ILLICIT AFFAIRS- NETEYAM

2. of death and heartache

—OF DEATH AND HEARTACHE

NETEYAM KNOWS HEARTACHE better than he knows himself, and he knows that he has not been created to endure such pain.

When he was younger, he believed that his heart would never know a worse pain than the pain of having his heart broken by the person he'd loved. They'd been young—too young to know what love truly was—and Neteyam had ached for months afterward. He'd gotten over them by hiding in the throes of war and duty and by simply being forced to grow up. That hurt had paled in comparison to the pain of having to leave his home behind, which had only grown worse when he hid it.

That heartache had taken years to dampen, and even now, it is still a quiet spirit looming somewhere in the back of his mind awaiting true acknowledgment that Neteyam just cannot give it.

Not yet.

He has seen the same heartache in the eyes of his family, but it is visible in his mother's eyes more often than anyone else's.

Neteyam has watched a new heartache bloom in the lives of his brother, Lo'ak, and his love, Tsireya. They cannot be together, but they can hardly stand to be apart. Neteyam has not known love like that, and the love he has known is fleeting and minuscule in comparison. The lovers' secrets make their hearts heavy, and it is very plausible that, in the end, they will only know an endless sea of heartbreak and pain.

Neteyam does not know, but he prays for the best.

The girl he saved provides him with his latest encounter with heartache, but it is subtle behind the hatred and anger in her eyes that is directed solely at him.

Yes, she lunges for him, but she cannot follow through on the action.

Neteyam catches her thin arms and stops her from falling and injuring herself any further. She does not struggle in his grip, accepting her helplessness, but her breaths are hard and heavy. He takes in the matted hair that flows to the middle of her back and the burns of the sun on her skin. Her face, although pretty, is twisted in pain and gaunt with many missed meals.

He lays her back down onto the mat and backs away.

Tsireya tends to her at once.

Neteyam's own breaths are fast, his heart beating with worry, but not for himself. What has she been through? What has she seen?

"You must not exert yourself, Aleynaia," Tsireya chastises. "And attacking the people of my tribe is not—"

"He is Omaticaya," the girl, Aleynaia, spits. Her words slice through him like the sharp edges of the reefs he has become quite familiar with. It is the first time he has heard the tribe spoken with such disdain. There is history there, and Neteyam is eager to understand it.

His hands skim the choker his mother had fashioned for him many moons prior. "It is the tribe I was born to, yes. Why are you angry?" Tsireya moves somewhere to the edges of his vision, allowing them to speak.

"My family was banished from that tribe, and I have not known peace since because of it," Aleynaia says as she sits up, her tired, but infuriated, eyes finding his. "Their leader is of demon blood, and it is because of him that my uncle is dead. It is because of him that my mother and father are dead. He is a terrible being, and all those who stood by and allowed it to happen are just as terrible."

Neteyam feels a flash of confusion and then anger. How dare she speak of his father in such a way? Jake Sully is flawed—Neteyam is old enough to see that now—but he is good. He is Toruk Makto, and no change of tribes will be able to deprive him of that title. He may not have been born Na'vi, but he'd proven himself worthy of the life he'd built.

He belongs here.

"He is my father and you do not know him." Neteyam lifts his chin and stands a bit taller. "If your family was banished, it was not my doing, and you cannot treat me as if it was."

Aleynaia gasps and shuts her eyes hard, and Neteyam can tell that she knows the truth of his words. As her eyes crack open, he sees her disdain deepen, but it is the surprise and fear swimming in her eyes that shakes him. Perhaps it was wrong to tell her of his parentage when she is in such a state.

Neteyam, however, isn't sorry that she knows.

The girl chokes out a sentence. "I know enough about him to know that he is, at the very least, as much of a demon as the stories claim him to be and you, my savior, carry his blood."

Neteyam takes a long breath and tries to survive the assault brought on by the pure venom in her voice. It searches for his weak spots, looking for a point of entry that does not exist. Soon enough, it dissolves, and he is still in control. He is still standing. "I saved your life, y'know? Does that mean nothing?"

"It only means that you've postponed the inevitable."

Neteyam barks out a disbelieving laugh. "And you should be glad that I did."

The girl releases a sound that is somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Her undeniable pain attacks Neteyam so viciously that he takes a step back. The base of the marui gives a bit beneath his weight. The material digs into the soles of his feet, the discomfort grounding him in the onslaught of her emotions.

Her face contorts, and she sits up straighter. "Look at me, demon—"

"Don't call me that—" Neteyam tries, but she continues speaking as if she hasn't heard his words. She takes care to stretch out her arms, revealing the cerulean of her blistered skin and visible bones. He wants to look away. His eyes beg him to allow them the freedom to stare at anything else, but he does not give in.

"I am bruised and starved. My lungs burn and so does my skin. My limbs are like stone, but my heart is heavier still. I am alone. I have no one," she rasps heatedly. "Death was a mercy that you stole from me."

Neteyam's heart beats painfully in his chest. He does not believe that this girl wanted to die. She wouldn't have listened to his pleas if she had. She wouldn't have fought to stay alive. When Eywa called her name, she would have answered.

When he speaks, he feels tears prickle the corner of his eyes. "And I would do it again because you aren't upset that saved you," he begins, staring into her eyes. "You're upset because of what I am."

"Enough," Tsireya says, reminding them both of her presence. He blinks slowly, dragging his eyes to his friend. "Aleynaia needs to heal, and this is not helping."

Neteyam runs a hand over his braids. She is right, of course. "I'll go," he replies before she can tell him to do so. He refuses to look at either girl as he exits the pod. He doesn't bother calling for his ilu before diving into the warm water like he has done so many times before. He is no longer in the mood to witness or participate in the bustle of the village.

He does not come up for air until he is far away from the marui. When he can no longer stand to hold his breath, he pulls himself to an empty plot of sand and lies on his back. The grounded rock is hotter than usual, but he hardly notices. He studies the sky and laments.

He is strong, but he has not been made to endure heartache— not his own and certainly not hers.

Neteyam blinks and blinks and blinks, and then he begins to cry.

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