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After the battle at the Cove of the Ancestors, Neytiri has nightmares.
Sometimes it’s Toruk, falling from the sky in a single bright line, broken and riderless. A harbinger of doom, of the end of the world as they know it. Jake is there, falling below him, and then he is not, because Jake is Toruk, and how could he be in two places at once?
Either way, the ending stays the same. They disappear beneath the waves, never to be seen again.
Sometimes it’s Ronal. Her body is still warm to the touch, her lips parted in pain as her last breath slips out. An arrow has pierced through her stomach, through Neytiri’s hand, pinning her palm flat on the swell of it, and her daughter lies dead in the womb. Neytiri has failed her; she could not protect Pril.
Then, there’s the Mangkwan, chanting in celebration as their Tsahìk forces Neytiri to her knees. The Witch’s presence is pounding in her temples, in her pulse, filling her mind in a cruel mockery of tsaheylu, and she wants to run, to hide, to claw her way out of a body that refuses to listen, anything to make this invasion, this terrible, disgusting feeling stop—
It doesn’t stop. And as she lies there on the cold, soulless metal of the ship, Varang makes her watch as she plunges her knife in her children, one by one, starting with Tuk.
Sometimes, the nightmare ends there. Jake shakes her awake, her torment having woken him first, and holds her close till her sobs quieten into something that won’t make the whole family jump to their feet in the middle of the night.
And sometimes, just sometimes, the Witch slithers into the Sully marui as they prepare for dinner, and takes a seat.
She isn’t real. Neytiri knows that.
Her outline is hazy, fraying at the edges. The weave of the walls behind her shines through her skin in some angles. When she moves, time seems to slow down and space stretches in the most awkward proportions, all light and bright colours that assault her senses instead of soothing them.
Most of the time, she says nothing. She seems content to watch, full of patient mockery, as they hand each other leaf wraps and eat and talk about their day. “I know something you don’t” is written on her features, but then she vanishes before Neytiri ever gets to find out what, and the dread in the pit of her stomach grows and grows until she wants to scream.
Sometimes, Varang asks questions.
Did you tell them? she mocked once. Did you tell them how weak you are? How you fell from my arrow? Did you tell them you left them behind, just within my grasp? Over and over, they slipped through my fingers, but I was never far. And you...
You lay down like a coward, hiding behind your Tsahìk.
Sooner or later, one of her sons or daughters stirs and moves through the ghost of Varang’s presence, reaching for one thing or another, and the illusion shatters. No matter which way she turns or when, Neytiri can see her no more, and her fear fades into something more manageable.
Tonight, Varang asks something new.
Where...
...is your eldest?
Neytiri tightened her grip on her cup. The clay creaked under the pressure, but the faint sound got buried under the children’s lively chattering. Nobody looked up.
It didn’t make sense. She wasn’t real, she—couldn’t have known. There was no way for her to. Neteyam had been... He had been gone, long before fate and misfortune pushed the Witch in their path—
Yet I do. Varang smiled, her canines gleaming in the dim light, and her crouched form settled in the space between Kiri and Lo’ak. The spot they kept empty, both out of habit and grief. The spot where he used to sit.
Neytiri looked away, her mouth set in a harsh line. Only a fool talked to what wasn’t there, and if there was nobody there, what was the use in replying?
A ghostly hand wrapped around her kuru. It trailed down her braid slowly, methodically, and then settled on her shoulder, over the newest of her scars.
Tell me, the Witch asked, all sweetness and malice, How does it feel to watch your firstborn die? Her breath warmed the side of her face, and Neytiri felt all the hair on the back of her neck rise. Did he ask for you? Did he beg you to make it all better?
The memory came back before she could stop it. His brothers, his father, all gathered around him, trying to delay the inevitable. The smoke in the air, his laboured last breaths, his pain, his agony—
“I want to go home.” That is all he had said. He had grown and learned so much, and taken his first steps as an adult in the clan; he had made their chests burn with pride and hope for the future. Even so, he was a child. Her baby. The first one to make her a mother; the first to fill her with sorrow.
