• Just so you know: "regular speech: "Nuju's bird talk" thoughts Just to clear that up.

    Father and Son: a Bionicle Fanfiction


    Vakama tapped the door to Nuju’s hut with his firestaff. “Nuju?”

    A sharp whistle assaulted his ears. After a thousand years of ‘conversations’ with the bird-speaking Turaga, Vakama had learned enough to know that Nuju was telling him to ‘go away.’ He sighed and opened the door anyway. “Nuju, it’s been a week. You need to come out sometime.”

    There was no reply. All the curtains were drawn, and there wasn’t so much as a lightstone in the place. Nuju was hiding from the world. The news of Matoro’s sacrifice had hit him harder than it had hit anyone.

    The Turaga of Ice was sitting on his bed, on the right side of the one-room hut, his legs pulled up to his chest, his blue eyes staring unseeingly at some point on the ground. Vakama crossed to him in three quick strides and stood next to him, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement that he was even there. Finally, Nuju looked up at him through watery eyes. He looked like he was trying so hard not to cry, and like he’d been trying for the past several hours. Vakama sat next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

    The dam burst. Tears poured from Nuju’s eyes and he buried his face in his hands, Vakama patting his shoulder and holding him reassuringly.

    Once Nuju had regained some semblance of control over himself, he looked at Vakama again. “I...really just want to be alone for now,” he told him in the language of the flying Rahi. Vakama nodded and stood up.

    “I just thought it would be good if you actually saw another being for once,” he said, heading for the door. “Just to remind you that you’re not alone in the universe.” He glanced back at Nuju, who nodded, and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

    When he was gone, Nuju stood up and headed for the ‘kitchen’ part of the house, using his stove to boil a bit of water to make tea. Tea...Matoro always hated tea, he thought with a humourless chuckle. He shook his head, forcing thoughts of Matoro out. Gripping his staff, he went to his fireplace to get a fire going. Maybe it was time to let some light in....

    Light. Light equals Takanuva. Takanuva equals Takua. Takua and Matoro were good friends.... No! He gripped his staff harder. The staff he’d often used to hit Matoro with when he’d said something ridiculous, which was most of the time.... Stop it, Nuju! Stop thinking about him!

    But it was no use. Everything reminded him of Matoro. He didn’t let light into his home because of the aforementioned reminder, but darkness wasn’t much better, because he’d saved the universe from eternal darkness. He wouldn’t open the curtains because then he’d see the stars that Matoro had loved so much; his favourite constellation hung right outside Nuju’s window. He’d even briefly considered moving to the Coliseum with Dume to get out of Ko-Metru, but the Coliseum made him think of the Matoran Spheres, and Matoro was a Matoran.

    Nuju bit back his tears and made his tea, but couldn’t bring himself to drink any. He set it down and returned to sitting on his bed.

    A simple question crossed his mind. It was one of Matoro’s favourites. Why? Tears slipped down his mask again. Why did Matoro have to die? He’d never done anything wrong in his whole life! Why does Mata Nui’s life have to come at such a cost?

    Vakama was back. In truth, he hadn’t gone very far, knowing that his brother would need a shoulder to cry on soon enough. Nuju lifted his tear-stained mask to look at the former maskmaker. “Why, Vakama?” he asked.

    For once, Vakama didn’t have any answers. He wished he did, but no one could really comprehend the will of the Great Spirit.

    His silence spoke volumes. Nuju looked back down at his lap. “I...he was more than just a translator to me, Vakama,” he said quietly. “He was my friend. He was closer to me
    than anyone else was. Kharzani, Vakama, he was like a son to me! And I...I never told him that. And now I never will!”

    There was silence between the two Turaga for a little while, save Nuju’s quiet sobs. Then Vakama stood up and opened the curtains directly across from the bed. Nuju turned his head away; it was nighttime, and there was the Mintao, Matoro’s favourite constellation. How many times had he told the story of that constellation to that Matoran? More than he could count, he was sure. The Mintao was a fearsome demonic Rahi, one who escaped its prison again and again, until a heroic band of Toa defeated it and imprisoned it in the night sky, from where it could never escape. Matoro had loved the story, and was always talking about how maybe the Mintao had reasons for doing the bad things it did. “After all,” he’d say, “Rahi are not just dumb beasts.” And Nuju would smile and nod, and they would continue on their way.

