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"This is the fifth time this moon, olo'eyktan, we cannot ignore this"
He gave a solemn nod of his head, his hairless brow creasing into currents of worry.
He had himself at a bit of a predicament, staring down at the product of a treaty signed many a season ago, when his turn of being chief was fresh, when it seemed too far away to matter for anything.
The poor man coughed out a pained wheeze, the teal points of his ears pressed flat to his head and the broad of his tail tucked in the valley of his thighs. It was quite unusual for a warrior to show cowardice like this, especially one of his standard. Txanai certainly was no coward. Far from that; he was on caliber with the very best of his profession, with courage near matching those of the warriors in the tales told to generations of Metkayina infants.
Now he lay on the floor of the tsahik's marui, battered, dazed, traumatized; crimson pooling rapidly at his bruised side as Ronal scrambled to patch up his wounds.
They were pretty grave.
He was shot off of his tsurak, with half the length of an arrow plunging through and embedding itself into the flat of his stomach.
Not one of the Omatikaya arrows or one his own people used to spear through fish on hunts, no, this one had a distinction about it. It was smooth, slim, like most all he'd seen; with its slender body ending in a sharp tapering point, invisible from where it disappeared into the man's flesh. Only, instead of stiff, bright feathers like those used by the forest dwelling Na'vi, this had barbs. Short, jagged points sprouting out of its body, poking and scratching at any hand trying to tug it free from whatever it was buried in.
These arrows had a distinct smell, too. Putrid and pungent. Smoky, like the payoang when left hanging over the controlled fires to collect smoke under the sweltering heat of the day. Dank and musky, bitter on the tongue, like tar.
It smelled of burning. Of a thousand angry roaring infernos, fueled by the cruelty of their sadistic rage. It smelled of fire.
Their fire.
A deep groan of agony roused the Metkayina man from his musings, he blinked his blueberry eyes a bit as they adjusted away from the visions of his mind.
Things weren't looking good.
A bead of sweat ran down Ronal's teal forehead as she worked over him, dosing the already dazed man with bucket loads upon bucket loads of nak'ipu- a drink usually reserved for celebration or to let one's mind unravel and go numb after a long hunting venture. This was no cause for celebration. It was being used to quell Txanai's suffering; and it was doing very little of a job.
The man's groans and hisses of pain set a feeling of discomfort within his own stomach, as if he himself had been impaled with the arrow instead of him. He felt pity take over his heart; he'd been the one to oversee Txanai's training when he was a boy; all tousled curls of hair and explosive energy, eager and excited to get out onto the water and destroy all the akulas he could.
He would go on to kill one or two. But, sadly, never a third.
A grave look carved into his mate's features as she swiveled her head around to look at him, the seaweed green of her eyes conveying an alarming message.
"I cannot get it out," she croaked sorrowfully, a look of guilt passing like a shadow over her beautiful face, "it is stuck. The barbs dig into his flesh!"
His heart twisted anew beneath his muscled chest, for both his mate and his friend. Ronal always threw the blame onto her shoulders whenever a patient was unable to be healed, or was permanently disfigured. She took the deaths hard, blaming herself for not toiling hard enough, for not saying enough prayers, for not getting there quicker.
Of course, this was absolute rubbish. She was the most efficient healer in the clan, exerting herself to the very fingertips of her potential to ease the pain of her clanmates. And she'd been doing it all alone, too. Until their daughter, Tsireya, had come of age for her training and the great mother had sent a sign to the parents that the girl was to follow her mother's footsteps.
She was too hard on herself, he'd tried to tell her this. But, thought she appreciated this, stubbornly continued in her ways, saying it helped make her a better healer.
When the sun sank down below the arch of the horizon's spine; when the warriors, hunters, gatherers and weavers would be gathered together along a tree-speckled stretch of sand. All was quiet. There was no gathering- at least, not with the usual cheer and merriment that came with the close of another prosperous day.
People still gathered to munch on the ocean's yield of fish for the day, moseying about the about to their families or to say a word to a friend. Nobody dared speak above a whisper, nobody even thought to bring out the usual liquor chugged down in by the buckets by the warriors. The suppressed air about the place even translated over to the ilu who's usual joyful clackering chatter couldn't be heard over the gentle waves.
Everything was still. Everything was silent. Everything was on edge.
