—RELENTLESS REVENGE

               ALEYNAIA WAKES TO the sound of the sea. It is gentle, and it nearly lulls her back to sleep. Fear, however, burrows into her heart like the head of an unyielding arrow, promising her a future of restless nights and ever-lasting trepidation.

She will sleep no longer.

She is supposed to be dead, but she has no delusions that she is; she is in far too much pain for that to be true. Her lungs burn with every pull of air she dares to take in, and her muscles are so sore and tense that she is not sure her limbs will move if she tries. She does not feel the wound on her leg, but she knows that it is there.

She will never forget the feeling of the foreign material slicing into her skin and making its home in the space between her bones and muscles and tainting her. She is forever marked, and it is only a taste of what she knows is to come. Revenge is a generous provider until all blood runs dry. Then it begins to seize all that it is owed with greedy, unforgiving hands.

And she will not fight it—she cannot because it has plucked her will from the depths of her soul and discarded it where the seas became murky and dark. The boy who saved her, with his steady voice and demanding hands, seems to have enough will for the both of them.

She wonders where he is now. She wonders where she is now. A mauri, a tent like structure above water that is not at all like the home she once knew, is what surrounds her. She is not of the water people, and, truthfully, she does not think she can stomach the sight of water any longer, nor the sound, nor the smell. She does not know how she considered it gentle mere moments ago.

Some time during the spiraling of her thoughts, it had become an incessant grating in her ears. She suddenly wants to scream—to escape—but she lacks the energy and the ability to do either, let alone both.

"You are sore," a quiet voice points out from beside her. Her eyes dart to the presence she was, at first, too distracted to notice. Aleynaia remembers the woman vaguely, and she knows immediately that the woman is Tsahìk of this water tribe. Her Tsahìk knife is visible above the adornments on her chest. Her blue skin is pale and covered in permanent markings of what Aleynaia assumes is her own making, or her tribe's. Her blue eyes are serious and unyielding. "Drink this."

The woman holds out a tiny vial, and Aleynaia knows to take it because if this woman wanted her dead, she certainly would be by now, and it would be quite disrespectful to ignore the offer.

With shaking limbs, Aleynaia sits up. When she is leaning on the heels of her hands, she thinks she may go unconscious once more. There is sweat on her forehead, and the exertion is almost too much. The Tsahìk makes a small noise that she cannot decipher, and brings the vial to her lips, forcing her to drink.

It is bitter then sweet then bitter once more. She gags but refuses to wretch. In the next moment, her soreness fades into something dull and tolerable. The ache in her throat gradually soothes. It is relief in a way that she has never known.

She makes a gesture with her left hand instead, jerkily bringing her fingers to her forehead and away.

I see you.

The woman huffs. "What is your name, child?"

The truth is that she has not been a child for over six turns around the sun, but this woman remains her elder, and she may be made up of vengeance, but it is not for the innocent. She can muster up some semblance of normalcy for someone who has saved her life. Whether or not she deserves saving is an entirely different conversation.

She tries her voice several times before it deigns to work. "Aleynaia."

"Is that all?" The woman asks.

"That is all." The raspy words come a bit sharper than she intends.

The Tsahìk's eyes narrow further. "Eywa has spared you. It is by Her will that you remain breathing. Let us keep it that way." Aleynaia flinches at her tone. Uncaring, the woman stands and begins to gather her belongings. "Tell me how you came upon these islands and tell me the story of your wound."

"Sky people," she says simply, but the words don't feel simple. They feel like a weighty poison on her already heavy tongue. "I was tossed from their watercraft and left to die. They hurt me with—with—" Aleynaia glanced at her bandaged thigh, her throat tightening. She did not know what to call their unnatural weapons.

The woman's eyes soften a minuscule amount, but her face remains tight. "It is called a gun." She says the word with a cloud of disgust. "This knowledge has been forced upon me, but you would have surely met your death had it not been."

"And the thing inside me—"

"They call it a bullet, and it has been taken care of, " the Tsahìk grits out as she returns her items to the brown pouch resting above her legs, "You will heal. You are nearly there already."

"I am grateful." The words sound disingenuous in her own ears, but it is all that she has to give.

The woman hums. "The Olo'eyktan and I will return to speak to you when you have more strength. My daughter, Tsireya, will watch over you until then. For now, you must rest."

Aleynaia knows the conversation is over, and she does not contest to it. As she watches the Tsahìk go, she welcomes the reprieve from the intensity that radiates off of the woman in stifling waves.

A girl seemingly closer to her age enters the mauri soon after. Aleynaia assumes that this is the aforementioned daughter. She and the Tsahìk share the same blue skin, coiled hair, and physique— a physique that is common among the few water Na'vi that Aleynaia has encountered. Their bodies are made for swimming, their forearms and tails fin-like and their hands and feet webbed.