So, Jake had lied to him. Not out of cruelty, no. This was love and desperation, and the last attempt of a parent to offer comfort where none could be found.
And then Neteyam had simply lain still, all life having bled out of him, and never moved again.
No matter her cries. No matter her pleas to the Great Mother, or the deep, roaring agony that threatened to tear its way out of her, and the darkness that filled her vision. He was gone in the blink of an eye, and the horrible emptiness that had settled within her ever since refused to give way.
Oh? Are you going to cry? Varang shuffled back as if to study her better, and the curious look on her face made the bile rise in Neytiri’s throat. How odd... Do you not worship the hand that cut his life short? Do you not worship...Eywa?
The anger that took hold of the huntress then surprised even herself. It was so sudden, it was a wonder she hadn’t drawn her bow, hissing at nothing like an animal spooked by a predator bigger than itself.
But to say such a thing! To suggest that the blame lay with Her...! The Great Mother couldn’t help Neteyam. They had all seen the wound, that cursed piece of metal that had pierced right through him! There was... nothing to be done, nothing anyone could have done...
Perhaps, the Witch conceded. Or perhaps Eywa did not deem him worthy enough to help.
Neytiri reacted before she could think better of it: she hurled her cup at the spectre with such force, it shattered into a thousand pieces, scattering in all directions. Someone shrieked in surprise, and the rest of them flinched as she jumped to her feet with her teeth bared. None of it stopped her from snarling at that horrid woman.
“YOU LIE! Neteyam was innocent! He—He was everything good in this world, everything worth saving! A great son, a great brother—”
Tuk bumped into her side, breaking her focus.
“Move, Lo’ak! You almost stepped on my tail!”
Neytiri fell silent at once. She looked around her hurriedly, ears lowered as she prepared to apologise and explain, and make sure nobody had been hurt by the shards that had gone flying around the room...
...and found herself sitting among her family as if she had never risen at all.
The kids were still laughing over one thing or another, unaware of her outburst. Her leaf wrap lay neatly in front of her, forgotten. The cup was still in her hand, full to the brim.
A half-prayer made its way past Neytiri’s lips. Oh, Great Mother... Was her sanity slipping?
Varang stared at her with interest from the depths of the fire. She had retreated into the hearth in the middle of the marui as if the flames could offer refuge from her host’s ire, and her ghost began to crawl out of the embers again.
A good hunter, yes. A warrior fledging. He would have killed many in his prime. But... He went back for the Pinkskin, did he not? The little maggot who could not defend himself. Neteyam cared for him...
Because he was weak.
Because he was part-Sky Person, too.
“Mum?” Lo’ak asked, unaware of the storm brewing within. “Can Spider get some more? He’s still hungry but he’s too shy to ask.”
Kiri rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling.
“Skxawng! He’s half your size, how can he eat more than you? Just say you want to burn a hole through our rations!”
“Yeah!” Tuk chimed in, eager to join in the teasing like she used to back when everything was simple. Back when their lives hadn’t gone downhill. “Leave my brother alone, you pig!”
A chorus of “You don’t even know what a pig is!” and “You don’t either!” filled the air, and then more giggling as they realised neither side was wrong. It was just one of those things they repeated because their father did, even though it made no sense to them.
Neytiri added some meat to the boy’s portion, her movements stiff and mechanical. He made to thank her, but the gesture fell through: she was simply too disoriented to notice.
Brother.
That’s right... Spider was family, now, the Tsakarem remembered. He always had been to her kids, but not to her. Not until he saved Jake’s life where she had failed to; not until he put his body between him and the bullets of the Sky People.
She....wasn’t there, yet. She wasn’t sure she would ever manage to be. But... She couldn’t leave him behind anymore. She owed him that much.
Yes, Varang sneered. Treat him well! Protect the Air Breather! Feed the one your son traded his life for... Kneel at the feet of the goddess who accepted the trade!
Neytiri lowered her head. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes; her breathing had began to catch in her throat, and she’d be damned if she let her enemy see it. To—to speak of a trade...! As if Eywa would be so cruel as to weigh one child against another—
Is it not him that sits here now? The Witch drew back the hand she had outstretched towards Spider, and let it hover in front of Kiri: she drew a line in the air, as if to slice at her neck. I wonder... How much is the rest of them worth? Perhaps nothing. After all...
