[Flashback] Funeral Rites (Solicah)

[Ronan]

Timestamp: 36th of Autumn, 500 AV

Ronan bent down to pick up a suitable stone for the cairn, but found himself sat on the floor crying. He felt like a little girl. He was fifteen; a man grown by Drykas standards. But the pain would not go away, it would not numb like people said it would.

Only a few days back, his parents bodys had been recovered from the Grasses. The adults said it had most likely been Glassbeaks - the same foul creatures that had taken his brother's life not twelve seasons ago.

Worst of all, no one seemed to care like he did. Death was a Drykas thing, or so they said. The Sea of Grass was a dangerous place, and you had to bend, or you'd break.

Well I hate them all, he thought miserably. He wondered if he'd ever recover. Right now, it didn't feel like it.

[Solicah]

Solicah had been accompanying his family on rites for two years prior to the Windsong burial. In that time he had grown quite comfortable and familiar with the routine, and as the rest of the family tended to the bodies he would wander around each Pavilion they served within, and observe how each one worked. How the people and colors differed between each family, and how everybody coped in their own way with each individual death. He was expected to know intimately the topic of loss, and how to speak with those that recently lost loved ones. He still had much to learn.

He heard the sobbing before he saw the older boy. The sobs seemed almost angry, not just sad. This caused a tightness in Solicah's chest, and a keen pity in his mind. He explored toward the sound and eventually spotted him, the young man crippled on the ground, leaking liquid sorrow from his eyes. The man had found a relatively secluded spot to indulge in his grief, hidden behind a tuft of tall grasses, on the opposite side of the Pavilion from the rest of the family gathering rocks.

Solicah considered at first that the man might want to be left alone, but then decided that even so, a little compassion might be able to help. He decided to go to the man, and offer him some brief comfort, if it was well received he would stay, if not he would leave the man to his solitude. Quietly he looked around himself, picking a small flowering weed from the grasses around his feet, snapping it near the base and straightening back up with it in hand. He gave little attention to which of the small blue flowers he plucked, ending up with a small quaint one, with only middle grade intensity.

Lightly he padded forward toward the man, who was well enthralled in his own thoughts, giving Solicah some time before he was noticed. With only a very slight hesitation he approached the stone by the man, bent over and picked it up. He waited for the man to look at him and so he could give a smile. Though, even in his smile Solicah's eyes could not completely shake the gloom that surrounded the man before him, clinging to him and lingering to everything that could hear his sobs. Solicah wished he could help with that, but knew that wasn't really his job, that nobody could let go of grief on another's command. That was the first thing he was taught, and as such the smile wasn't intended to cheer anybody up, but to lend some element of strength or hope to an otherwise dark world. Drykas did not ignore death, or get over it, they accepted it with strength, and pulled together with what family remained.

His bright, heavy lashed eyes beat innocently, as his round cheeks grew to make room for his infectious smile. With one hand he reached up and itched slightly at his golden curl covered scalp, and with the other held the stone, the homely blue flower perched upon it, out to the crying man.

[Ronan]

In his sorrow, he didn't notice the young man, about his age, approaching. When he settled down beside him, he looked up slowly, sniffing and wiping the tears away. He couldn't let someone else see him in this state.

The first thing Ronan noticed was that the man had comforting eyes. He softened at the sight. And then the man held out the stone for him, a small blue flower sitting on top of it. Ronan couldn't help but smile at the gesture.

"Thank you," he said slowly, "but I'd rather be left alone."

The man seemed so bright, so happy. Ronan remembered when he had been like that. He and Darus had played games in the city, running around the tents and playing tag, and then when they had gotten a little older, they had ventured into the Grasses. Not far, but far enough for their mother.

They had been halcyon days. And days he could never reclaim.

[Solicah]

Solicah's smile didn't change, and he didn't make a sound. He just nodded, and set the stone and the flower down in front of the crying man. He knew he would see the man again soon at the funeral rite, so he didn't mind being shooed off. He just stood up straight and walked slowly off.

