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Gentle waves crashed against algae-ridden rocks, sea spray dripping off woven marui’s, hidden between floating stones, overlooking The Cove of The Ancestors. Many here had never even seen Awa’atlu, only the charred graveyard where it once stood. They had decided many years ago, on a night of great loss, that it was safer to relocate. They had never been found here.
Until a Mangkwan girl washed ashore.
~
“Tsireya, tsunke nga vartung ngeyä tsmuke tse’a peyä. Tsakem ke kxuke.” "Tsireya, you cannot continue to allow your sister to watch her. It is not safe."
“Poe tsunke rikx. Poe tìnew’ke tìsraw seyki peyä. Poe syawm’ke peyä tìtok. Poe syawm’ke!” "She cannot move. She will not hurt her. She does not even know that she has been here. She does not know!"
“Tìfnew ma’ite! Ayfo’aku ngeyä sa’nok! Nga new ayfo’aku ngeyä tsmuke nìteng?” "Enough daughter! They took your mother from us! Do you want them to take your sister too?"
“... Tsa’ke muiä.” "... That is not fair."
“Tsa’ke tsleng.” "It is not false."
~
Sun filtered through the braided roof, washing over Txep’ite’s cold, scarred skin. She was always cold here, in the absence of fire. Her golden eyes opened, staring out at the churning ocean once more. She had lost count of the days, every moment of consciousness blurring together in her memory, but the water was a constant, her only company in solitude. The Tsahìk visited often, applying balms to her stomach, and forcing sour serums down her aching throat, but they never spoke.
She couldn’t speak.
As hard as the Metkayina woman tried to heal her, nothing could mend the scar forming in her throat. Every whisper would be agony for the rest of her life, every cry would rattle with a haunting reverberance, and every song would go unsung. Nobody would ever know why she was here, and what she’d grown up with. They would feel no pity.
Txep’ite spent her days following the sun across the floor, slowly crawling from one wall to the other, cradling her wounds, listening to the hushed deliberations between clan leaders just beyond the walls they contained her in. It was not a formal imprisonment. The Daughter of The Fire could not leave if she tried. The gaping hole through the side of her stomach would take months to heal, and fibre stitches popped whenever she moved too quickly, but she was not allowed beyond this hut, and nobody was allowed to visit her.
Especially not Pril.
~
“Nga syawm oeyä säfpil mìfìkem txele. Ayoeng sweyn tawtute’tìleym. Poan tìkin lu pameng.” "You know my thoughts on this matter. We have their radio. He needs to be told."
“Poan tsunke han kanfpìl.” "He cannot lose focus."
“Nga kem sike fpìl poan sweylu syawm?” "You don’t think he deserves to know?"
“Oe kem sìmike pìmlltxe akum.” "That is not what I said."
~
The isolation left Txep'ite with hours to ruminate upon her past, and how she arrived here. She tried not to think about her ikran’s fate, but when the sea seethed beyond her walls, it was hard to avoid the truth. She was gone, and she had given her life to get her rider to safety, without any guarantee that she would be saved. Just faith.
Sa’nok would never.
The sun was bright outside, and the Metkayina people gathered far from her lonesome marui, laughing and fishing and enjoying their boundless company. She had never felt so alone. Even back home, when the other children hated her, she could at least distract herself by taunting them back. Now, she couldn’t even move. She had to listen to joy, right outside her door, and suffer in pain.
If she could only speak, she could promise them she wasn’t a danger. They would let her out. She could rest her aching limbs in the cool water, and play in the sand. She could see Pril.
That painful, foggy memory was all that kept her going. A brief moment of consciousness as she was pulled from the surf. She couldn’t picture her face, but it was her. Those eyes were hers. Txep’ite had seen those eyes every night for the last decade. They were hers.
Her arm chilled, and she realised that the sun had moved once more, leaving her in the cool shade. She twisted across the floor, into the light, the matting warping underneath her weight. Sometimes she peered through the gaps in the weaving, hoping to find blue eyes staring back at her, but she never did. Pril was never there, not even in the dead of night, when the cold darkness kept her from sleep, and the village was completely silent. Her dark curls were nowhere to be seen.
A lonely tear rolled down her cheek, her mouth gaping in a silent cry. Couldn’t they see she was harmless? Why did the Tsahìk work so hard to keep her from death if this was how she was going to live? Would it not have been better to leave her in the water, drowning and bleeding out? Why waste precious resources on her?
~
“Poe mayan hu peyä pongu.” "She belongs with her own people."
“Pril paylltxe txokefyaw.” "Pril says otherwise."
“Poe tsunke ha’ txampay’tìrey. Foke flrr’pongu. Nga syawm fì’u.” "She will not fit in our way of life. They are not gentle people. You know this."
“Pril paylltxe poe keteng.” "Pril says she is different."
