#leship

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.

For a moment, the young Omaticaya was almost back in the high camp. Neteyam didn’t know how long he had lay there, lost in his flow of memories, but the Metkayina blue sky had turned into the wood-bark dusk. The village was now buzzing, getting ready for the evening – sharing the goods gathered in the reef or the jungle, reuniting with the family members spread through the island and the inlet during the day, telling each other what the day had been made of. 

All the activities seemed so trivial to Neteyam. Didn’t they have anything more important to do? The Omaticaya had explored forests, discovered mountains, fought and overcome the Sky People. Why, of all the clans Pandora hosted, did his father choose such an uneventful place? Were the Sullys so weak that they should conceal themselves in the reaches of the world?

Neteyam clicked his tongue. The feeling was so familiar, and yet so frustrating. But he would comply. As he always did.

With a stretch, he went out of the marui. The salt in the air and on his skin tickled his senses. The distant crash of the waves along the atolls had cradled him to sleep. In a way, he was thankful for that. This everlasting lullaby was way more comforting than the rustling of the rainforest.

“I have been looking for you.”

He barely had the time to properly greet Aonung. The Mektayina threw something at him. Startled, Neteyam thanked his parents for sharpening his senses. He grasped the token effortlessly, and, between his thumb and his index, observed it in the setting sun.

“A bead?” he said, blankly.

“Well, a bet’s a bet,” Aonung argued. “Though you kind of let me win this round. We’re even now.”

Somehow, being even with Aonung had a nice ring to it. Neteyam gazed at the bead with open curiosity. The gem sure was small, and yet so neatly polished, so perfectly round. When he compared it to the beads in his hair, Neteyam could feel the objects shared but only the same name. For the simple beauty of the bead was far greater than any accessory the Omaticayas had ever come up with.

“Where do you find them?”

“Some mollusks hold them.”

“Inside their bodies? Like eggs?”

“Sort of.”

“But they’re no eggs.”

“You bet they’re not! I wouldn’t have offered you an egg.”

Neteyam laughed.

“I would’ve had to keep it.”

Then he added, playfully:

“A bet’s a bet.”

Aonung sighed, but laughed in turn.

“Next time, you’ll be the one fetching me a bead.”

“Well, you’d better teach me where I can find them first. Or you might as well wait for the ikran to bend!”

Neteyam regretted the analogy even before Aonung had frowned. He looked back at the sea as if the great stretch of water could be of any help. But it clearly didn’t know what an ikran was either.

“Ikran are the flying beats we arrived on. And they are a bit temperamental.”

“More or less than a tsurak?”

The picture of the long, many-razor-toothed mouth gliding menace froze Neteyam. Why did Eywa allow a creature so inappropriate, and yet so threatening to swim in the peaceful Pandoran sea?

His face must have sold the boy out, because Aonung burst into laughter.

“Well, mount an ilu first, we’ll see for your temperamental rides later.”

That being said, he took Neteyam by the shoulder, and led him towards the centre of the village.

“We have other plans for tonight, anyway.”

“More surprises?”

He had secured the bead in the palm of his hand, not knowing how to attach it to his braid. He should ask later, preferably to someone else than the giver. He didn't want to give Aonung another reason to witness how awkward he was.

“No,” Aonung mused. “Or maybe you will. I don’t know what will be said, and since you’re so easily moved, maybe some of it will surprise you.”

They climbed on an upper root, leading towards the gathering place like a bridge to society. Beneath them, txampaysye swam idly, as if a part of that communal ceremony as well. Aonung smiled:

“Two beads that you’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Three beads that it does not surprise me more than the tsurak mounting.”

Aonung elbowed him. Neteyam nudged him back.

“I still do not know where the beads lie.”

“Well, that’s entirely on you.”

“Four beads that you show me where I can find them.”

“Five that you beg me to.”

Neteyam gave him a half shocked, half mused look.

“Warriors don’t beg.”

“Warriors mount tsurak.”

“I do mount an ikran.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

They had reached the gathering place. It was a small inlet of sand trapped between the mangrove roots, apart from the beach and the docks. The Metkayina had spread in small groups, some families, others in their age-range. Neteyam looked for his parents, who should have not been difficult to spot, but Aonung didn’t give him the time.

“Whether you can mount your ikran or not doesn’t matter here. Because, here, you must follow the water way.”