The remainder of the afternoon Solicah spent some time walking about the camp, and helping get some dried herbs wrapped in twine for the rite. His mind didn't travel very far from the family he saw in grieving, especially the young man on his own. He asked the presiding priestess there what he might be able to do to help, but she gave no practical advice that Solicah understood, so he decided to try and focus his attentions on the rite itself. If he could not help the people left behind, at least he could help by being a part of the service that ensures the dead rejoin the web.

Everybody was called to gather at the site the burial would be held just before sunset, the bodies had already been wrapped in pure white cloth, representing the diamond clan. Both bodies lay half buried side by side, not an inch of skin visible. The wind held a pungent herbal smell in it, much like sage, but no hint of decay. The burial site itself was chosen by the family, and rest at the apex of the tallest hill in the area.

Solicah looked over those attending, each standing by their pile of stones, ready to bring them forward when the time came to construct the cairn. He specifically looked for the young man from before, lifting up the corner of the thin veil over his face to see better.

Each member of his Pavilion wore over their face a very thin blue veil which would represent their capacity as priests and priestesses of Leth, there only in the spirit of serving him, and assisting the change of the deceased from living to denizen of the web. All to better their journey back into the living grassland upon reincarnation. Solicah of course knew this by heart, having heard it many times, often in the same rite.

Along with their veils the Moondirge Pavilion stood mostly in loose fit garb, freeing the movement and spirit. Adorning their bodies were a series of expensive and often antique pieces of sapphire and silver jewelry. All wore their most expensive and presentable clothing during rites, in order to show respect for their most revered tradition, Leth, and the fallen. Some like Solicah wore much clothing, others wore less. Because, no wind mark, no matter the location on the body was covered during the funeral rite.

[Ronan]

Understanding, the young man left him alone. Ronan felt a pang of regret. He would have liked someone to talk to, someone to pour his heart out to. But when he was like this, he just lashed out and pushed people away. He had done the same upon Darus' death.

He forced himself to get up, and collected stones for the cairn for the next few hours. The time of the burial came quickly enough, and he found himself standing besides members of the Pavilion he didn't even know. He had heard whispers from them. Whispers that the Windsong's would not last much longer without Michaeus.

He wore the ceremonial garb, pulled into it by an aunty he had never spoken to before. Had it taken his parents deaths for them to bother speaking to him, he thought sourly?

The stones he had collected were sat in a stout pile by his feet, but his eyes could not leave his parents, covered in white cloth, and led next to each other. He felt a momentous pain and sorrow wash over him. His throat dried up at the sight. He even found it difficult to stand.

"They''ll be here with us," one of his relatives whispered, "when they're in the Web."

Ronan bit his tongue. That did not make him feel any better. What good were they in the Web, where he could never touch them, see them. Where he could never talk with them again?

He forced himself to look away, watching the Drykas of Moondirge, in their curious but traditional dress. They had been helping his Pavilion with the burial rites. Everything had to be good and proper for an Ankal.

For a father.

He stood, tense, and waited for the ceremony to proceed.

[Solicah]

Solicah found the man quickly, for his relatives seemed to have ushered him to the front of the gathering. His cache of stones seemed good to Solicah, and that somehow made him feel better. A soft hand touched his shoulder.

He stood alone by the priestess that would be running the rite. Her husband, Solicah's uncle keeled on a pad before what would become the cairn. And, the three others stood opposite the family of him, facing them all. One of them had a flute in hand, but all of them had ready voices.

Solicah dropped his veil at the touch, and looked through it up toward the priestess, who seemed noncritical of his actions. Simply wanting his attention she handed him a smudge of white sage, herbs wrapped in fine twine. The smudge was already lit, wisps of fragrant smoke rolling up into the amber sunlight, quickly beginning its descent.

"Our people, and our land are one." The priestess began resiting the canon speech, in a crystal clear voice, which took on a certain poetry of sound when spoken in Pavi, as well as a certain flow or dance of the body. "And in this unity we are blessed. For even death does not break our steadfast bond to one another.