Eywa
Does
Not
Care.
Her voice echoed in the room, over and over again.
Not for the Mangkwan...
Not for your half-breeds.
Neytiri froze in place, struck by a horrible suspicion.
Would She? Would Eywa accept her children in the afterlife, when their time came? She would be welcomed, she knew. She was Na’vi, all the way back to the very first of her line. Pious. A Tsahìk-to-be. And Jake, he— He had been accepted, chosen by Toruk, by Her! He wouldn’t be abandoned...?
But what of them? Would they be enough? Or would their human features be all She would see, and keep them out of her embrace forever?
A future she had never let herself entertain unraveled before her, slowly and then all at once.
Her family. Cut off from the Goddess, cut off from the Ancestors, separated from Sempul, and Sylwanin, and all those she had once known and lost. Away from the Clan, away from the forest and the reef, away from any home they had ever known—
Her family.
Alone, for all of eternity.
No. It couldn’t be.
No, no, no—
Varang leaned forward, tilted her chin up. Her face had morphed into something rounder, her braids longer, soft waves over cyan skin, her forehead adorned by a flat, white shell...
It seems Eywa has turned her back on you, ‘chosen one’, she said, and her voice was no longer her own.
Neytiri drew back as if she had been slapped.
But She had taken him! She had! Neteyam was safe in the Great Mother’s arms now, away from the fight! Loved by her Ancestors, guarded by them—
Because Neteyam was perfect, the spectre replied, and the white line of mourning painted down the center of her face looked eerily familiar. An almost identical copy of you.
No eyebrows. No extra fingers. No dull, Sky People teeth.
“Demon blood”, Ronal had once said. Her children had demon blood, and Neteyam had been accepted only after his had been spilled.
“Are you ashamed?” Jake asked in another memory. The hurt in his tone seeped through her mind like poison, more painful than the one elders claimed took hold of you after touching metal. “Every time they make a mistake, every time they’re different... That’s because of the human inside them, right?”
“...Yes.”
Varang stared at her, her eyes a brilliant flash of yellow in the half-light. Her smile was triumph itself, and the huntress choked on a sob as she buried her face in her hands.
You understand, then. Eywa... is nothing. She is not coming to save you. She will not help any of you. And when I find you again...
There will be nothing but darkness and fire ahead.
“SHUT UP! YOU KNOW NOT WHAT YOU SPEAK OF! YOU! You know nothing! Nothing...”
This time, the marui exploded with noise as everyone rushed to her side in bewilderment. Kiri pressed a hand over her forehead, her cheeks, checking her temperature; Tuk glued herself to her ribs, her ears tucked back in fear.
“Mum! What’s wrong?! Are you hurt?”
“What happened? Should we call Jake?”
Lo’ak looked from one face to another, uncertain and anxious.
“I...I don’t know... Yeah, grab the coms—”
His Dad would know what to do. How to help Mum. He always did. Lo’ak touched her shoulder, and began to talk to her in the soft voice he had seen his father use, but Neytiri wasn’t listening; her attention had shifted on something else.
Ash-streaked fingers curled around hers over her kitchen knife. It slipped out of her grasp and into the Witch’s as if she hadn’t resisted at all.
A weak mother... For weak children, Varang taunted.
Just like you.
Neytiri took a long, hard look at the blade in her grip. It hadn’t moved an inch.
“Are you dizzy, Mum? Come, lie down for a bit, over here!”
“This can’t be good, she looks like she wants to throw up—”
“Kiri, help me move her—”
“Sa’nu!” Tuk whined, distressed by the lack of response. “Why are you crying?”
Neytiri swallowed hard. She raised her eyes, taking in her daughter’s innocent features, and another sob choked its way out of her lips. The pounding of her heart had gotten so loud she could barely breathe. It rattled in her ribcage, in her ears, and she wished it would quieten, she wished it would stop tormenting her so...
“Forgive me, my child... There is no other way... Please... Please, understand!”
Because Neteyam was safe now. He was at peace.
