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Hurt was all Spider felt when he awoke the next morning. He felt the furs shift behind him as Quaritch rose from his spot, a familiar, unwelcome warmth. The boy didn't open his eyes, he just pretended to be asleep.
to his surprise his father soon left the hut, which he usually did not leave spider alone for fear of him running.
But Spider's body was too sore to run anyway.
Just as Spider was about to sit up Varang loomed over him, her form blocking the pale light from the doorway. She didn't speak. She simply watched, her golden eyes like chips of obsidian, assessing the wreckage of the day before. Spider tensed, his breath catching in his throat. He was alone with her. The monster.
"You bleed well," she said at last, her voice a low purr that vibrated in Spider's bones. "Your spirit is fierce, but it is untamed. It burns like a wildfire, consuming itself. It needs a vessel. A purpose."
She crouched down, her face close to his. He could smell the scent of smoke and leather that clung to her. He flinched, expecting pain, but she only looked at him, her gaze intense and analytical.
"Quaritch thinks he can build you like a human soldier, with drills and pain," she said, a hint of disdain in her tone. "He is forging you with a hammer. I will forge you with fire. You will not learn to be strong. You will learn to be feared."
She reached out and traced the line of his jaw with a single, sharp claw. "You are a Child of the Ash now. You are my child to guide and raise in our ways. You will learn the language of the fire, the song of the smoke. You will learn to walk through the inferno and not be burned."
She stood and moved to a large, flat-topped stone near the fire. On it were arranged a series of clay pots and woven baskets. "Your body is a cage of weak flesh. But your mind... your mind is the one weapon they cannot touch. We will train it. Your Human body is what sets you back. that is only pyshically. mentally it gives you an advantage, you cannot be broken in the same ways of the navi. no. but you were raised in Navi so you know their weaknesses."
She beckoned him over. "Come."
Hesitantly, Spider pushed himself up, every movement an agony. He limped toward her, a prisoner on his way to the gallows. He expected another physical trial, another beating.
Instead, she pointed to a clay bowl filled with a fine, grey powder. "What is this?" she asked.
Spider looked at it. It looked like ash. "Ash?" he guessed.
A slow smile spread across her face. "Good. You see." She pointed to another bowl, this one filled with crushed leaves. "And this?"
Spider sniffed it cautiously. It had a sharp, medicinal scent. "I don't know."
"This is Tsawksyul root," she said. "It paralyzes a Palulukan if it eats enough of it. Three drops of its extract can kill you."She pointed to a third bowl, filled with vibrant red berries. "And these?"
"Ambrella fruit," Spider said, the knowledge coming unbidden from his years in the forest. "The Na'vi use them for dyes."
"Correct," Varang said. "But if you boil the seeds with the Tsawksyul root, it becomes a potent poison that turns the blood to fire. The Sully children probably made necklaces from these pretty berries. They see the world as it is. I see it as it could be. They play. I conquer. This is the difference."
She looked at him, her gaze boring into him. "You have the knowledge of their world. You see the pretty berries. I will teach you to see the poison. This is our lesson today. Knowledge. The mind is the sharpest blade. A body can be broken, but a mind… a mind can burn down an entire forest."
She picked up the bowl of ash and began to spread it over his body. "your pink skin burns in our harsh sun. This will help protect it." she said as she covered him in the grey powder.
For the rest of the morning, she drilled him. Not on fighting, but on observing. She would mix substances and have him identify the components by smell and sight. She would describe the venomous creatures of the region, not just by their appearance, but by their habits, their weaknesses, the precise location of their poison glands. It was a silent, intense education in lethality. Spider found himself learning, despite himself. It was like a dark mirror of the lessons Neytiri had given him, but where she had taught him of life and connection, Varang taught him of death and manipulation.
When Quaritch returned, he found them still by the fire, Spider seated, coated in grey ash, watching as Varang demonstrated how to sharpen a sliver of bone into a needle-like projectile. He looked at Spider's covered body and then at Varang, a question in his eyes.
"Your son has a good mind," Varang said without looking up. "He is a fast learner. He is ready for the next step."
