le simpship

At one point the music stopped, the chorus continued on its own, and when the singing finally ceased, both musician and reciter applauded the crowd as much as the crowd applauded them.

Of course, Neteyam applauded as well, and he would have applauded longer, but it seemed it was only formality. All around him, the Mektayina were getting up, going back to their evening matters, and soon he was nearly the last to clap his hands.

“I guess you did like the tale.”

Aonung was up. He grinned at the boy still on the sand. Neteyam felt the warmth on his face coming back, but he didn’t feel like looking away again, so he held out his hand to the Mektayina:

“Well, it was impressive. The story, the scene, the music… All of it, to be fair.”

He paused for a moment. His eyes wandered through the sandbank – but no reciter nor musician were left near the pool, and the instruments had been taken away. He went back to Aonung’s inquisitive gaze.

“I… Hadn’t really seen anything like this before.”

Aonung’s smirk widened.

“Better than tsurak mounting?”

“Definitely better.”

Aonung took his hand, and raised him up on his feet. He was muscular, thought Neteyam, and he could see the likeness with the tough warriors challenging the sea on their canoes.

“When are you going to actually mount a tsurak anyway?” Neteyam asked.

“Oh there’s plenty of time for this. The iknimaya has many other steps before I get the tsurak part.”

Neteyam rose an eyebrow.

“Including collecting beads.”

The Omaticaya scoffed.

“Just joking, Aonung mused. But we do receive three beads if we pass our iknimaya.”

Neteyam said nothing. Aonung didn’t add anything else. They had just made it to the mangrove roots, and Aonung still held Neteyam’s hand, in consideration to the Omaticaya’s agility on wet sand. And though they both remained silent, their steps became slower as they approached the parting of the evening. From time to time, Aonung would glance at Neteyam, who’d proudly pout. He would have the last word.

“That’s when you tell me where I’m supposed to find these,” the Omaticaya finally said, opening his free hand, that had cautiously held the bead all the evening long.

Aonung’s eyes glistened.

“Hmm, let’s see… How much do I win if you beg me to tell you…”

“Oh come on, I already owe you two! I can’t just guess where to retrieve them!”

“Five beads, wasn’t it?”

Neteyam froze.

“I didn’t ask you anything yet.”

“And I didn’t say yes either.”

They stood, face to face, hand in hand still, for some reason that probably neither of them had thought through.

“Oh, of course you attended the show as well!”

Probably the reason was not so serious, though, because as soon as Tuk appeared from nowhere, the boys let go of each other.

“Yeah, even Tuk attended it without falling asleep, which is kind of impressive to be honest.”

And of course Tuk wasn’t alone. The whole Sully family stood beside her, on another root nearby, leading to the marui. Tuk turned to her big sister:

“I’ll admit it, sometimes the bead lady used complicated words. But most of the time she said pretty things!”

“And she was pretty too,” Kiri added.

“Yeah, she was alright”, Lo’ak agreed, and once again Neteyam wondered why his brother always chose to speak when he could just keep his mouth shut.

Yet Neteyam chose to ignore his youngest, and turned to his father instead. As usual in peaceful times, Jake watched over them with unbeatable patience.

“How did you know there would be singing tonight?” Neteyam asked.

“Tsireya told us!” Kiri intervened.

“Tsireya told me,'' Lo’ak sighed, but Aonung’s glare discouraged him to add more.

Jake gave his second son a knowing look, but answered his eldest:

“We met with your siblings and their friend on our way here. She asked us if we were interested in some… cultural recreation, and I must say we were.”

He turned to Neytiri for approval, and after a moment of awkward confrontation, she nodded. Jake quickly added:

“I guess you had your own guide, son.”

He greeted Aonung with a polite nod, and the boy replied the same way.

“These recitals happen from time to time,” Aonung explained as they were heading back to their marui. “The night before, the musician performs a solo dance – that’s how we know.”

“And are all these stories so grand?” Jake asked.

Aonung stopped – his family’s marui was not in the same direction as the Sullys’ – and mused at the question.

“If they weren’t grand, what would be the point of telling them?”

Neteyam glanced at Aonung in shock and amusement, stricken by the nerves he had to speak to Toruk Makto so casually. The boy felt his mother and brother shared his thoughts, less the amusement. Hopefully Aonung was focused on Jake’s answer, and he missed Neytiri ready to hiss at him. 

As for Jake, he simply tilted his head. The boy wasn’t wrong, and he could have seen that one coming.

With that, Aonung seemed content, and he took leave of the Omaticayas.

“Have a good evening, Sullys.”

