Dreamwalker

Chapter Nine

Rol'ei reached out. He stretched as far as his life would take him. Dark fog. Dark as death lay before him. Behind him. All around him.

A pressure lifted off of his heart as a torchlight cut through the murk. He forced his way towards the spark of light. Swam hard against the current. The light blossomed into a pale field of grain, ripened, but under the cold light of an impending storm.

He watched his body wade through row after row, the neat plantings reminding him of....

At first he walked, but as the unending sea of grass swept him along a frantic need touched his heart.

He had to get away. Escape. Find....

There. A shadowy grove. Safety as the storm broke overhead. Rain that did not cool his skin blurred his vision.

Warm hands welcomed him into the shade, swept the wet from his skin, his eyes, clearing them.

Rol'ei blinked up. The dreamwalker stood, his face so dear, his eyes so sad. He reached for the singer, trying to touch, to guide, but Rol'ei would not let the two-bodied spirit approach. Couldn't take his eyes off of...

The hole. A great rend in Ted's chest, opening him for all of Eywa's own to see right through... to see his very heart.

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Rol'ei sreamed, he called and fought. Come back to life! Come back to me!

Too late.

Darkness took them both.

* * *

Hard, calloused hands touched his cheek.

“Wake, Brother.”

Rol'ei swallowed down the hard knot in his throat and forced his eyes open. The face of his beloved sister looked down on him, her visage nearly expressionless behind her usual war paint.

“I was dreaming again?” his voice rasped.

“If you call those Dreams, I'm glad I am Olo'eyktan.”

“Mother always did say our destinies were switched at birth.”

“If night screams were a part of my destiny, it's no wonder I gave them to you.”

Rol'ei bowed his head, ashamed. Sometimes the dreams Eywa chose to give were... difficult. He glanced across to the others; most of them feigned sleep while a couple openly stared at the siblings. They were used to such displays, but while on the hunt, he might very well have given away their position.

Especially on these damn plains. Sound carried here like a seedling on the breeze.

Kame'awve nodded at his questioning glance. Yes, he had woken everyone. Again. She motioned over to their ikran, sleeping side-by-side a goodly distance from the others. They settled against Ratche's broad side. Ska'a, her ikran, opened his eyes only slightly before sighing and returning to his own land of dreams.

His sister brought her whetstone and sharped her blade while they talked; as children, they'd learned to speak with the sound to hide their conspiracies from prying adult ears.

“The same dream?”

She huffed in frustration at his nod.

“That makes three nights now you've had it. Rol'ei, you must tell me what is going on! What is happening to make you suffer so?”

“I can't talk to-” a hand on his arm stopped him.

“You know I am your sister before I am your Olo'eyktan. Have we not always been able to speak to one another? Have I not come to you when the troubles of the clan were too great for my shoulders? Have you not sought me when the song would not come? Have we not always supported each other in all things?”

Rol'ei stared off to the dark horizon. Kame'awve waited for him, her nimble hands continuing their familiar work.

“I can not yet speak of the dream,” he began tentatively. “I don't understand it all yet and it troubles me... but there is definitely a message of warning, and I worry for the safety of... someone I've left behind.”

Kame'awve's swift mind speared her prey with an accurate dart.

“You've fallen in love!”

Rol'ei nodded.

“With someone you don't want to talk about, it seems. No wonder you've been such a grump. Is that why you wished to stay behind? If must be one of the Omaticaya! Oh, Brother. I know it will be hard for our people to accept you finding a mate from another clan but... well, it has been so hard. For both of us.”

She grasped his hand firmly, her smile brighter than the stars.

For a moment he berated himself for forgetting. For not thinking of his wonderful, powerful Olo'eyktan. Every day his age and as mateless as he.

“Not from the Omaticaya.” Sixteen clans at the battle. Of all the souls gathered there....

“One of the Pa'li Clan?” If only they *had* been switched at birth, he mused momentarily. If he were in his sister's body, he could be Tsahik. Not such a far stretch, really. He could learn to heal the wounds of his people, could walk with Eywa... and love a man without question. If only that man weren't a....

“No. Not a dreamwalker. Not one of the demons, Brother?” Curse Kame'awve and her arrow-swift mind.

“They are not all so bad. Torukmakto is-”

“But he is Torukmakto! He is different! He-”

A rustle in the grass interrupted her. Both their ikran became alert at the noise. Rol'ei pursed his lips and whistled loud and clear into the night. Inconvenient as his dreaming terrors were, thanks to them none were asleep for the ambush.

The prey had found their predator.

The nantang came first, rushing over Na'vi and going straight for the ikran.

Kame'awve ran for her bow. Rol'ei stayed at Ratche's side, protecting her with his blade.