“Kem sivi ngeyä tsmuke nga minìwotx aysìngäzìk, Tsahìk?” "Does Pril advise you on all matters, Tsahìk?"
“Oe’ke nìyey ngeyä ‘ite! Oe ngeyä teng, ulte Ohe Tsahìk, ulte fì’u keyawr! Oe pamlltxe. Poe zene tse’a peyä!” "I am not just your daughter. I am your equal, and I am tsahìk, and this is not right. I have spoken. She will see her!"
“Fìkem kxanì!” "It is forbidden!"
~
Txep’ite awoke after a freezing night to find the Tsahìk sitting cross-legged in front of her, mixing a paste in the palm of her hand. This was a new salve, pink in colour, and grainier.
“Oe tìkin oeyä tsyokx, rutxe.” "I need your hand, please."
Silently, Txep’ite complied, presenting her inflamed right hand to the Tsahìk, whincing as the paste seeped through the stitches, into her open flesh. The woman shushed her gently, like one would with a crying child. Most would be irritated by the infantilisation, but Txep’ite found it comforting. The Metkayina Tsahìk had a gentleness to her that the Mangkwan could only dream of, and yet, she did not appear weak. Her forehead was decorated with dark tattoos, which trailed down to her chin, and descended down her neck and shoulders. Txep’ite had begun to wonder if Pril would have the same tattoos, if she ever got to see her again.
Suddenly, the Tsahìk's grip moved to her wrist, and she pulled her closer, in a whisper, as soft as the crashing waves.
“Kem sike hahaw fìtxon.” "Do not sleep tonight."
As she pulled away, a soft smile returning to her lips, the Olo’eyktan appeared in the entryway, keeping his distance, a stern expression on his face. She couldn’t hate him. Not because that was what he expected, but because she understood. He was trying to protect his people. Txep’ite knew what her people had done to this village. Nobody had ever told her outright, but the story of the Vawm’txon was a story she had heard many times growing up, mostly in snide remarks about her fathers uselessness.
She’d always defended him. But they were right. He was useless, and she loved him anyway. She hated that she did. It filled her with a searing guilt that burned at her stomach until she felt ill, but she had so little. Her father’s love was reliable. He was always there to pick her up when she fell. Except for her Iknimaya…
Now was not the time to dwell. She had to stay awake through the night… Why? She opened her mouth to question the Tsahìk, but was reminded of her silence when no sound escaped. Her shoulders sunk, trapped by her inability once more. At least the fever in her hand had subsided. She hadn’t even realised it was burning, until it wasn’t.
~
“Kem sike peng sempul Oe tamung fìkem. Oe kem sami fìkem taluna Oe spaw nga, ulte taluna fìkemke Eywa’fya’o," "Do not tell father that I allowed this. I am doing this because I trust you, and because this is not Eywa’s path,"
“Pey, tsmuke, lì’upe poe keteng?” "Wait, sister, what if she’s different?"
“Poe tsunke emery nì’awtu. Aho poe ke." "She will not survive alone. Pray that she is not."
~
Txep’ite dug her nails into her thigh as her eyes lulled, jolting back awake each time. She waited, sat upright against a wall, gaze set upon the entryway, heart pounding. Why was her heart pounding? She half expected that little girl she had met all those years ago to waddle through the door, as ridiculous as it seemed. Would she look like her sister? Or her father? Or some other person she’d never seen?
Finally, as the ocean stilled, and even the zukzuk’s turned in for the night, the gentle padding of footsteps caught her attention, ears perking up to follow the sound. They grew closer, and faster, halting just outside the marui. Her heart drummed in her throat, drowning out the pain that constantly flooded her body.
A soft voice called out in the darkness, and an array of glowing stars rushed towards her, colliding in a breath. Strong arms wrapped around her, holding her tighter than she could ever recall. Slowly, she wrapped her own arms around the girl, thornpricks running up her forearms as she made contact. Their chests pressed against each other, and it seemed as though their hearts synchronised for just a moment.
The girls pulled apart, smiling as though they’d been separated just yesterday. Pril searched for her companions' bronze eyes in the darkness, holding her face inches away from Txep’ite, hot breath warming her cool skin.
“Pefya punga? Pesu… Pesu kem sami fìkem?" "How hurt are you? Who… Who did this?"
Txep’ite opened her mouth to answer, but she could not muster the energy to make a sound. Her brows furrowed, once again imprisoned in her own silence, but a small sensation distracted her. Pril’s broad hand cupped the bottom of her chin, and her heart raced.
“Nefä’nekll fu ftär’skien. Oe kem sike kan keftxo nga. Oe ngaytxoa.” "Nod or shake. I did not mean to overwhelm you. I am sorry."
Txep’ite nodded her head gently, trying to ignore the warmth that spread across her skin, spawning at Pril’s touch. It was a sensation she had never felt. Perhaps the fever-salve on her hand had not been as effective as she thought.
