[centre]
[hider=Summary]
This post occurs: 0 years Post Realta
Shaqmar and Layla need to be cremated so the Azad can select a new Qa'id Adheem
But it appears that Surayka has donned the traditional red and black dress of a widow seeking justice for her departed husband (and tradition has it that God gets very angry and punishes those who cause widows to don the red and black) -
 and so long as she grives for Shaqmar, he cannot be cremated.
The Azad elders attempt to persuade Surayka's father to convince her to remove the red and black.
He refuses and advises them to cremate Layla and Shaqmar despite Surayka still wearing the red and black.
They do so, and one thousand horses are sacrificed at Layla and Shaqmar's cremation. Layl is amongst those horses.
The people enter their tents for the entire day so as to give the spirits of the dead time to rise to heaven.
When night falls, dread grips Surayka who emerges from her tent. 
She looks up to the heavens and finds that the stars are falling (i.e. The Realta invasion).
It seems that yet again God will punish those who made a widow grieve.[/hider]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/7wTgBvf.jpg?1[/img][/centre]

It haunted the camp by night, a creature of silence, darkness, and wispy blood. Wherever it marched, there came with it despair and grief, and the guards would back off or look away from the manifestation of misery. It had haunted the Azad camp ever since the pyre had been built for Shaqmar and Layla, and they could not proceed with the cremation of the [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] and his beloved until the black- and red-clad creature made peace with its grief. Dressing thus and haunting the moon-stalked nights was a grieving custom for widows whose men had met with particularly abnormal deaths - except that Shaqmar had not left behind a widow, nor had he willed that he should live to be a widower.

And yet, these Azad nights were haunted by the forgotten-left-behinds, they were stalked by the red-black terror that wailed in silence and gave all a reason to flinch away though it did not so much as move to strike. No, it was not so much the mourning Surayka that they feared, but a weeping widow - for all knew that the Eternal Sky itself shook and trembled, and grew furious and vengeful, at the cries of a widow who thought herself oppressed. Woe! Woe to you, oh widowmakers!
None forgot the fate of Jurhama's killers, upon whom fell the anger of that ancient rider's widow. She had donned the red and black and would see no living being for days - even weeks - until the Eternal Sky was so moved by her misery that it brought forth from the north a creature pulsating with red fury and vengeance. It was an ant-like creature larger than any man, easily able to overpower even the most stubborn and fearsome stallions. Jurhama's killers had nowhere to hide, and they could not hope to outpace the screeching terror brought forth by the Eternal Sky. With her husband so avenged, Jurhama's widow - whose name, carried from one Rukban generation to the next, was Ariha - removed the red and black. The strange creature did not remain in Rukbany long thereafter, leaving for the south. But Ariha became in her own time a much respected and feared shamaness, with most shamans tracing back their lineage in some way to her. And so, Surayka's donning of the red and black was rightly reason for great fear and anxiety.

The elders of the Azad met repeatedly over the days following her having donned it, pressing her old father to speak with her during the day and have her return to reason - she was not Shaqmar's widow, after all, she had no right to don the red and black at his death. The old Ja'ikae had watched silently the growth of his daughter's affections for her Shaqmar from the dawn of her days. And in those early days, he had thought it the natural progression of things that Shaqmar should one day accept her into his life, and dedicate some of his days and some of his nights to her in exchange for the years and days and nights she dedicated to none but him. Even when Layla stole Shaqmar's eyes and tongue and heart, and all his days and nights and sighs, he had thought it would not be too long before he turned his eyes on Surayka and allowed her some of the happiness and joy that all humans were, in their short time in this world, entitled to. But Surayka's lot, more so than anyone, was silent sadness and pain, silent heartache, silent self-sacrifice.