And she would do anything to make sure her loved ones would know peace, too.
Kiri’s screams didn’t register; nobody’s did. It all blended together in a cacophony of terror and pain as she lunged forward and betrayed herself over and over again. For the next few horrible moments, all Neytiri knew was the thrust of her blade, and the wet thump of it as it sank in their flesh.
Tuk was the first to go down. She was so small, so perfectly trusting. There was so little in her to correct. Only her demon blood, which pooled around her in a circle, seeping through the woven floor of the marui into the water below.
There was her father’s smile, too, now lost as her small face froze in a permanent state of surprise. Neytiri couldn’t bear to cut it out of her features. She hoped the Great Mother would understand.
It was better this way; that’s what the huntress told herself. Tuk didn’t have to watch her siblings die. She wouldn’t know it was their mother that took back the life they had been given. She’d be the first to wake up and see Neteyam, entirely unaware of how she’d gotten there in the first place. Neytiri could almost picture it: the brilliant sunrise over the horizon, the fresh, rich air of the forest, all welcoming her daughter in the afterlife. Her grandfather would wait for her to run into his arms; Sylwanin and Tsu’tey would follow suit.
It would be good. A quiet, everlasting happiness, forever hers once everyone joined her.
But only if Neytiri was fast. Only if she did what had to be done before they were rejected.
Spider was the second to fall. He was too weak, too helpless to defend himself. Somewhere along the short line of his life, he had sensed nothing but misery awaited—misery and sacrifice, and he had made his peace with it a long time ago.
Oh, he put up a fight. Not for himself, no; it was Kiri he had tried to protect, putting himself between her and the knife, but... He was only a boy, after all.
“I’m sorry,” the huntress cried as she lowered his head to the ground, “I’m so sorry... This isn’t your fault... They will be waiting for you, and... Please, Great Mother! Do not leave him alone...”
“STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! PLEASE! STOP...! PLEASE!”
“Quiet, ma Kiri! It is alright!” The hands she had put on the girl’s cheeks painted her skin red, and the warm feel of it only made her cry harder. “He will not remember any of this... None of you will! And when you awaken, all will be right in the world again...”
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Neytiri could tell her daughter was still screaming. She could hear Lo’ak yelling for help, yelling for their father to save them, and saw the last, desperate look he had thrown at his coms, lying just out of reach. And then his nails were digging into her flesh, his teeth biting at whatever part of her he could reach as he tried to wrench his sister free from her grip.
A stab through the heart was a simple, merciful end. Kiri’s body slumped forward in her arms, and her spirit set off for the next part of its journey. Neytiri didn’t bother to wipe her eyes or her blade, even though she could barely see.
Quick, she had to be quick... Her eyebrows, she had to shave off Kiri’s eyebrows, and—Her nose... It was too raised, not flat enough, not Na’vi... That fifth toe... That fifth finger... They needed to go, and... Her canines... They were too blunt, too human...
The shivers that wracked her frame didn’t distract her from her bloody task. She cut with precision, sobbing as she did. But what to do about those canines? They couldn’t be sharpened or replaced...
Neytiri opened her daughter’s mouth, searching by touch, and pulled.
A pair of white, small teeth landed on the floor, a touch away from Spider.
Air Breather! Varang snarled in her ear. He doesn’t belong! Cut out his kuru! Carve out his lungs! Take all that Eywa gave him so carelessly and cast it into the fire!
All the help she didn’t spare for the Mangkwan!
All the help she hadn’t spared for Neteyam!
But the Tsakarem wasn’t listening. After all, she had made her promise; she wouldn’t abandon him again. Her eyes trailed over his face, over his torso, searching for something, anything she could fix... If only—if only she knew how to help! What to slice off, what to keep! There was too much to change... His kuru, that thing that lived in his lungs... Would the Goddess want them out of his body? But no, She had let him have them, they had to stay...
He was so small. So pale, so... human.
“Kiri...Kiri will show you the way,” she stuttered, reaching for his hand. She put it in her daughter’s in a hurry, made sure their fingers intertwined. “Yes, I am certain of it... She won’t let you go... You will see...”