Bodies swarmed so thick none could take to the skies. Ratche snapped and flung away those Rol'ei could not reach while he slashed wildly at those he could. Screams and yowls of dying nantang filled the dark.

Where were their people?

Too late, Rol'ei heard the Nantang Warrior's cry. The arrow bit deep into his shoulder. Ratche threw herself over him, jaws first into the archer. Another arrow sailed harmlessly overhead before a loud crunch ended that life.

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Rol'ei gripped the protruding arrow but couldn't budge it. Ratche's sharp teeth snapped through the neck of another nantang, giving him a painful idea.

He grabbed one of her tendrils and connected tsahaylo. A quick push from her bigger body got the barbed tip through. She snapped off both barb head and fletching, leaving the shaft in to slow the bleeding. With a protective cup of her wing, he climbed up onto her back.

Rol'ei kept his immobile left arm tucked tight against his stomach as Ratched snapped at the mass of bodies.

“Rol'ei!”

Kame'awve's scream ran down his spine like an ice flow. Ratche batted aside some, landed on others, and clawed her way through to get to the Olo'eyktan.

Two hunters flanked her. A downed ikran between them; thankfully not Kame'awve's. Ratche added her might to the protective force.

“Riti,” one of the others said, between arrows. Rol'ei searched the darkness. The stingbat's poisonous tail barbs could kill, if a na'vi received a full dose.

Why any fool would be so insane as to take any of the pebble-brained creatures in as a pet, he had no idea.

One of Kame'awve's arrows flicked his nose as she struck one of the pests out of the air. Rol'ei heard, more than saw, it plop bodily to the ground.

Rol'ei's good arm burned; the nantang wisely circled, darted in, snapped at unprotected flesh as their people's weapons sang above them. They grew brave, leaping as one upon one of the flagging hunters at Kame'awve's side, dragging him down.

Ratche lept over the bodies, diving, crunching, but the damage had already been done. Rol'ei didn't have more than a moment to spend in sorrow before he felt the hit.

They screamed. A offensive zip-pop the only warning of the riti catching his mighty ikran in her flank. Rol'ei slashed, cleaving head from body.

Numbness swelling outward, proceeding with firebrand burning. The image of an out-of-control plains fire rampaging across Ratche's bright mind. Rol'ei considered getting off and disconnecting from her, but the wall of panic that flew up at his consideration decided him. With monumental effort, he forced his injured hand to grasp her queue harness and redoubled his efforts.

A ululation surrounded the battle.

No.

They looked about them, frantic. Where was Kame'awve? Where Ska'a?

Above, Ratche sang to him, her heart light.

Kame'awve's ikran trumpeted, drawing eyes upward at his very imposing bass voice.

Rol'ei used the distraction, slashing down over a warrior's forearm.

Help, Ratche sighed in relief.

Her ikran wasn't attempting to distract, but rallying others who had been circling, looking for this very tribe.

Whoops carried over the plains. Three clusters that he could see. A show of force.

It was enough.

An unfamiliar whistle blasted and the Nantang, people and beasts, disappeared like smoke in the wind. Those aloft chased after their retreat. The disgusting buzz of the riti swelled up and after the chasing ikran. Ratche bunched to launch herself after them.

“Easy.” he said aloud, internally convincing her to remain with their wounded brothers. Truly a mighty warrior's heart beat in her breast.

Too bad her makto was only a Singer.

The first light of dawn shimmered over the gory battlefield. Ratche whined under him, eager to continue.

Truthfully? His blood sang with the need as well.

Using Ratche's sharper eyes, he gazed at the downed na'vi, nantang, and riti. Too much blood and death. Rol'ei's lips pulled back in a firm, determined line. Not every battle could be won with brute strength alone.

* * *

By the time Kame'awve and the others returned from chasing off the remainder of the warriors, he had everything settled. Ratche finished off the injured nantang; Rol'ei took care of the more difficult task.

“Great Singer?”

Rol'ei stood proud in front of his catch. Fists on hips. Chin in the air. Only vaguely leaning to release the pain in his bad leg. And shoulder. Not exactly the time to show weaknesses.

“Olo'eyktan.” he bowed slightly, hand to his forehead in deference. A show for his small audience. “I present your prisoners.”

Three nantang warriors knelt before him: two male and one female. Arms bound up and over their head and lashed to crossed ankles.

Kame'awve's war paint effectively covered her surprise. The others, however, actively stared first at the three captives, then at their typically friendly Singer, and back again.

The female had been injured already, her shoulder dislocated, when he went to tie her. Fresh teeth marks lined her shoulder where Ratche held her so he could jerk the bone back into it's socket. He didn't envy that pain.

The other two were pin-cushioned. Without a steady pair of hands, Rol'ei directed Ratche to snip the ends of their arrows like his own. They bled freely.