He died that night.
At the still hour between eclipse and dawn. His heart went still and his suffering body laid limp. The poor soul, tortured in his last moments, was finally freed to ascend to Eywa.
A second man dead.
Gone to their ashen fury and cold territoriality. A mere meter in the wrong direction had cost a great warrior his life.
The arrow that had been the cause of his demise had to be cut out with the sharp blades of hunting knives. Used to put an end to their quarries, Txanai's fellow comrades detested the task of shearing him open. Cutting him down the bone until the thin wood could be pried free. It's punctured into his spine, wedged in the little spaces between the angular vertebrae, chipping a few fragments of bone off. His back had been broken; quite literally sliced in two.
There was nothing that could've been done that would've changed the course of his fate. He was a goner from the moment he rode his tsurak past the jagged boulder that signaled their border.
Amongst the grief and mourning, the air about the Metkayina was also weighted with something else.
Fear.
Dread. Worry for the future. They'd tampered with the already leaf-thin patience of the olo'reypay. Someone was almost certainly next in the line of fire. They'd killed and decimated once, and Tonowari knew all too well, they'd be more than willing- eager, even, to do it again.
He took to the sand, cool beneath the soles of his feet from the breezy night air that carried the scent of the sea. His gaze traced the arch of the water's spine, twisting up to keep much of its vastness out of view. They were out there. Plotting in the underbelly of their village, no doubt swinging a multitude of vile curses in the path of the reef people. His people.
How was he going to protect them?
When it came to war with the RDA he led his people with the courage and surety that they were fighting against the enemy of Eywa'eveng. Now, the enemy was much closer and common to home, too common.
He let out a sigh, his gaze unwavering over the tiny, barely there speck of green.
They were on the very precipice of a bloodbath.
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Several cycles ago…
The terrain was rough and unforgiving beneath her bare feet, sharp stones scraped the skin on her toes, causing aches and sores to bloom beneath her skin. She was tired, bordering on exhaustion, but she dared not stop, for the entity would catch her.
They trudged for what felt like moons. Up the rugged surface of Txepram incline, not stopping for a moment, not even a second, for evil hunts those in unawares. Tsahìk and Txepanyu headed the party, parting the winds with their rhythmic chants and low, crooning prayers. The herbs they strew about the footpath smelled suave and pleasant, sending a dizzying thrill through her skull.
Inevitably, the girl began to fall behind, her shorter legs proving no contest in contrast to the longer strides of the adult Na'vi. This sparked the attention of one of the soldiers. Tumok – the girl's father – turned back around when he could no longer hear her footsteps behind him, a look of disapproval twisted his face as he marched back along the path to retrieve his daughter
He harshly grasped at her arm, scowling his displeasure as he tugged her further up the slope.
"Be swift, 'ite," he hissed, stringing her along in a not so gentle manner, she let out a surprised yelp as her feet scraped against the rough stone, "night is approaching, oare will crest her peak soon"
They continued on- through thick bush and rocky outcrop, through sparse field and eclipse-dark cave. Up and up and up the steep incline of great Txepram. The mountain was mighty, living- a force to be reckoned with. If she did not wish you to set foot on her stone-strewn cliffs, she would make it clear.
Powerful, stinking winds buffeted against them, pushing them back with their each step. The mountain was testing them, setting trials across their path, testing their tenacity.
She had once heard that the higher up you are, the cooler the air around you becomes. This, she realized, was a lie. It was so hot she felt as if lava was running the length of her veins, boiling her blood beneath her skin. Her eyes watered from the buffeting winds, shielding her face with one hand from the tiny fragments of dust and rock that viciously assaulted her face.
The adults seemed completely unfazed by the pelting.
The howl of the wind muted to a thin wail by the time they got to their destination. A cave, corralled between two gigantic boulders, valleyed between two tapering mountain peaks. The wind had ceased here, no longer able to reach them for the shields of the two rock faces. The air here was strange- willowy and thin, emitting a mournful howling wail that ricocheted off the stone walls.
She felt a tremor course down her spine, she shrank beneath her skin, intimidated.
Lined with vine tendrils and sheaves of herbs, the cave entrance opened up like a giant black mouth, waiting to swallow her whole into its great, cold stomach.