There was silence in their home now, and no ghosts to be found. No sounds but the crackle of the fire and her uneven breaths, the terror in her chest threatening to break free, to break out of Lo’ak...
He was as still as if the blow had already been dealt. Neytiri took in his frozen face, the tears that hadn’t had the chance to dry, the quiet despair of acceptance. He had seen what she’d done to Kiri, she realised then. He had watched her mutilate the one who was most like himself, and then discard the pieces, one after the other.
“Do not be scared, my son,” she pleaded, trembling with shame, “I... I love you all so much... This is all for the best... Please, close your eyes...”
Lo’ak didn’t reply. He simply knelt there, a broken mess staring at his sister’s disfigured hand, and waited for his turn.
Neytiri made sure it was quick. She cradled his body, rocking him back and forth like she had when he was a baby, and let herself cry until her voice refused to come out.
“Strong... I have to be strong...”
It was over. It was almost over, she told herself as she started cutting again.
Her darling boy...
He could have run. He could have escaped while her back was turned, but he didn’t.
Sullys stuck together, after all.
But they were safe now... Yes... She had made sure of it...
Safe.
Forever.
Someone pulled the tarp of their marui aside; her mate walked in, already saying something, and made to set what he’d been carrying aside...
Neytiri tried to wipe her face clean, to push her hair back. Why did it cling to her skin so? It must be the soot, she reasoned, that dreaded soot the Witch had burdened her with. No matter. She shouldn’t be this messy in front of him.
“Welcome, Husband. Are you hungry? Let me put some more food on the fire.”
Where had she put the rest of the niktsyey? Surely there must have been something left; the children couldn’t have eaten it all...
The children.
The sound of his knees hitting the floor broke her out of her stupor.
“....What have you done?” Jake crawled forward, slipping on the mess she had made, blood covering his shins and elbows. “No, no, no... This isn’t real... It can’t be. It’s not—it’s not real...”
Her vision blurred as he finally reached the remains. The haphazard pile of body parts she had created.
“LO’AK! KIRI! TALK TO ME! Spider... My little Tuk...Please... PLEASE! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”
Neytiri looked at him, a thin, watery smile on her ash-stained face. The ends of her veil blended in with the darkness, glistening red.
“I fixed it, Beloved. I fixed it all. Are you not glad? I made them perfect, and now, nobody will ever hurt them again.”
Jake was still staring at her, his face a mask of uncomprehending horror. She watched as his hands searched for his knife sheath blindly and, finding nothing to grab on, rose to his face next.
His scream as he clawed his own eyes out rang in her ears over and over, until it became her own.
.................
The next thing Neytiri knew was the darkness. She tried to escape, to claw her way out, anything to break free and run to them, but the darkness was holding her tight, suffocating her—
There was a wounded animal howling somewhere near. It sounded like it was being torn to pieces, like prey that a thanator had started eating alive before it had slipped out of this life. Neytiri took a long, shuddering breath, urging her lungs to work properly, and realised the animal was her.
The darkness was endless, and curiously warm.
“Shhh, I’m here, baby, I’m here...” Jake whispered, his voice pained, but steady. “It’s just a dream, yeah? Just a nightmare, it’s not real...”
It’s not real.
That’s what he’d said in her dream, too.
Or maybe this was the dream?
There were hands reaching out for her, so many hands... Smaller, bigger, blue, pink. They touched her braids, her back, they were everywhere and she couldn’t breathe—
“Mum! Are you okay?!”
“What’s happening?!”
“I don’t know—Mum! Can you hear me?!”
“Quick, bring her some water...”
Their words were familiar, so similar to what had been spoken before. They made her heart ache, her terror rise sharply—
A hand grabbed her kuru; it tugged it closer before she could react, and the bond broke into her consciousness, scaring the shadows away.
I’ve got you, Jake murmured. His presence flooded her senses, strong and safe. Everything’s going to be fine.
Neytiri wept openly, too ashamed to speak.
...
“Don’t tell them...” she whispered later, once everything had quietened down. “Do not share what I saw. I couldn’t bear it...”