Kame'awve gave clipped orders for their hunter's to check the wounded, and make sure that those too injured were taken care of. She directed four of the fittest to remain with their captives. With a sharp jut of her chin, she ordered Rol'ei far enough away that their whispers wouldn't be heard.

“What are you thinking?” she slapped his intact shoulder. “They could have killed you!”

“They're wounded. And Ratche assured they remained still while I tied them.”

“At first I was worried about your injuries,” she flicked the protruding arrow shaft. Rol'ei flinched. “But obviously our Great Singer is too mighty to be brought down by something so simple. Skxawng!”

Rol'ei failed to duck the smack to the back of his head. He growled at her.

“Beat me, if you wish, but don't neglect the opportunity.”

“Opportunity?” she asked with incredulity.

“They hide and out run us for days? They on foot, we on ikran? Something is going on that we should know about. They,” he pointed, “Hold the answers.”

Dark comprehension clouded her eyes. “You are right, Brother. Is Ratche fit to fly?”

“Her side still burns from the riti, but she is ready.”

“Go back to the clan, bring back the Omaticaya's pa'li ... and those strange contraptions. Then we can carry back our captives.”

“The pa'li....” Dread crept up into his stomach. His eyes turned to the sun. How many days had passed? Four now? Ted has said.... Ted had said they would need to return within a day or two, hadn't he. Oh Eywa....

He swallowed; steadied himself.

“No, the pa'li needed to be returned. We will have to find another way to take them home.”

She frowned at the three. “Ska'a can carry one with me. ...would Ratche?”

Rol'ei nodded, sure that she would do anything to help. He wasn't certain she'd be able to take too much weight... “The female, at least,” he conceded.

Kame'awve nodded. “Fine. If nothing else, I suppose we can release one. Perhaps tales of our ruthlessness will scare the rest of the Nantang off.”

“Or drive them into a frenzy for revenge,” Rol'ei countered, thinking of all the times in the past that they had done just that.

She made a noise that meant nothing on her way back to the three. One of the younger hunters met them, his hands filled with some ointment or other for their wounds. Rol'ei gave it barely as glance as the hunter wrapped the arrow shaft down tight, for more skilled hands to remove on their return. He studied his sister as she eyed the three.

Rol'ei hoped she would choose the smaller of the two males, but knew better. Kame'awve held her position with skill, along with bloodlines. No hunter could beat her for shooting, or fighting. He still sported a scar or two from their childhood tussles.

No, she would choose the greater one. The one who, even with blood weeping from a cut on his cheek and several blossoming gashes on his torso, glared at them with such murderous hatred... he had no doubt what would happen if the male got his hands free.

Like the Nantang from his mother's tales, he was decorated with crudely prepared leathers... mostly from the nantang's bodies. His headdress nothing more than the salt-cured skull of one, the skin pulling away from the gums in a permanent snarl, eye sockets filled glittering stones. Rol'ei's own lips pulled back in disgust.

Kame'awve stepped up to the hate-filled creature, wrapped his queue around her fist, and pulled up until he snarled in pain.

“Cut his feet loose.”

One of the others did as she bid.

“One step wrong, one attempt to get away, and I take your queue and their's as well. I will braid them together and they will decorate my p'ah s'ivil chey. I will tell the story of the cowardly Nantang to my children and their children. Do you understand?”

The tightening around his eyelids was enough for her. She dragged him to Ska'a by his queue. He stumbled, but fought to remain upright.

Kame'awve's ikran let out a questioning twill, but accepted the task once they linked. Smartly, his sister bent the nantang warrior over Ska'a's back and tied him so that his head was between the left wings, and his tail between the right. Off balance, he would have a difficult time attempting an attack. With a careful grace, she mounted above him, taking his queue again, but this time tying it tightly to her bow carrying strap.

All she had to do was jump off of her ikran at height to unman him.

She ordered one of her trusted hunters to take the other male, who fought until a knife was brought to his queue. He stilled with the threat, but was gagged before being bodily thrown onto the hunter's ikran.

Rol'ei took the female's queue in his hand, feeling ugly for insinuating the threat he doubted he could carry out. The wide, terrified eyes only made the task more difficult.

“If you promise not to fight, you may sit astride.”

She looked back and forth between her clan brothers.

“I listen,” she whispered, fearfully.

“Good.”

Rol'ei still had the others tie her feet in place, but left her hands tied in front of her. “Because of the dislocated shoulder,” he explained. She held onto his waist cincher as Ratche took her ungainly leap into the sky.

Kame'awve left several behind to deal with the few who could not fly.

Ratche's distress was his own as they turned homeward. The weight hard to carry. His concern about the possibilities the captives could bring making her strong heart tight.

He let her fly low, close enough to the ground to make him nervous, so if her wings did falter, the landing would not hurt as much. It helped that he could keep a better eye on the laden ikran ahead of him.