Tuk waved at him happily because this time she had found him nice. Kiri had already forgotten him, and began to explain to her father how she had no idea, for all her submarine strolls, where the reciter had found so many – and so shiny – beads. Neytiri went on to the marui without turning back, and luckily, she didn’t see the dirty look Lo’ak darted at Aonung. As he had felt it, the Metkayina turned one last time to the family. Neteyam was ready to step in between the two boys, but he was surprised to see Aonung ignoring his brother.

Still the brother did not resurface, and the men grew weary. Strings and drums rumbled in discontent. For some reason, the youngest brother was still looking overboard. Part of him could not believe his brother had just vanished beneath the waves – part of him could still feel him, and there was no sign of danger around. So he looked at his remaining brother, before he leapt.

The music stopped dramatically, even if Neteyam did not have the critical distance to notice the effect. He felt on board with these men, and now under water with the young brother, and because he knew how uncanny the feeling was, for the first, his arm shook a little – and Aonung’s hand felt it, although there was no telling it was from fear or excitement.

The youngest brother stayed still for a moment, baffled with the submarine landscape. The dark mass that seemed to threaten them only hid a world as clear as theirs, brighter even, coloured with seagrass, shells, and fishes. Sure, he couldn’t see the bottom, but mesmerising plants and minerals led down the way. And the young brother knew that a greater force lay in these waters, and he understood why his oldest had got lost in its contemplation. However, he was surprised to not feel any distress about his brother’s loss. He felt shameful upon this realisation and wondered if he deserved to return to his eldest, less carefree brother. For the first time, his clear, hopeful notes grew a sadder tone.

At this moment, unbeknownst to him until them, the great dark shape under him started to move. His breath shaking, the brother looked for somewhere to hide, but deep inside, he knew there was no hiding – he was already too deep into the sea’s mysteries.

The shape, the greatest fish moving under water the young Na’vi ever beheld, stopped in front of him. Its enormous eyes stared into the bewildered eyes of the Na’vi. Then the creature sang, and its song was the wisest.

It sang about his brother who went to Eywa. It sang about how the Na’vi wanted to hold the secrets of the sea and was so adamant in his quest and confident in his capacities that he forgot Na’vi air didn’t flow in water currents. It sang about the brother fading away, and how surprised the creature was, for its kind didn’t often see earthly creatures in the deep sea.

When the creature sang, the strings were mute – only the dance and the rhythm of the musician persisted, as a response to the rhythm of the rolling waves nearby. The drums were as regular as the second brother had been reckless, and the attendees were as captivated as the second brother had been careless.

In its song the creature recognized the youngest brother as a better-advised explorer than his oldest. The creature would not let him meet Eywa as of yet. For life is short, and the sea is long, and by the Tulkun way none shall ever take a life, or let it be taken when it could be avoided. And the creature sang, wisely but gently, that it shall lead the brave Na’vi to rest.

So the strings resurfaced, and with them the great guardian of the sea, Tulkun they were called, the Na’vi on its back, and many other Tulkun joined along, carrying the Olo’eyktan and his clan. And as they swam across the currents, Na’vi noticed how easy the crossing was for those who let themselves flow with the water, and they hated their pride that believed they could conquer the sea. They closed their eyes to breathe the sprays, and vowed to become as free and quiet as their guides.

The Tulkun left them on a rocky formation at the swimming distance of their village. As the Olo’eyktan swore they would always see them as brothers, because for the loss of their brother, they had found many more, the solemn harmony was restored. And to honour their words, Tulkun and Mektayina built, rock by rock, the everlasting monument to their loyalty.

One for the mindfulness of the youngest, who had faced his fears to save the tribe; one for the responsibility of the oldest, watching the reef; and one for the courage of the second son, turned to the open sea.

As she recited, the string-player turned to the sea as well.

  “Beheld the shapes standing out on the shore

  And pause, before your heart risks to explore

  Old is the reef and older is the sea

  The Three Brothers are watching over thee”

And indeed, Neteyam beheld, barely visible from the sandbank, and still much further than the reef barrier, three monumental dark shapes cut into the purple mantle of the sky. With amusement, he noticed that one was much smaller than the others, probably leaning towards the depths, while the other two stood, magnified, one towards the sea, the other towards the shore.

The whistle resonated again. At the same time, the musician went back to their rhythmical gait. The reciter held her stringed box against her chest, freed her feet from the sand and her beads from the rocks. With a sincere smile, she joined the musician, and started clapping her hands in yet another rhythm. The clapping settled naturally, like an organic extension of the previous one. In turn, the attendees took it up. They tapped their hands, their thighs, their chests, all in perfect harmony.