“Nga leftpomtokx?” "Are you healthy?"
Txep’ite nodded, though her exact health was always in question. Everyday posed new challenges, and infections to fight off, and the Tsahìk often failed to explain the complexities of her treatment. But she was alive, and she didn’t want Pril to worry.
“Kem sami ngeyä pongu kem si fìkem?” "Did your people do this?"
Her voice cracked with disgust as she spoke, her hand shaking softly against Txep’ite’s skin. The Mangkwan girl took a rattled breath, gently nodding into Pril’s palm as tears welled up in her eyes.
“Ma’eylan… Kem sami ngeyä sa’nok kem si fìkem?” "My friend, did your mother do this?"
The words dropped through the air like boulders, sinking below the surface, and the well of tears poured down Txep’ite cheeks as she nodded. Pril brought her other hand to the Mangkwan girl's cheek and held it there, stroking her thumb across the path of the tears. She choked back her own sob, as her friend finally let out the pain she had been forced to hold for weeks.
“Oel ngati kameie, ma’eylan. Oel ngati kameie.” "I see you, my friend. I see you."
Pril closed the small distance between their faces, and pressed a kiss to Txep’ite’s forehead, holding it there as the girl sobbed, hoarse echoes escaping from her scarred throat. Slowly, she soothed herself, and the chest wracking sobs turned into occasional sniffles. She silently fixated on the feeling of Pril’s lips on her forehead, until she pulled away to speak.
“Krra ayoe tsame’a nga, nga Oe txopu sleykamu. Oe syamawm nga.” "When we found you, you scared me. I knew it was you."
Txep’ite didn’t nod this time. She just listened. She’d spent weeks listening to Pril’s father from just outside. Everybody was scared. They all needed someone to listen, and that was all she could do. That was all she was good for.
“Oe kem sike tswa’nga. Kawkrr. Oe fpamìl teringa frakrr, ulte Oe lomnga, ulte Oe amahonga, slä Oe kem sike aho valetam taweyka nga tamerkup stum!” "I didn’t forget you. Never. I thought about you always, and I missed you, and I prayed for you, but I didn’t pray hard enough because you almost died!"
The reef girl began to spiral, anxiously rattling off words at a pace that Txep’ite couldn’t keep up with, but she gathered enough to digest it. Pril thought this was her fault. She was blaming herself for letting Txep’ite leave all those years ago, she was blaming herself for not finding her soon enough, she was blaming herself for not praying enough. She tried to speak up, to silence these doubts, but every breath was agony. She wrapped her hands around Pril’s head, rubbing her small thumbs against the girl’s tanhì, but it wasn’t enough.
She could feel Pril’s heart pounding in her neck, and her cheeks were wet with a hot river of tears. Txep’ite’s mind raced, chewing at her lip as she did everything in her limited power to soothe her, until she allowed her mind to empty, and instinct took over. Every fixated touch became clear in a single, beautiful moment.
She pressed her scarred lips against Pril’s, closing the last inch of distance between them. The world was silent in that moment, and Pril froze. A second felt like an eternity, and Txep’ite wondered if she had miscalculated everything. If years of dreams and yearning had all been a simple misunderstanding. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, after all.
But the shock washed off, and Pril drew Txep’ite closer, running her finned hands over the Mangkwan girls braids, pressing up against her until their ribs touched, forming one singular, moving creature.
She tasted sweet, like the golden, fleshy fruit that had been served to the Mangkwan girl so many times during her stay. She couldn’t help but wonder if Pril had been the one to prepare those dishes, now. A small message, calling out to her through isolation, sharing something she loved.
Pril traced her hands gently down Txep’ite’s back, flinching at every small scar. She was covered in them. There wasn't a smooth patch of skin on her body. She broke the kiss to breathe, bringing her hands back to the girl's face. Still, in the darkness, they could not see each other clearly. She grazed her thumb across her face, memorising every feature, until she could see her in the light. She mapped over her lips, pausing to feel hot breath against her skin.
The Mangkwan girl's lips were thick with blisters, but it was not so different from the rest of her body. To her people, she was undamaged, and unscarred. She would have received her first markings after completing her Iknimaya, but-
No. She was not going to ruin an incredible instance by contemplating her past.
Her chest heaved as she pulled Pril into a second kiss, kindling a flame between them. For the first time in weeks, she wasn’t cold. Her skin burned with a comforting warmth, at peace, finally. This was where she was meant to be.
~
Wings beat the air, accompanied by the angry cries of an ikran. Pink feet landed in the sand, storming towards the crowd. The Metkayina were not surprised to see this human in their midst, but his rage was unexpected. The Olo’eyktan turned around, dread pouring over his long features, facing the golden haired man, painted in blue stripes.
“Where the fuck is she? Where the fuck is my sister?”