'Let the woman grieve, for by the Eternal Sky she has been Shaqmar's widow long before he died.' Old Ja'ikae told them.
'But what of the pyre? We cannot leave Shaqmar and Layla like this for much longer, the Azad cannot go without a [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] much longer.'
'Then do not wait on her to remove the red and black. Light up the pyre, give your allegiance to a new [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i], and let the widow grieve long as she needs,' Ja'ikae told them. The elders looked around uncertainly. They knew the traditions well, a man could not be cremated so long as a woman donned the red and black for him, and a new [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] could not arise before the previous one had been cremated. But Ja'ikae's words, for whatever reason, seemed to have weight among them and they eventually came to a consensus in alignment with his suggestion.

And so on a night dark as the deed that released into the abyss the souls of Layla and Shaqmar, the people were gathered and the flames were lit, and the silent Surayka stalked forth with Layl behind her. The black stallion had seemed but a mere shade of himself since his rider's passing; his fabled power and the lethal spark that had in bygone times caused men and equines alike to fall before him in worship and awe was all but gone. His noble head was now brought low, his eyes downcast, his hooves dragging, his once untameable black mane had waned. Was this the steed known by the deserts and night, by Rukbany's mounted men? Was this the stallion feared by sword and spear, and even by the pen? No, Layl had withered into the night the very moment the untrue blade had made in his rider's chest a home.

And the women loosed their hair and wailed, and they struck at their chests and thighs, and the men gurgled and growled their grief-song, and they struck at the ground with their feet even as the women struck their heads and chests and ripped at their hair and swayed their heads back and forth so that their hair flew now this way and now that way in a mesmerising letting loose of pure emotion. The wails and the growls, the thumping of earth and the striking of human flesh, the neighs of horses brought forth to the slaughter. It was a night of terrible grief, of great blood-spilling; a farewell worthy of the [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i]. And when the moment was upon them and the deed was done, Surayka lit up the pyre and the thousand slain horses; and the burning of horse flesh and the smoke and the flames and the blaze and- GOD! She fell to her knees before the blaze and stared at it. She did not wail like the women wailed and she did not growl and moan like the men moaned. She was silent, her grief raging in a silent pit unseen in the depths of her heart.

And she remained there, watching the great firestorm light up the night until it seemed like the sun had risen from the earth and all was day. And the smoke rose up, and the men moaned, and the women wailed, and Surayka silent remained, until the one true sun rose on the tired horizon and all departed for their roundtents that they may rest and allow the spirits of the departed to rise in peace. And Surayka likewise rose and, though she little knew what she was doing or where she was or what she was or why she was, found her way to her lonely roundtent and collapsed therein and held back a sob. But she let out a moan and spoke, and a single tear became trapped in her black lashes.

[centre]Peace to the world and all on it, for it is not peace
If the heartstrings of your life are cleft from the heartstrings of mine

It is as though we were created in error and it is as though
It was forbidden upon the world that we should be united

I collected the memories of yesterday's meeting in my lashes,
And I went reigniting them, one by one, on the tired horizons.

There are none so confused as I: the eye runs wet and dry,
Weeping and laughing in the depths of my secret heart...

I forgot from his hand to take back my hand,
Lost my very mind after a brief kiss.

There are none so confused as I: I collapse exhausted
Behind the curtains of my roundtent in illness and heartache.
 
I love this love if it comes to visit us with its fragrance
Oh perfumes make your nest at the door and spill everywhere.[/centre]

And she remained there until the risen sun returned into the earth and all was darkness again. And as she lay there, moaning her verses still and thinking of the departed beloved, there gripped her a feeling of intense fear and dread. Climbing to her feet, she approach the door of the roundtent and looked out into the darkness uncertainly. All was silent (bar the neighing of this horse or the moan of this cow), but all seemed well. With a hesitant step, she emerged from the roundtent and was at once struck by the brightness of the heavens. The moving heavens.

Up above her the stars were out and burning with an intensity never before seen. And they were moving at speed and growing in size and - GOD! The heavens were falling. The Eternal Sky itself was descending upon them. And Surayka's silent wail was no longer silent, and her scream caused all to awaken and emerge. And they looked upon the heavens and fell to their knees, and others looked with horror from the heavens to the wailing Surayka.

Once again the tears of a weeping widow had brought about the wrath of the Eternal Sky. Woe to you, oh widowmakers!