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To say that Kiri wasn’t having a great time would be mincing her overly bleak situation. Sitting along the edge of the Cove of the Ancestors, she kicked her feet one by one, instructing the waves to follow the flow of her toes. Her hair was partially undone from the chaos of the escape; there was a small wound on her leg— staining the water with hints of red— and her heart was full of grief.
This time, the soft hum of the ocean did nothing to ease her mind.
A few paces ahead of her, Lo’at and Tsireya were tossing themselves into the water on their way to the spirit tree. Tuk-tuk was already with dad, no doubt latching onto the tree and entering the spirit world with little trouble, and Spider was nowhere to be seen.
“Kiri?” a voice asked, soft and low. Kiri turned to meet Neytiri, who was standing behind her, shrouded in a veil. She’d been crying, Kiri knew, as evidenced by the tear streaks on her face. “Are you alright?”
It was a loaded question, one that Kiri had to bite her tongue from answering. If she said what she was truly thinking, there’d be more tears… more sorrow, and more anger. It was already there, simmering beneath her chest, but she pushed it away.
“Yes,” she lied, her curtness barely hidden. “I’m… fine.”
There was no response. Instead, Neytiri slid onto the wet stone, dipping her own toes in the water as the light from below illuminated the night.
They did not speak for a while, choosing instead to watch the gathering clan from their position on the shore. Eventually, the remaining sun disappeared below the horizon and both her and Neytiri were shrouded in darkness.
This time, Kiri could not stay silent.
“Why are you not down there?” she asked, almost slicing with her words. “They’re waiting for you. He’s waiting for you.”
Neytiri did not speak. The statement hung in the air as Kiri felt warmth on the small of her back. A rush of lividness pulsed through her, and she quickly brushed Neytiri’s hands away.
“Just leave it,” Kiri said, regarding the remains of her broken braid. “It isn’t important.”
“Kiri—”
“You’re supposed to be at the tree,” Kiri interrupted. “That’s where family is supposed to be. They’re supposed to be at the tree with Eywa reliving all Neteyam’s memories and honoring his life.”
Neytiri answered, no malice in her voice, “I know this is hard for you,” and the well-kept anger in Kiri’s heart tore through her throat and into her mouth.
“Oh, it’s hard for me?” she hissed. “My mom is dead and now my brother is dead. You hate Spider… wish he was dead instead of Neteyam, right? And there’s nothing I can do about it. It isn’t fair!” she yelled. “And the worst thing is, you get to see them whenever you want. The tree likes you. It accepts you, but it doesn’t accept me.” Kiri clenched her hands into fists.
“Eywa has made her choice,” she finally said, choking on the words. “And she’s chosen to abandon me, like everyone else has.”
The cove went quietly still. For a moment, Kiri was sure that Neytiri would lose her composure: yell, scream, or chastise… but instead, a mournful voice, sure and sorrowful, echoed among the rock and sand:
“My daughter,” Neytiri whispered. “I have not, and never will, abandon you.”
And Kiri sniffed. The guilt settled in as Neytiri touched her back again, caressing her hair in a timid, light manner— no doubt a way to tether herself, and though Kiri wanted to, this time, she did not push her away.
“Everywhere I go, I’m reminded that I’m different,” Kiri murmured, as the strands of her braid were unraveled. She brought her knees up to her mouth, wiggling her toes on the rock to let the cool air filter through them. “That I’m fragile, and broken, and wrong.”
“You are not wrong.”
“Then why can’t I connect?” she sniffed. “Why does The Great Mother shut me out?” She took a deep breath, hoping to calm the ache inside of her. “Why can’t I be like everybody else?”
“I do not know,” Neytiri admitted, her fingers gliding through Kiri’s hair as she re-braided her kuru. “But I do know that you are here for a purpose. Eywa has chosen you… and she does not choose lightly.”
“It feels more like a curse.”
“Yes,” Neytiri whispered, her voice far away. “Yes, it does,” and Kiri placed her hand on Neytiri’s thigh.
She remained silent through the rest of the braiding, sniffing and wiping her eyes once or twice as the lights flickered from down below. All the sadness and anger wrung out of her little by little until soon, the freshly braided kuru fell around her shoulder, barely touching her toes.
Neytiri rose to her feet, but instead of departing, she reached down her hand.
“You are a part of this family, Kiri,” she said, and the look in her eyes was serious. “I know you cannot connect, and I know that troubles you greatly… I cannot fix your seizures, my sweet girl, but that does not make you any less special.” Neytiri wiggled her fingers. “Please,” she whispered. “Come with me. Come celebrate your brother’s life.”
“I won’t be able to see him,” Kiri reminded, but she took Neytiri’s hand all the same.
Together, they walked hand in hand into the cove, where the rest of the tribe was waiting. Before their heads dipped underwater, however, Neytiri hugged Kiri gently, cradling her head as she wrapped her in her arms.
“Yes,” she finally replied, an answer to Kiri’s words. “You will not be able to see him. But he will know that you are there.”