How long had it been? No one had asked, but if they had, she wouldn’t have known what to say. It was a century. It was a second. She didn’t remember. Not this, not how she had found herself moved from their hammock to the floor of the marui, surrounded by her mate and children.
Jake sighed, and his chest rose and fell under her cheek.
“I promise.”
She remembered their faces, though. Their bodies. They were whole again, not missing a single thing, and they were looking at her with such worry, such love, as if she had never betrayed them, as if she never had—
You didn’t, her husband said without words. Their kurus were still connected, spread out behind them, away from the pile of their sleeping teenagers and their clumsy movements. They love you, as much as you love them. As much as you deserve.
A whimper broke past her lips at the thought. Ever since she had come to, she couldn’t stop moving. She traced Kiri’s eyebrows, her nose, Lo’ak’s canines, his hands... She kept her touch feather-light, not wanting to wake them, but Jake knew she was counting.
Five fingers. Five toes.
All there, as they should be.
All perfect, even though she had somehow forgotten that part.
“I have wronged them...” The next part couldn’t be uttered at all. I have hated parts of what they are.
You’ve lost too much. More than anyone I know. Scattered memories flooded his mind and then hers, of Hometree and Eytukan, Grace and Sylwanin. Tsu’tey. The forest. The people they kept losing, battle after battle. Nete—his thoughts recoiled from the name, the grief too heavy, too raw to be touched right now. Regret bled through the bond. I shouldn’t have said those words to you. I’m the one who put this in your head, and I’m sorry... I was cruel—
Neytiri wiped her eyes hastily. Fresh tears sprang up, uninvited.
But you were right. She tried to draw some strength from her youngest; Tuk was asleep against her side, her heartbeat thudding against her mother’s ribs. Healthy. Alive. And that makes me cruel, too.
“No,” Jake insisted, steel in his voice. “After all this, only a god wouldn’t hate. And you are no god. You can’t live as one.”
I know... But I want to be me, not a monster. Not the one who turns on the innocent.
He both saw and felt it then, her pain and her sorrow. The anger she didn’t know what to do with, how to make space for now. He felt Spider tremble against her, his neck beneath her blade on that cursed day on the ship. He heard the boy beg for Kiri to be spared, for Quaritch to listen for once. And then he saw himself, pleading with her to give him the knife as the thought of revenge became too tempting.
An eye for an eye.
A son for a son.
“Ma Jake, I... I am not good,” she whispered. Ashamed. Small.
Another memory sprang in her mind. Them, standing outside the lab, watching the scientists examine Spider, talking about the danger they were in if he was ever captured.
If he is so dangerous... To the People, to everything... We should just kill him.
Jake held her tighter.
“You stopped. You let me stop you. And then you stopped me.”
He pushed a memory of his own towards her: her grip slipping, allowing him to take the dagger, and then her frantic run through the forest, towards him and the sin he was about to commit. The crime she had decided she couldn’t turn a blind eye to, even if it meant the child of her enemy would live.
“I’m no good either. Some pair we make, huh?”
And look at him now. Sleeping under your arm, like he has no care in the world.
Neytiri followed his gaze to the boy. Spider was lying against Kiri’s back, not yet comfortable being in contact with so much of herself, but he hadn’t shied away from her touch. He’d been so confused earlier, so fearful. Not for his safety, no, that would have hurt less, but for her to snap out of her nightmare, and realise who he was. To push him away, away from her and her children, to remind him he didn’t belong.
But she hadn’t. Neytiri had pulled him closer, anxious for him for once, and fussed over him just as she had for the others, crying in relief that he hadn’t been harmed. He didn’t know what to do with such treatment, she knew. He wasn’t wrong. But there was no mistaking the stifled joy in his eyes, the longing to be loved by a mother.
“We don’t deserve them,” Jake whispered. He stroked Spider’s hair, careful not to wake him, and then put his arm back around Lo’ak, who was glued to his side. “But we can try. As long as we live, we can try to do better.”
“...Do you truly think so?”
“Toruk Makto knows best,” he joked, not unkindly.
Neytiri gave him a little smile. It was faint and shaky, but it was there.
“Yes,” she sniffled, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “So I have been told.”