Aleynaia feels quite inadequate beneath the gaze of the vibrant girl. Unlike her mother, the girl is made up of smiles and there is a bounce in her step. The indentions on her cheeks only add to her beauty. Where her mother radiated intensity, she radiates contentment.

Aleynaia feels a shred of jealousy and then of hatred as she is reminded that her devastation is solely her own, and that she is alone in it.

Ignoring the pain, she brings her legs closer to herself.

"I see you," the girl, Tsireya, tells her softly, her voice melodic. Her hands are occupied by a tray of what smells like food, and Aleynaia feels her own stomach ache with a hunger that she has long neglected. Tsireya sits before her and gingerly places the tray in the area between them. "I thought you would be hungry. There is water, and fish, and fruit." The girl points at the spread as she speaks, but Aleynaia zeros in on the pouch of water.

She snatches the pouch from the tray and gulps it down within seconds.

It is not enough. Not nearly enough. Her stomach, however, seems to disagree as it lurches in protest, taking her appetite with it.

She swallows hard.

"You must take your time," Tsireya says, both humor and worry on her tongue.

Aleynaia simply eyes her before grabbing a small piece of fruit and beginning to nibble on it. Her stomach won't allow for much else.

"I am Tsireya. What is your name?" The girl asks, continuing to speak. Aleynaia swallows hard before giving the girl her name. "I see you, Aleynaia." She gives the sentiment once more only to receive the same silence.

However, Tsireya does not seem perturbed.

"Where is he?" Aleynaia asks instead. She watches as Tsireya pauses, confusion marring her face for a second and then understanding.

"Neteyam," she says quietly, a fond smile gracing her lips. Aleynaia does not know what to make of it. "He is near, and he is eager to meet you."

Neteyam, Aleynaia thinks, and something within her calms. She does not know what to make of this either. She has another piece of fruit. A sweet juice coats her tongue, and she savors it. "Then why is he not here?"

"My mother has forbidden our people from visiting you."

Aleynaia's tongue briefly darts out to drag over her cracked lips. "He is a part of your tribe then." It is not a question—not exactly.

Tsireya nods. "Metkayina."

Aleynaia does not say what she is thinking, but instead pleads with the girl. "I must see him. For just a moment."

Tsireya shakes her head. "No. I do not have the energy for my mother's wrath today."

"I am fine with taking the blame," a quiet voice comes from the mouth of the mauri.

She remembers the voice, and she clings to the sound of it as her eyes drag to its owner.

Neteyam.

She can still hear his voice commanding her to stay awake. It had been a forceful string of words that had gripped her consciousness with such strength that she had no choice but to listen. He stood before her now, a glorious being with the stance of a warrior and the build of a male who had not been born for the water—though the width of his arms and legs and chest were beginning to say otherwise.

He wears a choker weaved of pebbles with an armband to match. There is knife strapped to his hip, and a songcord dangling from the strap of his net-like loincloth. It is because of these things that she is able to discern the tribe he was born of and she wishes, for a moment, to descend back into her ignorance.

She cannot, however.

A sneer curls at her lips before she can stop it.

Neteyam's yellow-green eyes flash with concern then they become two orbs guarded by some mixture of confusion and indignation.

She does not cower behind Tsireya, but she does not mind the fact that the girl sits between her and her savior turned nightmare.

Neteyam raises his hands in a planting manner. Then Tsireya begins to chastise him. "What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here."

He gives the girl a small smirk. It is mischievous and familiar. Aleynaia feels a spark in the center of her chest.

"You owe me this, Reya," he murmurs. Some silent thing passes between them, and she can hear Tsireya let out an exasperated breath, relenting.

Again, Aleynaia does not know what to make of this.

"It will be your demise," the Metkayina girl says quietly, then she moves aside, leaving the tray and exposing her to a storm she is not prepared to weather.

Neteyam takes a step into the shelter, and Aleynaia hisses.

"I won't hurt you," he tells her in a soothing voice. "I only want to—"

She bares her teeth like a trapped animal on the verge of facing its end. "No."

He stops his advances immediately, still a ways away from her. "Then I will stand here, and you can stay there."

Her eyes momentarily dart to Tsireya's—who is watching the interaction with confusion—then back to his.

"I will not speak to anyone who is of your tribe," she forces past a dry throat.

Tsireya makes a small noise. "You have spoken with me."

That is not what she means. He knows that that is not what she means, and she can see as much in his face.

"Who are you?" He asks, his lips parted in surprise. He takes a tentative step.

The answer to that question is the least of his worries because in that moment, Aleynaia lunges for him.

thanks for reading!
-syd