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Saturday, May 13, 2017

Chapter 22, Red Sky In Mourning


Ten years before this tale


The seven-year-old boy runs through the flap of the tent, the taunts from the other children loud in her ears.  His nose if bloodied and he has a number of bruises, and he has been crying.  She says nothing to him, but she hands him a piece of wet linen, which he uses to wipe the blood from his face.

Three years later


The cries of the children bring her outside the tent at a run.  Her son has knocked a boy down in the sand and pummels another boy mercilessly, expressing his rage with each blow, earning respect with each strike; it is the way of the people.  He has learned well in three years and rarely has to fight anymore, and when he does, he fights to win, no matter what it takes.

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Her mind returns from it's wandering and she lifts her tear-stained face towards the rising sun, her eyes closed against the intense glare.  She raises her voice to the reddened sky, her keen of misery and despair ringing loud across the sands, echoing across the dunes; it is as if the desert shares her pain.

She grieved for him last night, and the three previous nights, as she will grieve for him for the next three nights.  It is the old way of her people, not practiced nearly as much as it once was, but her right nonetheless; she has earned this, and she will not fail to honour him.

Dried droplets of her blood surround her; staining the sand to a deep, dark sienna.  She raises the short bladed ceremonial dagger to her forearm and makes a quick cut, allowing more blood to flow into the hungry sand, darkening it further as her mournful cries increase in intensity.

From the camp on the other side of the large dune from where she sits, pouring her agony into the skies and onto the sands, her husband waits, uttering no sound; his eyes, appearing at least a century older than just a few short days ago, stare unseeingly into the distance.

If one were to observe him closely, which would be considered extremely rude in this society, the lines around his eyes would appear to grow deeper with each of his wife's agonized cries.  In his hand are six arrows, gripped so tightly that, if you were close enough, you could hear the wood of their shafts cracking each time the woman wails.

He too is in mourning, and, though it is more stoic than that of his wife's, it is no less and his heart is broken as well.

Their culture, as much as they revere it, is the cause of their pain.  You see, they have lost their only child, a son.  They raised this boy to manhood, watched him grow, nurtured him, taught him, and loved him.  He was everything to them; their reason for being, and either of them would have died to protect him.  He was their future.

As with all male children in their clan, their child underwent the Trials of Manhood, a series of twenty-two tasks designed to test the young male just entering manhood.  Some trials are extremely difficult, even deadly at times, others are purely instructional, the design of all twenty-two are to prepare the young man for the rigors and difficulties of being a man of the Tehir people.

Their son, through blood and pain, completed all twenty-two of the trials, and because of this, he is gone.  They do not see it this way, they hold no bitterness towards the beliefs of the people; they harbour only pain from the loss of their only son.

Though adopted and not born to them their love for their son was no less, in fact, due to K'miza being unable to bear children to Garrone, their love for their son was probably more precious than with most parents.

Garrone makes the trip up into the dunes, intent on bringing his wife back to their tent, which now seems so empty with the loss of their son.  Deep in his soul, he wishes he could express his grief as his wife does.  But that is not their way.

As he reaches K'Miza he helps her to her feet and she leans heavily against him.  He feels her weakness, picks her off her feet, and carries her back to their tent.  She has lost so much life in so short a time, and he worries for her.

She sobs softly against his shoulder as she allows him to carry her home, and his hearts breaks just a little bit more.  As he places her on their sleeping mats, he goes to the small cooking area and makes her a cup of tea.

As she sips tiredly at her tea, she looks deep into her husbands' eyes.  "Garrone," she says.  "What will happen to our son?  What will he become without his people?" 

Garrone looks sadly at his wife.  "K'Miza, our son will be what he was meant to be, nothing more, nothing less.  It is the way of it."


Garrone looks lovingly at the woman he adores and respects so much, takes her hand in his, and says, "Radeek will survive."