"Come now," Zímí – the tsahìk – softly spoke, gesturing with a scoop of her palm for the party to follow, "Txepram is welcoming us, we must hurry before we are no longer wanted"
Slowly, they began their descent, trailing into the great dark of the cavity. The walls had a sizably wide distance separating them, but despite this they walked in single file right down the middle of the cave. The pattering sound of footsteps echoed and magnified a million billion times, making the child flatten her ears to drown out the omnipresent drum of marching soldiers, looming just over her shoulder, darting away when she turned behind.
The cavernous decline came to an abrupt halt at the gaping maw of yet another cave. This one was different, however, as it did not expand into darkness like the first- instead, it opened up to reveal something truly mesmerizing.
The girl's fear was now gone, vanished as if taken by the wind. Her attention was gathered, rapt, obedient to the chill-inducing wonder her eyes now drank in. She let her jaw go slack and her young eyes go huge, expanding in pure, youngling amazement.
Before her was something she had never seen before- something she had been told existed, but couldn't count on her imagination to manifest such a dreamlike place.
The cave mouth stretched wider and higher the further they stepped in. Star-like freckles dotted the unreachable expanse of the ceiling, hiding in the uneven gouges and growths, glowing a light, riveting blue. The glows danced across her vision, melding together to form a singular form, a river of light, leading further inwards.
She followed the river's snaking path with her wonder-struck gaze. It wound throughout the ceiling, twisting and curving until it ran down a wall further to the back, pooling in a lake of brightness on the floor. At the mouth of this illuminated body, carved into the stone floor, was a great indent, cupping around a shallow-looking pond.
What was most peculiar about this water was that it was completely clean, poreless, devoid of any and all imperfections. Its surface possessed no ripples, no leaf or twig floated in its depths. It was like a round, unblinking eye, only without a pupil dot.
This place secreted a sense of sacred importance, as if its beauty was reserved for the eyes of those with great accomplishments or who have been chosen to bear such an honor as to set their sights upon it. Immediately she grew more aware of herself- her skinny, youngling frame; she was not worthy nor important enough to see this place, let alone taint its surface with her muddied feet.
She had not realized she had been staring until she received a sharp nudge to her shoulder. A sour-mouthed warrior – one of the escorts – gave her an icy look, then cocked his head in the direction of the healer and spiritual leader- who had already begun making their way towards the still pool.
She, stiffly, hurried to follow.
"Come, child", Zími's gentle voice soothed the insecure rigidness that had set into her bones, she relaxed a bit, letting taught shoulders fall low and twitching tail lie still. She breathed deep, drawing cool air into her lungs, and expelled it, throwing out her worries along with it.
This was going to work, the preparations she had been making over the last two moons – the prayers, the ritual cleansings, the special (especially sour) herbs she had taken to consuming – it was all in good progress.
Tsahìk watched the surface of the water with peaking interest, her amber gaze brightening with new fires.
"Hurry, we are just in time"
She took her seat right at the pools edge, the glowing water pulsed at her feet, as if sensing her presence.
She tried her best to sit still as the healer adorned her skin with itchy paint, dipping her pale fingers into the bright reds and yellows, drawing careful, measured lines down her face and her arms. She traces the faint striped markings meandering over her physique, almost completely drowning out the dark clouds of gray, interchanged to a piercing white.
All the while tsahìk did this, the spiritual leader was busy in his own endeavors. Using a chunk of charcoal, he'd drawn a circle around them, scattered it with shredded leaves and crushed powders. It looked more like he was making a mess than anything.
When the final stroke was painted, the final herb planted in its place, they began.
It started out as a lowly whisper, then, gradually, it grew and grew to a mournful cry. The two spiritual leaders swayed and swung themselves from one side to another, eyes closed, mouths uttering strange combinations of words she could not comprehend. Like blue-grey dust storms, they swayed in a circular motion, keeping their lower halves stationery while their upper halves moved.
It was a haunting, confusing dance. Weaving icy fear and stark bewilderment into her gut.
As if in response to their cries, the water began to ripple and flash. Lights, like tiny fish, dazzled and darted about the surface. She watched in amazement as the lights became more frequent, growing in number, racing and racing across the water's surface until the light sliced through her eyes, too blinding to look at.
Tsahìk bent down, hollowed-out gourd in hand, and scooped the luminous liquid from the pool.
