwey started to lose weight. Zha'nelle took over as much of the load of the clan healer as she could, while Kalinkey nursed the old man.
"You know as well as I that it is the wasting disease," grumbled Akwey after a month of nursing. "There is nothing that you can do, Kalinkey."
Kalinkey swallowed. She knew that the old healer was right. The growth within him would consume his flesh and organs, while he wasted away into a living skeleton, racked by pain. All she could do was to give him the drugs that took away pain and befuddled the mind.
"I will be taking the same path as your sa'nok, Lissa," said Akwey calmly.
Tears welled in her eyes. Kalinkey did not want the old man to die.
Akwey took her hands between his bony hands, and said, "Do not be sad, my child. I have had a good life, and soon I go to Eywa, to be with my love Txilte."
"You are dear to me, my teacher," she said reluctantly. "I do not wish you to go."
He sighed. "It is my time. You would not wish me to suffer a terrible death, by keeping me beyond that time."
"No," she admitted sadly.
"There is another thing I must ask of you," he told her.
A feeling of dread filled Kalinkey's heart.
"My only living relative is Ilyana, the daughter of my sister. Although I admit she is a good weaver, we do not like each other," he said. "Instead, I think of you, my child, as the daughter I never had. It is customary for one who is close to grant the blow of grace. I would ask you to grant me this boon."
There were not many people beneath the Tree of Souls.
Akwey did not care to have the entire clan there to see his passing. Instead, the only people that came for him were the old men of the clan, the ones with whom he fished, the olo'eyktan, and the Tsahik, who came to see that this thing was done properly, according to custom, and her daughter Ney'tiri.
"Akwey, who do you wish to ease your path into the arms of Eywa?" called out Mo'at.
"I would ask Sara te Pesuholpxaype Lissa'ite, who is known to all Omaticaya and loved as Kalinkey, to grant me this precious gift, the gift of a good death," said Akwey in a thin, reedy voice. His queue was already linked to the roots of the Tree of Souls.
"Kalinkey, are you willing to do this thing?" demanded Mo'at.
This was the moment that had been terrifying Kalinkey. Once she agreed, there was no backing out – it was the height of dishonour to refused to grant the blow of grace after agreeing. Any who did so would be ostracised from the clan. Her voice shook a little as she answered, "I am willing."
"Who speaks for the life of Akwey?" asked Mo'at.
One of the old men stood and began a chant, speaking of Akwey, how he was a vigorous youth who grew to become a great hunter, a great hunter who attracted the eye of a beautiful maiden called Txilte. He spoke of the tragedy of Txilte's death, and how this shattered Akwey for a time. Despite his pain, Akwey did not despair. Instead, he changed his life, and became a healer, one of the greatest healers of the Omaticaya – a healer who hid his love for the people of the clan by pretending to be gruff and angry.
The chant told of how in his old age Akwey loved to fish with the friends of his youth, telling old tales and older jokes, although few fish were caught.
The old man related how Akwey taught a stranger to the clan, and came to love her as a daughter. By doing so, he gave a great gift to the Omaticaya, passing his knowledge and skill onto the next generation.
When the chant finished, Kalinkey was weeping.
"Do any here gainsay that this man led a good life in the service of the clan?" asked Mo'at, her rich voice rolling through the place that was Vitraya Ramunong.
The only answer was the muted noise of the night-time forest.
"Then it is time," announced Mo'at.
One by one, the old men went to Akwey, and quietly exchanged a few words. Kalinkey was surprised that some of them laughed softly with Akwey, although all of them had suspiciously bright eyes when they turned away from their friend.
When the last of them was finished, Mo'at nodded to Kalinkey.
"Well, my child, here we are," Akwey said to Kalinkey when she came up to where he rested, beneath the Tree of Souls.
"Yes, here we are," she echoed.
Akwey smiled at her, and brushed away the tears staining her face. "Thank you for the most joyful time in my life," he said.
"Joyful?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. "To teach you was to see a flower grow and blossom, a bloom that I tended for Eywa. She meant for you to be a healer. That was why she brought you to me."
"I loved being taught by you," she told him, her voice thick.
Akwey coughed, holding his hand over his mouth. When he pulled it away, Kalinkey saw his palm was stained with blood. "I think she is suggesting that I should stop talking and hurry up," he commented wryly.
Kalinkey almost smiled at his sally, but the instant of happiness slipped away before it could form.
"Can you do this?" he asked softly. She nodded once. "Then, I am ready."
Kneeling by him, she bent over, kissed him on the forehead, and caressed his cheek. While she was doing this, she drew her knife with her right hand. "Eywa ngahu, ma'sempul," she whispered.
Akwey repeated, "Eywa ngahu, ma'ite," and then he smiled.
The razor sharp knife slid smoothly under the old healer's rib cage, seeking his heart. Kalinkey tried not to shudder when she felt each beat of Akwey's heart through the hilt of her knife. She gave the blade a quick twist, leaving it there until his heart stilled, and the last breath left his lungs. It was only then that Kalinkey withdrew the knife – she did not want to pour his heart's blood over the platform of Vitraya Ramunong.
After she sheathed her knife, and closed his eyes, she saw that Akwey's face was still smiling. She murmured the words, the words that one said for the dead. "Oeru txoa livu, ma oeyä sempul. Hu nawma sa'nok tivul ngeyä tirea. Oeru txoa livu, Akwey."
It was hard placing the shell of Akwey into the ground, as hard as it had been when she had carried Lissa to her grave, as hard as watching her sister Sylwanin being lowered into the earth.
Zha'nelle, Tsawlontu and Mìnkxetse were there, they were there for Kalinkey. While the old men were casting earth over the body of their friend, all three held the weeping Kalinkey close, trying to give her comfort.
"My father, he is gone," she whispered.
"No, he is not gone," said Tsawlontu. "He is at peace with Eywa."
Kalinkey did not speak during the journey back to Kelutrel. Tsawlontu was concerned, worried that she would withdraw into herself. He knew how hard it had been for her to grant the blow of grace to Akwey. Mo'at saw the worry on his furrowed brow, and told him not to push Kalinkey - she needed a little time to heal.
It was dawn when they came to Kelutrel, tired and hungry.
However, Kalinkey did not seek food or bed. Instead, she went to her chey to retrieve her drumming sticks, and then stood silently before the great drums of the Omaticaya.
As the clan woke and came down from their sleeping places, they saw Kalinkey standing there, sticks in hand. It was clear that she was going to drum – she drummed but infrequently, although all the Omaticaya recognised that she made the drums come alive as no other drummer could.
Despite all the clan being there, no-one saw her begin to drum. Instead, where there had been silence, now there was the throbbing of the drums. It was clear to all what she was making the drums sing – how a stranger found her father and grew to love him, and then the pain she felt when he left her to rest in the arms of Eywa.
Others brought the small drums, the rattles and the flutes, and they played a wistful, sad tune to help Kalinkey through her anguish.
Afterwards, when the music stopped, Kalinkey spoke to Tsawlontu. "Do not leave this world before me, my darling Tsawlontu," she pleaded. "I could not bear it, being alone."
"I will try to do as you ask," he said, and kissed her.
Kalinkey gave no answer, merely holding on tightly to her life-mate.
It was exactly a year to the day after the death of Akwey that the uniltìranyu Zhake'soolly first came to the Omaticaya.