Neteyam sighed. They were now walking across the sandbank, towards the jungle. And that piqued his curiosity much more than the Mektaniya spiritual advice.

“And what does the water way command me to do?”

He straightaway hated the Lo’ak tone that had just crossed his lips. Maybe he was spending too much time with his brother. Aonung must not have appreciated it either, for he stopped, a few feet away from a large group of Na’vi gathered in a respectful circle.

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.

The blood merged with the alcohol. It ran along the floorboards, between the chairs, towards the carpet. In a start, Touma pulled the tablecloth off, and pressed it again the floor. In just a few seconds, it was maculate in brownish fluid.

With a grunt, Touma rolled the body over on the tablecloth. It didn’t quite fit.

He glanced at the carpet again.

“A bit decoration always lightens a home!”

He shook his head. No, she would definitely notice if the carpet went missing. She already would definitely notice for the tablecloth. Tsurugi spilt soda over it, Touma would argue. Eyeing at the whisky bottle lying carelessly by the table legs, it came to his mind that Tsurugi could also spilt soda on the carpet, now. He just had to be convinced he did. Not much of an issue.

There he sat, crouching over the already stiff body. Touma clicked his tongue – there was a little too much blood to frame it as a drinking accident. Or the aggressor had been very, very mad at the man. For all Touma knew, many people had many reasons to give that man a harsh beating. He didn’t think he was the first who ever had, but he surely was the last.

That thought lit a slight smile across the youth’s face.

That was it, now. He was freed. He had freed himself. That poor, retarded, pathetic excuse of a man was the last string tying him to his past life. And he, Touma, himself, without nobody’s help, had cut it.

He straightened up, took a deep breath in – repressed a laugh thinking of the body at his feet – then a deep breath out.

A few breathes later, he did no longer want to laugh at all.

He had killed a man in the middle of his living-room. Beside the carpet the girl he was seeing gifted him – the girl he was supposed to be seeing this evening. He looked up at the clock. 4 p.m. and 18 minutes. That loser really had the nerves to show at his apartment in the middle of the day. How much time did he have before Tsurugi came home? Was he coming home today? Touma could call the Tsuyukis and made sure the kid didn’t. And when was she supposed to arrive? She was never on time. Either early, with presents and cheerfulness for the both of them; either late, with even more of both.

So there was no telling. What Touma could tell for sure, however, was that she should never, ever, know about what had happened in this flat.

At that very moment, the doorbell rang.

It rung so distantly, at first, that Touma first though it was his imagination. So he let it ring, once, twice, with more intensity, as if the doorbell itself wanted him to get a grip. On the third time, he got up, careful not to slip into the pond of blood, and walked slowly to the interphone.

He stood, perfectly still, his voice was blank, but calm. Nobody ever rang him. Actually, only two people did, and since one of them could not possibly be that early, it had to be the other one. The annoying one. The one that could see through him. The one that would, if not get it, at least bear with him.

Besides, the body was way too heavy for him. At first, Touma had thought about dragging it on the tablecloth, but that would only spread the blood all around the corridor. Then, he had wondered how large the garbage chute was, considering that it was the only acceptable way for such a man to end – Touma believed he could then retrieve the body from the dump, and toss it wherever it suited him in the sewers. That sounded like a terrible idea, but it was the most creative he had.

Why couldn’t that drunkard just wait for him to come at him?

It wasn’t as if they lived the very next door.

It wasn’t as if they had lived the very next door for six years straight, and that he only decided to remember the existence of his son this week, of all weeks.

This week, Touma was supposed to conclude with the girl. This week, Touma was supposed to graduate and to officially get a job. This week, Touma was supposed to get out of this miserable life. But this week, that man, that man who could have remained just a stinking memory, that man chose not only to reappear, no, he chose to intervene.

“Dirty meddler,” those were his words.

Touma didn’t remember much of what had happened after Tsurugi’s father had said them. Touma had been careful, though. When the man had crossed the border - crossed the tresholf of the flat - Touma knew there was no way back. So he played nice. Offered discussion, offered a chair, offered a drink. And while the man was sitting there, so casually, blattering enormities about how Touma had dared laying his hands on his only son, and how there was no way Touma could even repay him for the wrong he caused him, a poor, innocent, salary-man - while Kamiya was drowning himself into the nonsense he must have been repeating for a while, Touma put on his gloves, chose the heaviest bottle that was left from some drinking evening with his invading so-called friends, and stood behind the man.