    Vakama’s quiet voice calling his name brought him back to reality. “Come here,” he commanded. Nuju looked away and refused with a sharp click. “I said, come here,” Vakama repeated with feigned patience. There was no arguing with Vakama when his voice got like that. Nuju stood up and went to the window. Vakama pointed at the stars. “Matoro’s spirit star hasn’t gone out.”

    Nuju’s head snapped up. Vakama was right; it was there, nestled between Hewkii and Jaller’s, brighter than the rest of them. He stared; how could this be?

    “Matoro died bringing the Great Spirit back to life. In essence, he became part of Mata Nui’s life force. And Mata Nui is everything.” Nuju looked back at Vakama, unsure of where he was going with this. “That means Matoro will never really be dead; he’ll always be here, as long as Mata Nui is alive.”

    Nuju couldn’t say anything, but Vakama knew he understood. He patted him on the shoulder. “I think I’ll leave the two of you alone for now,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. Then he left, heading back to Ta-Metru, leaving Nuju alone with his thoughts once more.

    And, even though he knew it was childish and illogical, he couldn’t help but turn around as soon as Vakama was gone and ask, in a hopeful voice, “Matoro?”

    “Hello, Turaga.”

    Nuju whirled; sure enough, there was Matoro, in his Matoran form, the form he’d loved the most. Nuju was speechless again. Matoro smiled at him. “I figured you’d be upset.”

    Nuju walked shakily over to Matoro. Then he hit him with his staff. “Ow! Turaga, what was that for?!”

    “For dying and leaving me alone!” he yelled. “Matoro, you...Mata Nui curse it, without
    even a goodbye?”

    “I...I’m sorry, Turaga. I couldn’t. The Mask of Life only granted so much time and so many wishes...”

    “Wishes?”

    “How do you think Jaller and the others got back to Metru Nui safely? The Mask of Life lent me enough power, as I was...” He faltered. “As I was dying, to send them home. But then I thought of you, and I guess it kind of...I don’t know, took pity on me or something, and here I am.”

    “But that was a week ago, Matoro. Why did it take so long for you to come here?”

    “Well, for one thing, I couldn’t appear until you said my name, and you’ve been avoiding speaking for the past week. And even when you did speak, you’d avoid my name. I understand,” he added hastily as Nuju opened his mouth to apologise. “It was probably too painful. But Turaga Vakama’s right. I’ll always be here.” He gestured around them, then pointed to Nuju’s heartlight. “And I’ll always be here, too. I promise.”

    Nuju pulled the Matoran into a tight hug. “Matoro, I...you...you were the closest thing to family I had.”

    Matoro’s eyes teared up. He’d always thought of Nuju as more than just his employer, or the village elder. He’d never voiced it, since he’d figured it would earn him a smack for his precociousness, but he now said, “Turaga, I always thought of you as a father to me.” He choked on the word ‘father,’ but Nuju didn’t notice, or pretended not to. He just hugged Matoro tighter, like he would never let go.

    Eventually, though, Matoro released the Turaga and stepped back. “I haven’t got a lot of time left,” he admitted. Already, his form was starting to fade a little, turning back into the sparkles of light that made up Mata Nui’s life force.

    Nuju’s eyes widened. “No! Matoro, no! You can’t go! I...I won’t lose you again! I refuse!”

    “Turaga...”

    “No! Please, just stay here!”

    “Nuju!” Matoro said sharply. Nuju jerked back a little in surprise. In all the years he’d known Matoro, he’d never spoken sharply to anyone...or called him by his name. “Listen to yourself! You can’t be so selfish! The Great Spirit needs me.” He looked down at his feet, which were rapidly disappearing. “I...I don’t want to go either,” he said quietly. “But if it’s to save everyone I love, I don’t mind. Life will go on. But I...I...I’ll miss you, Turaga!” he cried, launching himself at Nuju again. They held each other and cried until Nuju noticed he wasn’t holding anything anymore.

    “No!” he shouted. Then a voice came to him.

    “Goodbye, and thank you for everything...Father.”

    Nuju choked back another sob and looked out into the night sky, at the Mintao and Matoro’s spirit star. He smiled through his tears, and spoke in the Basic tongue, for the ears of one being only.

    “Goodbye, Matoro...my son.”