794.II, 8 Meoii: the Day of the Dead in Lanten

A day for the living 

    The Day of the dead was my final day in Lanten. As the moon rose to its largest point, it marked the beginning of this day of celebration and reverence. A major event which happens every 504 days or so. This year we were lucky, for as the moon would appear in early afternoon, the celebration would last through most of the night.

      Everyone was ready for this day. The streets had been wiped clean of grime, giving this city a much needed renewed face. I was shocked to see the colorful patchwork of these underpriviledged neighborhoods, usually well hidden in the mud and rain. Everyone was on guard for the moonrise, and when it came, it was welcomed with growing waves of cheers. In a minute, the silent howls of the city turned to an endless rumble, as we started chanting prayers to Paal, the god of death.

These prayers, filled with love, are a call for our dead relatives. We chant in hopes that Paal would let the lost souls come back home, for a brief moment. We hope that they can come see us again for the duration of this day where the lunar heaven is so close.

    The tension in the air was palpable. We watched the moon almost reachable by hand, hoping to grab the hand of a mother, a brother, a lover, we had prepared for this very chance, we had prepared them a place at the table. Prayers and chants were soon accompanied by weeps and cries. As I started to feel the memories of my lost family, short as they be, my heart throbbed and I couldn't avoid tears. And I was not the only one. For memories are powerful and painful, and everyone's catharsis becomes contagious, and becomes part of a whole people of weeps. I fell on my knees, surrounded by people hugging each other, the city's rumble still strong in my ears, and I found no sign of presence from any departed.

    Slowly, everyone wiped their tears, one by one we rose back up, the street calmed down. We had let go of all tension and emotion, all at once in a magnificent and desperate hymn to death and life. Or at least that's what it felt like at the time.

    Then, people took to their homes, to come back out with provisions, tableware, drinks and food. It was a feast after all, and a feast worth sharing with everyone around. Neighbours with neighbours, families with strangers, everyone in the vicinity gathered in a spontaneous buffet, opened to all. This scene could be seen all around the city, a wild and uncontrolled display of welcome and generosity. I was invited with everyone else, and one of the ladies who had taken to themselves to bring organisation offered me a pint of grain ale which tasted quite amazing. The people of this region really have an art for quality beverages.

    The feast was great, I felt part of a group for once. It was as if they hadn't noticed my hair or anything, as if these people had known me for long. I did catch quite the attention with my previous adventures, and almost turned this evening into a long storytime session. Most ov them had never left the region, and my stories of jungles, deserts, snowy mountains were utter fictions for them. Luckily a passing band took their attention elsewhere as I was about to run out of stories. And the night ended in dances, jokes, spectacles, and a lot, an awful lot of booze...

Leen