Then his head turned empty.

“That’s… Definitely not a good excuse.”

“Since when do I make up excuses?”

“You really don’t but… Somehow, you…”

Seemed rather calm about this? Looked like he had other fucks to give than about some asshole he had beaten to death in his flat? Really just wanted to have a peaceful afternoon because it was the first leave his got in years?

“Look, I just want to get this done before Tsurugi comes back from school.”

The gaze Tooru gave him did not surprise him. The Shirotas always had the same face when confronted to the saddening, yet factual, cruelty of life. Or maybe Tooru didn’t believe him. Maybe he was convinced that Tsurugi was the last of Touma’s concerns, and that he had just messed up, once more.

“And, yes, this was highly unprofessional. However, if you could not report it to the chief inquisitor, I would appreciate it.”

Tooru frowned.

“Anything else?”

“How big is your car trunk?”

Tooru’s car was average, and that was just about what Touma expected of it. Most of all, he was amazed by how convenient it was to have a Shirota around. A costly investment, but he couldn’t say he regretted it. Kamiya, carefully wrapped in black plastic, was as cumbersome as he had been his all life. Luckily, at this time of the year, carrying such a big package could look like getting rid of a Christmas Tree. Shirota had even bothered shaping the bulk like one, which made it even more stupidly difficult to move. But it did make him laugh. And although Touma didn’t, the incongruous smile on Tooru’s face made the situation somewhat funny.

They snuck out of the apartment complex, headed down the parking lot – hid in the garbage dump while neighbors were coming back from fetching their children to school – and finally secured their load in Shirota’s car.

“So, what’s your plan now?”

“You are surprisingly involved in this whole hiding a body case.”

New outraged pout.

“I accepted to lend you my car to hide a man you just slaughtered! You bet I am involved!”

Touma rolled his eyes. Carefully, he searched for his lighter, and lit a cigarette.

“You lend me your car for a while. I’ll get rid of it.”

“The body, right?”

“I can – and should – get rid of the car as well. But since you seem very sentimental about it, I’ll bring it back to you in one piece.”

Tooru looked annoyed. Touma couldn’t tell if it was the cigarette, the alcohol, or Kamiya in the trunk. He bet on the three of them.

“I can’t believe you are actually going to graduate.”

Touma almost dropped his cigarette. He blinked at Tooru.

“What.”

“You’re a menace to society.”

“I’ll remind you I just killed a man, funny guy.”

“Oh, come on. If you’d wanted me dead, you could have done it in a thousand different flavors by now.”

Saying that, he opened up his arms in sign of peace. And this gesture was so humble, so carefree, so soft, that for a moment Touma really wanted to bury his face inside that simpleton’s chest, he really wanted to forget about the murder, and he really wanted to forget about the girl too.

But the cigarette and the alcohol were sour, and he had made his choice.

“I wouldn’t let my guard down, if I were you. The villain is still going to be around for a while.”

“Well, every villain needs a hero to keep them in check!”

Aonung had lowered his voice. They made their way through to the silent, ceremonious crowd, and by Aonung’s focused look Neteyam could tell he was looking for the best spot there was left. In the middle of the Metkayina assembly lay a tide pool, and in the middle of the pool sat a rock, naturally polished by the coming of the waves, slightly leaning towards the water and the awaiting attendees.

Next to the tide pool lay a piece of fabric, much like that of the marui hangings; except the fabric was adorned with beads, and on it were carved pieces of wood. Neteyam leaned towards the pool to see the objects better, and he could only guess these were instruments, for he had never seen such tiny ones before. He pondered on what kind of eerie high-pitched sound these could make. He mused at the carvings and the paintings, though, and wondered how such precision could be achieved on such delicate materials. He clenched the bead in his hand.

Aonung touched his shoulder – they crouched to a spot on the outside of the semicircle, on the side of the pool. The wet sand was soft still and uncomfortable both for feet and legs. As the boys were searching for a comfortable sit, a jingling sound resonated. Neteyam fell on his bum, but not too harsh, because Aonung’s hand remained clasped on his arm.

With the tingling, an apparition had made its entrance. Wrapped up in a vegetal cape, the shape tapped each of its bare-feet step on the wet sand, and each step jingled in a precise tone. The apparition moved its hand above the instruments, a soft movement that seemed like a gentle stroke to wake the wooden creatures. The hand hesitated. It finally stopped above one of the smallest tools and took it up to the mouth of the apparition, whose face was unrecognizable behind the dark face paintings and the wooden ornaments of their hair.