Quaritch's gaze hardened. He knew what that meant. "We're not doing that today."
"Then when?" Varang finally looked at him, her eyes flashing.
"When your people accept him as one of you. When he has his place amoung them. When he is not so fragile." he retorted. He would keep using that excuse for as long as he could.
Varang’s smile was all teeth. "Very well, my love. But you know the truth. He will never be one of us until he bears our mark. And he will never be strong until he accepts that he is ours."
The dinner was a tense affair. Spider sat between them, a small island of human flesh in a sea of blue tension. He ate what was given to him, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and feelings. He was learning, he was surviving, but at what cost?
That night, Spider lay on the furs, the grey ash still clinging to his skin. He could hear them talking in low, urgent tones by the fire.
"He must learn to lead," Varang's voice was a soft but insistent whisper. "The warriors are restless. They need to see him as more than your pet human. They need to see him as your heir. My heir."
"He's fifteen, Varang. He's not ready to lead anyone but himself," Quaritch's voice was a low growl. "He needs to be a soldier before he can be a commander."
"He needs to be a symbol before he can be either," she countered.
Spiders body began to fail in the boys sleep. The last few days had been rough on the boy's body. He started to shake, and the ash on his skin began to flake off, revealing the pale, clammy skin beneath.
Quaritch noticed immediately. He crossed the space in two strides and put a hand on Spider's forehead. The boy was burning up. "Shit."
He looked at Varang. "He's sick."
Varang's expression was unreadable. "The body is weak. The mind is strong. He will fight it."
"He's a human, Varang, not a native," Quaritch snapped, his patience finally snapping. He scooped Spider up, the boy's head lolling against his shoulder. "He needs a healer. We have a medbay."
"The medbay is for your soldiers," Varang said, her voice cold. "He is one of us now. He will be healed by our ways."
Quaritch hesitated, looking at Spider's flushed face and the tremors wracking his small body. He was torn between the cold logic of the mission and the fierce, primal urge to protect his son. "Your ways could kill him."
"Or they could make him stronger," Varang said, her eyes glinting in the firelight.
“I’m not risking my son. My only son. on your ‘ways’” Quaritch snapped. He cradled the boy, who was now muttering in his sleep, delirious with fever.
The sudden, violent heaving seized Spider’s small frame. Quaritch barely had time to shift him before the boy was sick, a thin, bitter stream of bile and water staining the furs. The acrid smell filled the hut, sharp and humiliating. Spider didn't even wake fully, just a shuddering groan escaping his lips as his body betrayed him. He lay limp, a mess of sweat and sickness, utterly spent.
Varang watched in concern. This was not the fire she wanted to temper him in. This was a weakness that could not be beaten out of him, a sickness that could not be honed into a weapon. This was her first time dealing with the human body’s limits up close.
"He needs water," she said, her voice losing its predatory edge for a moment. She grabbed a skin and poured a small amount into a wooden cup.
Quaritch took it, his expression grim. He propped Spider up, careful not to jostle him too much. "Hey, kid," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Drink."
Spider's eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. He coughed, a weak, rattling sound. "No..."
"Drink," Quaritch commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. He brought the cup to Spider's lips.
Spider turned his head away, a stubborn, childish gesture. "Don't want..."
Quaritch's patience snapped. "For once in your life, just do what I say," he growled, his frustration boiling over. He pinched Spider's nose, forcing the boy's mouth open, and poured a small amount of water in. Spider sputtered and choked, but some of it went down.
Varang watched, a flicker of something unreadable in her golden eyes. "He is strong," she said, her voice quiet. "He fights even when he has no strength to fight with."
Quaritch didn't answer.
“We do not have many children here. Many do not survive, but this is something else.” she said. She looked at the boy, a genuine look of concern on her face.
Quaritch laid Spider back down on the furs, this time on a cleaner section. "He's human, Varang. He's fragile. He's not built for this."
"then we will just have to train him in what he is built for," she countered, but her usual conviction was gone, replaced by a thoughtful frown.