As our bodies sink into the roots of the sea, so do our souls. Our bodies give way to new life, just as our spirit fills that life anew." Her speech continued, praising the eternal cycle of life the Drykas shift through constantly, like a dance within their precious sea of grass.

The sun shifted downward, engaging in a cycle of it's own. The air about their gathering turned a pale pink at first. Then, upon the pink ripening into a vivid and passionate orange. Upon which Solicah took his queue. He stepped forward toward the family, as the Priestess spoke poetic beckoning, "Come forth hearts that will ever be strung entwine with our beloved Michaeus, and Jakeyna. Build the foundation of their anchor, and help sink them into the web."

To these words Solicah approached Ronan, and took his free hand, letting him hold his first stone in the other, as the the ritual mandated and was explained to all present. Through his thin veil he looked the man in the eyes, and led him forward to his uncle which would receive the stone and set it as the first stone of the cairn's foundation. Just as they traveled forward the sound of the flute was carried in upon the wings of the wind. The shrill sound shaped the first dirge of the night around it, the deep sullen voices of the two accompanying Moondirges pitching in a touching lament to the wavering sound.

Solicah did not sing at this point, instead the young child held his full attention on the man he led forth. Once the stone was handed off he took him to the water basin beside them, encouraging him to drink.

The priestess continued her speech as the dirge began, and the boys walked linked at the hands. "Lay forth the foundation of community, and drink well of Leth's blood that would prove change in us all. Let one body fill us all. Let it carry us forward, as will our memories."

[Ronan]

He listened to the speech half heartedly, finding the whole concept hard to believe. They were not here. That was all Ronan knew for sure.

The young man from earlier began to approach him to his surprise. He had not realised the man to be a Moondirge. He took him to another, and Ronan carried the first stone of the Cairn. A single tear rolled down his cheek. It seemed like he was reliving their deaths, and the passing of the stone haunted him. A single act that seemed to unravel his history, past receding.

After it was done, all eyes upon him, the boy took his hand and led him to the water basin. Ronan stared into the small pool of reflection. His brother stared back at him. Darus... I... I need your strength today.

By the God's, he wanted to just run away and curl up and cry. But he couldn't. He had to stay for tradition's sake. He drank quickly from the cool water, attempting to compose himself somewhat, and turned back round to the boy, still clasping his hand tightly. Now they would begin to build up the cairn for his parents.

[Solicah]

Solicah held fast to the young man's hand. Ritual stated that he let go then, and allow the man to walk back to the gathering, to collect his next rock, which he would bring forward once the others gathered delivered their first. Solicah did not move, however, nor allow his eyes to terry from the man's face. His own eyes began to water under his thin veil, as he peered sullenly at the damp path, carved by a single heartbreaking tear that had abandoned Ronan's emerald eye to slope down the curvature of his young face, and seep into the corner of his wide lips held in a bitter but resolute quiver.

Solicah, with disregard for his post tugged on the man hand. He couldn't let go, not to just watch him walk alone back to the empty gathering to collect a stone that meant nothing to Ronan. Solicah was a Moondirge, and that meant to him that he must put his duties, and the spirit of his people before everything. Perhaps that even meant tradition, in certain cases. The tugs lead Ronan away from the Basin, only a few feet closer to the other dirges, to allow others to take his place and drink after handing over their stone.

The first word Solicah spoke to the boy came spilling forth in a subtle suggestion, careful not to break the ambiance of his Priestesses words, and the heavy dirge permeating the chromatic air surrounding them. "Dance." His voice was undeveloped, childish even, and the tone almost a hushed whisper. The word however carried flawlessly from his lips to Ronan's ears, weaving in tandem with the words of the dirge, which Solicah knew the ebbs of intimately by then.