"Näk"
It felt cold going down her throat, viciously cold. The bitter, biting chill burned her throat and she had to fight off the urge to cough it up. It didn't taste as fresh or entrancing as she had thought. It just hurt.
Then tsahìk extracted a pouch from the satchel round her waist. Inside was a mixture of volcanic ash and various scented herbs. The girl's nose wrinkled as the almost offending pungent smell plugged up her nostrils. It was strong!
Tsahìk fetched another gourd-full of the stinging water and tossed the powder in, mixing and mulching the smelly mixture into a thick, viscous paste. It felt as if ice was stabbing into her skull when tsahìk poured the thick poultice into her hair, further driving it in with her adept hands as she massaged and rubbed it into her scalp.
Her hair was a deep dark grey when she saw her reflection next. Sticky and slimy and disgusting.
Luckily, that would all be washed out. Skilled hands scooped and lathered the water into her scalp, one pair rough with age, the other calloused by toil.
All the while, their chants continued, creating chillingly aweing echoes that bounced off the cave walls.
"Sno tìlayro, ma swoktu"
"Snol txoa livu, nawma ramìl"
"Neto fyawìntxuyutitìvawm"
When her hair was washed clean of all the grime, the prayers stopped, dropping them into a sort of eerie silence. It was as if the tranquility of the cave had suddenly been shattered. She felt instantly cold. Behind her, tsahìk and txepanyu were staring, horrified. The ripples and blemishes on the pond's surface faded, returning it to perfection. She leaned forwards, catching sight of her reflection.
Her heart sank.
There she was. Her little oval-shaped face. Two orange embers for eyes. Pale skin with cloudy markings. Her hair… her hair was the same too. Dark, flowing waves… broken by rivers of white.
It did not work…
Txepanyu drew back from her with a cry, wringing and wiping his wrinkled hands, ridding himself of her. Tsahìk did the same. Her fearful prayers rose to a shriek, going unanswered. The child looked about her with wide eyes. Her father would not meet her eyes. The warrior escorts drew their daggers, teeth bared.
"Vrrtepur! Vrrtepur!"
Her heart gave a fearful contraction. One of the warriors began his approach. The surface of his dark blade glinted in the dim light. She scrunched her eyes shut, not wanting to see the end. The onyx blade swung towards her, aiming to pierce the flesh of her throat-
"Pey!"
The tsahìk's stiff shout rebounded off the walls, echoing to the outside, seeming to shake the whole mountain with its force. Everyone stilled. The onyx blade that had been moments away from snuffing her lifeblood out was reluctantly retracted. The feeling of its cold, cutting edge lingered on her aware of the thickening tension around her, she slowly peeled back the veils of her eyelids.
"There is no blood present in the water, Ka'hatu is dormant," both dragged their gazes to rest on her scant frame, both envenomed by dark dislike, "we cannot perform honor killing"
A shiver cascaded down her spine. Dread awakened in her belly. The weight of the realization dawned on her, she felt as if the cave ceiling was crashing down on her head. Contaminated… ostracized for life.
She looks upon her father, desperate to catch his eye. He returns her gaze. A shock of sadness washes over her when she sees the anger swirling in his eyes. He turns up his nose and looks away, a flash of negative emotion blighting his eye. Accusation.
She watched helplessly as he turned around, storming out of the cave, being swallowed by the darkness.
She was alone now, her proximity to others, no matter how close, would no longer matter.
Today was the last time he would ever call her daughter.
Na'vi Dictionary
Olo'eyktan – clan leader, usually male / tsahik – high priestess, matriarch / payoang – fish / tsurak – skimwing / olo'reypay – clan of blood (olo' – clan, reypay – blood) / Oare – moon / 'ite – daughter / Txepanyu – reader of fire (txep – fire, inan – to read) / Näk–drink / Vrrtepur (vrrtep) – demon /
Phrases
Sno tìlayro, ma swoktu – set her free, sacred one (sno – her/him/them, tìlayro – freedom, swok – sacred, 'tu - person)
Snol txoa livu, nawma ramìl – forgive her, great mountain (snol – her/him/them, txoa – forgiveness, livu – to be, nawma – great/ noble, ram – mountain)
Neto fyawìntxuyutitìvawm – guide away from darkness (neto – away [direction], fyawìntxuyuti – guide, tìvawm – darkness)