* * *

Home.

The standing tents on the cliff's edge never looked so welcoming. So terrifying.

Oh Eywa, Ted. He'd left without a word of explanation. Been so desperate to protect his people....

No, Rol'ei lied to himself, Ratche mentally prodded him. He smiled sadly. He'd run, instead of facing the potential pain. Yes, he'd offered to stay with the Omaticaya... with the dreamwalkers, but truly accepting that offer in his heart was much more difficult when facing the people he loved. His sister. His clan.

With Kame'awve's blessing, though... perhaps they would stay with the Omaticaya, but returning to them by choice would be easier on everyone.

He groaned. She hadn't given her blessing. The cursed Nantang...

Ratche dipped a wing, bringing his thoughts sharply back to the present. The female behind him threw tied arms around his shoulders and wept openly against his back. Terror of flight. He hadn't thought the savages terrified of anything.

Dark specks in the distance captured Ratche's attention. He focused though her eyes.

Ikran. Swarming. He urged Ratche up to fly alongside Ska'a.

“The ikran are up in arms!”

She waited a few wing beats, waiting to see it herself before responding.

“They're flying over the ocean,” she responded.

No clans came at them from that side, the deep sea creatures that spawned off of their shore saw to that. No need to tell the ikran to hurry. Circling like that could mean many things; nothing good.

Dread seized his heard. A single ikran learning to fly rarely drew them this close. A couple, maybe... or worse, one of the people might draw them into the shallows. Even then, it was so rare to see what looked like the entire flock circling to protect whomsoever was below.

Ratche landed for him at the first patch of foot-smoothed earth. He had trouble prying his captive off, his back sopping wet from per panicked sobs. Kame'awve landed just as he got the girl's clawed hands off of his armor.

Rol'ei dragged the nantang warrior behind him as he hurried past the deserted tents. There!

It seemed the whole clan stood on th cliff's edge, watching the aerial display.

Rol'ei shoved his captive into the arms of a bulky warrior on the margins of the crowd, saying little more than “Hold her!” or meaning to, before shoving his way through the people until he could clearly see.

From the air, he could make out little more than their darting bodies driving off one of the sea beasts.

From here... his worse thoughts come true.

“Who is it?” He asked

“Not sure,” came the universal reply.

He moved through the eerily quiet crowd, making his way down the footpath to the narrow strip of beach below.

He stood there, stunned as the rest of his clanmates, as a sinuous male stepped out of the ocean.

Rol'ei's blood roared in his ears. His breath rasped in his throat. His eyes seemed only able to focus to one point, one speck, before shifting to another, never able to settle long enough to truly see what was before him. Omaticaya waist wrap. Straining ikran. Uniform minute braids falling loose around toned shoulders; rivulets running down them to caress the heavily panting chest, taunt stomach...

“Rol'ei, I-”

A great tsunami wave crashed over him. His legs suddenly weak; weighed down by boulders.

Ted.

All Eywa's own spun around him.

* * *

He didn't remember the ascending climb. Flickers of the tide of confuses faces swallowed him.

Kame'awve stood by her ikran, her captive still on the great beast's back. Pxi, the hunter he'd handed his captive to, waited at her side.

“Is anything the matter, Great Singer?”

He shook his head slowly. Nothing he could speak of in front of the Nantang. She nodded, seeming to understand.

“Pxi, begin a feast. We neglected to celebrate the return of the rest of our hunters.”

He touched his forehead and left to do as he was bid, leaving the girl back in Rol'ei's care. Ioang, the makto of the third laden ikran, landed near-by. Kame'awve waited until the hunter was close enough to hear without shouting.

“A feast is being prepared. We have our own preparations to complete.”

Rol'ei didn't like the feral smile playing on Ioang's lips, but said nothing. The nantang girl leaned in against him.

She whimpered.

Suddenly, he had no taste for what might have to be done.

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Kame'awve – Olo'ekytan of the Ikran Clan (appeared in the movie, but was unnamed)
Rol'ei – Singer for the Ikran Clan
Ted – Edward Cera, Avatar ethnobotanist. A specialist in nutritional values of Pandoran plants.
Tsahaylu (Ted commonly mis-says "the halo" without realizing it) - the bond/neural connection
Tsahik - shaman, matriarch
Olo'eyktan - clan leader
Ikran (Banshee) – Four-winged flying mount, wingspan 13.9 meters (with Sea ikran easily reaching 15 or more)
Pa'li (Direhorse) – six-legged horse mount, 4 meters tall
Nantang (Viperwolf) – small, dark, sleek, six-legged dog creature. Lives in packs.
Riti (stingbats) - four-winged flying reptile, sometimes kept as a dangerous pet, wingspan of 1.2 meters, poisoned tail tip
P'ah s'ivil chey (or just chey) – personal belongings rack

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