With that, not daring let go of the young man's hand Solicah swung his other paw, containing the smudge, outward from them both, the smoke trailing with it's pungent odor along with it. He relaxed his knees slightly, pulling them closer together, and began rotating his narrow shoulder's slowly around. The rotation followed downward along his stomach, flaring out again at his hips, which were adorned by a heavy blue sash. The movement was no as liquid in motion as the style would demand, but the child understood the basics, and managed to at least move in synchronization with the dirge around him.

Solicah's attempt to draw Ronan out was made with the intention to encourage his grief. Drykas died, for the grasslands were a dangerous place. Many Drykas grew numb and callus to the pain of loss, using their peoples stories to justify the loss, to make it insignificant. His Pavilion taught the opposite, loss was meant to be painful, and that pain was meant to be felt with every fiber of ones soul and body. Without pain in loss, you can never open yourself to true love in possession, and familial bonds. Solicah wanted to share this lesson with Ronan in the only way he could think how, through his body, and his movements. He attempted, though clumsily to manifest Ronon's loss within him, to give Ronan a physical focus for his grief, and even express that grief himself. Solicah's eyes remained steady on Ronan's as he moved, intensely demanding attention, as he knew Ronan's grief did.

[Ronan]

Ronan looked at the man as he tugged him away. He was supposed to let go. But there was compassion behind those kind eyes - and it seemed a real desire to care, to nourish, and to help.

He pulled him away from the basin, and Ronan did not resist. "Dance," he said quietly. It was a Drykas tradition. An act which moved the body closer to the soul, or so they told him. Others began clapping their hands, filling the air with a rhythm, both sombre and upbeat at the same time.

As the Moondirge boy swung his arms, and began to move, Ronan stayed awkwardly still. He didn't know what to do. And it seemed stupid, dancing on today of all days.

He'd never been a dancer.

But as the moments ticked by, and others pledged their stones to the cairn, Ronan thought of his brother. Darus would be up dancing. Darus would be letting himself follow the rituals for his parents sake.

So clumsily, Ronan tried to copy the boy. He did not move as vigorously, but he tried. And as he danced, he let more tears out. He felt like he had the whole Suvan Sea in his eyes. There was no end to it.

[Solicah]

Syna's last light faded with deep shades of multichromatic colors, sinking into the unmoving horizon. No mortal force in the world capable of even slowing the inevitable cycle.

Solicah's body ungulated, and shook along with Ronan's, and as they both fell deeper into the raw emotions engulfing them all so did the music escalate, and the beat quicken.

The cairn which grew slowly at first now seemed to bloom forth from the cold ground all on it's own accord, as the Moondirge man poured all of his skill and passion into it's creation. The never ending rotation of mourners conveying the stones forward, a piece of each one of them left imbued into the grave marker. At the base of this marker lay the stone of their only living son, firmly placed between both corpses, parallel in location to their hearts.

The priestess' words turned to heartbreaking song as the day turned to night, and she threw forth hails of thanks and pleads for blessing to the god Leth, who rose in the glorious shape of a new moon above them. The night was clad tight in the sheath of darkness, the mysterious and unknown clinging fast to each attendant's skin. That darkness shaking, and rumbling to the sound of the deep voices of the dirge and wailing trills of the flute.

The moon stood at it's echelon of height as the rite came to it's peak. A cacophony of sounds pushed it's way into each other their souls, with the Priestess praise of the fallen Drykas clearly projecting from it's center. Everybody had taken to dancing, their bodies reaching, and in some cases surpassing exhaustion. The rite was both physically and spiritually demanding and each member was pushing themselves to the limit for the sake of the dead. For they all new that life was fleeting in the grasslands, and the rite they danced for now would be the rite that would be held for them one inevitable night. All under the watchful, and eternal gaze of Leth.

Solicah's body ached, and sweat beaded across his light skin, almost beginning to glow in the nights shadowy embrace. Sheening, much like the tears of the young man he held. His body screamed to stop, but something uncontrollable pulled through him, something that demanded he move or burst with heart shattering force. So he did, he allowed that intense energy to funnel into him, to push through his body with demanding pressure, puppeteer his expressive dance to continue far beyond his normal limits.