The first whistle blew through the air as a cheer, and all the Mektayina raised their heads up as if to follow that happy sound. There was silence. Then, directly taking back from where it had stopped, the music flew again. The whistle was so thin in the musician’s hands that it almost seemed like they were whistling themselves. The notes sounded like bursts of laughter echoing through the mangrove, gliding on the pool’s surface, and vanishing into the dust.

Still the musician tapped their feet, and Neteyam opened his eyes and ears in wonder of this one Na’vi orchestra. Stamping, jingling, whistling had grown so loud, the hosts of the reef or of the jungle could hear it as well. And indeed, another shape was approaching the stage, their steps aligned on the musician’s. And while the musician, wrapped in vegetation, only shone through their performance, the newcomer basked under the starlight.

She was barefaced, and barefooted as well, and her skin was of a thousand beads. On her muscled body the small lights rippled, and beneath her feet, the pool’s surface reflected these thousands new stars. She went on the water, in rhythm with the musician, and made it to the rock. Her arms held a wooden box, carved in black, and mounted with strings so thin only the reflection of the stars revealed them. With one hand she carried the box, and with the other she pushed her bead robe aside to sit properly. The tip of her feet was planted in the sand, the beads of her robe struck the rock’s side. Now they could see her face a bit better, and she seemed young, although Neteyam had never seen her by the reef. Her lips were curved in a smile, her eyes shimmering like her beads. She spoke:

“I see you, my family.”

The attendees greeted her as one.

Her voice was as deep as the whistle was high, and her attitude as calm as the musician’s was energic. She lay the box on her thighs, making sure no beads were in the way. Then with the same cautiousness the musician had before choosing the whistle, she picked a string.

At that moment, the whistle stopped. She picked another string, and the steps stopped. Then another, and then a melody flew in the air, and it was as if the whistle performance had been but a warmup for these notes to appear. They were clear like the beads, deep like the jungle, quick like the reef hosts. They dropped like waterfalls, rose like waves, vanished in the night like the last star before the eclipse.

Over the crystal notes, the deep and smooth voice recited.

She recited a tale from a long ago, Neteyam guessed, so long ago that the characters’ names had been lost. There were three brothers of the Mektayina village: the first was the youngest, and when she spoke of him, the melody was soft and merry; the second was the eldest, the Olo’eyktan, and for him the notes were solemn; the third was the middle child, the second son, and his melody was a fast dance with hints of bitterness. The brothers and their clan had discovered all there was to be hunted or collected in the jungle. But they had not dared, although they lived right next to it, troubled the ocean’s peace. They would play in the waves, gather occasional shells, and meet on the beach, but the realm beneath the surface remained uncharted territory.

The second brother could not bear it any longer. Suddenly the reciter slammed her strings all together. The disrupted harmony resonated over the crowd’s mesmerized faces, and Neteyam was so surprised by the sound effect that he didn’t notice Aonung was more focused on the Omaticaya’s reaction than on the story.

Only the drone of the drums accompanied the lament of the second brother. For the forest was a closed and dark place; Eywa had offered them strong limbs to swim and deep breath to hold in the infinite water – why couldn’t they explore it as well? He spoke well, and his energy convinced his brothers. Softly, but going louder with the verses, the melody of the dance broke through the muffled drums. The youngest brother was a bit frightened by the power of the tide, so the eldest gathered his strongest warriors, and the three brothers and their squad built canoes to glide on the open sea.

The canoes did glide, and maybe they glided too well. The cheerful song became serious. Pushed by the currents, the brothers wandered through the flows; and when the youngest dared to look overboard, the clear water of the coast had become dark water of the depths. And the depths loomed under the canoe, like predators ready to draw them in, and never let them go.

In deep, repeated notes, the oldest brother regretted. He had taken his warriors from their family, and now they were in the open sea. The second brother also regretted, though he was less afraid, for he had always dreamt of being here. Once again, his dancing tune overlapped with the drone, and none of the brothers were defeated yet. While the eldest comforted his men, the second brother took a deep breath. The answer was definitely not in their canoe – the sea was sending them a message, and they had to prove worthy of the risk they had taken. He exchanged a look with his brothers, and jumped in the sea.