The next few hours were a blur of fever and delirium. Spider drifted in and out of consciousness, his body wracked with chills and sweats. Quaritch stayed by his side, a silent, brooding presence. He wiped the boy's face with a damp cloth, forced water down his throat, and listened to his ragged breathing. Varang watched from a distance, her usual confidence shaken. She had never seen a sickness like this. It was a quiet, insidious enemy, one that could not be fought with a blade or a bow.
As the night wore on, Spider's fever seemed to break. The tremors subsided, and his breathing grew more even. He was still pale and weak, but the immediate danger had passed.
Quaritch let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
“Dad?” Spider whispered, his voice a dry, raspy croak.
Quaritch froze. The word, a simple, instinctual cry from a sick child, hit him like a physical blow. He had never heard Spider call him that before. It was a punch to the gut, a flood of something he couldn't name, a surge of protectiveness so fierce it almost scared him.
“I’m here,” he said, his voice gruff. He reached out and, for the first time, placed a gentle hand on Spider's forehead. The boy's skin was still warm, but it was no longer burning.
Spider didn't pull away. He leaned into the touch, a small, trusting gesture that made Quaritch's heart ache. He was just a kid. A scared, sick kid who wanted his dad.
A sudden, fierce wave of anger washed over Quaritch. Anger at Jake Sully for leaving this boy, at Neytiri for her hatred, at the whole damn planet for being so hostile. But most of all, anger at himself. For taking him, for bringing him here, for letting Varang's ambition and his own ego put this fragile, trusting child in harm's way.
Varang watched them, her expression unreadable. She saw the change in Quaritch, the softening of his features, the raw, unguarded emotion in his eyes. A weakness.
A weakness she could use against the man if needed. But perhaps not one she needed to break, but one she could twist to her own ends. She saw a future where Quaritch's paternal instincts, his human need to protect, could be funneled into a more savage guardianship. A god protecting his chosen one, not a father comforting a son.
"He needs proper rest," she said, her voice a low, purring interruption of the quiet moment. "Away from the filth."
She stood and stripped the soiled furs from the floor with a sharp, decisive movement. She carried them outside and returned with a new, thick pile of fresh furs, laying them out by the fire, away from the cold, damp wall.
She then produced a small, carved wooden pot and a thin, bone needle. "This will help," she said, kneeling beside Spider.
Quaritch's eyes narrowed. "What is that?"
"A gift from Eywa," she said, though the word sounded like a curse on her lips. "A sleeping draft. It will give him the deep rest he needs to heal. His body must be allowed to rebuild."
She dipped the needle in the pot, coating it with a dark, sticky resin. Without waiting for a response, she took Spider's arm, finding a prominent vein. Spider, barely conscious, flinched weakly.
"Hey," Quaritch started, a low warning in his voice.
"It is a small thing," Varang said, her gaze meeting his, a silent challenge passing between them. "A pinprick. It will not harm him. It will help."
She didn't wait for his permission. With a quick, practiced motion, she pricked the skin. Spider flinched again, then went limp, a deep sigh escaping his lips as the potent substance took hold. His breathing deepened, becoming slow and regular. He was truly asleep.
Quaritch watched, a muscle in his jaw working. He didn't like it. He didn't like the loss of control, the introduction of another unknown element into the boy's system. But he also couldn't deny the result. Spider was finally resting, truly resting, the kind of rest he desperately needed.
"See?" Varang said, her voice a soft, triumphant murmur. "He is safe. He is healing. And we are watching over him."
She settled back on her heels, her golden eyes on Quaritch. "You worry too much, Miles. You see only the fragility of his human form. I see the strength of the spirit within. A spirit that will one day rule this clan. With you at its side. Now it is time to rest.”
Quaritch didn't move for a long moment, just watching the steady rise and fall of Spider's chest.
He then lay down on the furs, careful not to disturb the boy. He didn't touch him, but he was close, a silent, watchful guardian. The fire crackled, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls of the hut. He was a father. And he was a weapon. And for the first time, he wasn't sure which part of him was more dangerous.