Cade 6

“You've never been to a Grand Remembrance?” Whistle asked. His voice was incredulous. “They're great. Free food, lots of people... no one brings their coin pouch so it's not as good as it could be, but... Hell, even Pole goes!”

“Isn't it...” Cade's voice trailed off. After a moment, he blurted “Isn't it a funeral?” Shine gave deep, gravelly laugh.

“Sure, but for who?” he asked. Cade looked puzzled.

“I don't know,” he said. Shine only nodded, as if that were the point. Pole stood, straightening his woolen vest. All of the boys were in their finest. Shine's boots didn't even have holes in them, Cade reflected.

“Let's go,” Whistle said. “Let's go let'sgo lesgo.” He was practically jumping up and down in his eagerness to get underway. Pole ascended first, followed by Whistle and Cade. Shine brought up the rear, climbing well despite his bulky frame. Soon they were out into the cold. Autumn rain had given way to sheets of ice and occasional light dustings of snow. The cold was sharp, but Cade's anticipation made the walk a short one, and soon they could hear the sound of a large, crackling fire. The Central Market had been cleared out, and in the middle of the square burned a bonfire perhaps twice again as tall as Cade. Large pigs, skewered on spits, surrounded the fire at a distance. Each pig had a minder, whose job, Whistle explained, was to turn them constantly as they cooked. On the north side of the square, a stage had been erected. It was empty, but for a large wooden casket and a small band of musicians playing stringed instruments. The casket was open and propped up so that the dead man seemed to watch over the proceedings. The musicians played solemn music as people stood in small groups around the fire speaking softly. Cade shot Whistle a glance.

“Oh, yes, this seems lively,” he hissed.

“Give it time,” Whistle replied sagely, as he turned to Pole. “How does he not know this?” Pole shrugged, and rubbed his hands together briskly. The heat from the fire was intense, pushing back the cold of winter's dusk. After a moment, Pole cleared his throat and pointed briefly at the stage. A tall, strapping young man was ascending the stairs. As he made his way front and center stage, the musicians softened their music but did not cease. The young man stood silently for a moment, eyes closed, then raised his head toward the sky and threw his arms out wide.

“Who among us shall not pass from this Earth?” He called. “As surely as we are put here shall we depart.” His voice began to lilt, rising and falling gently at first, more sharply as he continued. “Though our first duty is to live well, our last is to die well,” he continued. The rhythm of his speech became exaggerated and poetic. “So has this man passed, and for such a passing we honor him.” Cade noticed the music picking up tempo and becoming more lively. “Though men grieve at times such as these, it is a selfish grief.” The lilting left his voice now, as he lowered his head to address the crowd. He called out, commandingly, “Let us cast it aside, and rejoice in remembrance of a life well spent!” At this point the musicians picked it up another notch and the minders began carving the pork.

After a short time in line the gang stood, holding skewers of the sweet, smokey pork. They passed the time talking and watching couples move onto and off of the makeshift dance floor. Soon the sun was down. The pork was eaten, and the moon had risen. A thin, gaunt man with a long white beard and deep, sunken eyes made his way onto the stage. The lively music slowed, then stopped. When the musicians began to play again, the music was somber and low once again. Everyone turned to face the stage, and the ancient man began to speak in a language Cade wasn't familiar with. Two large men in plate mail climbed onto the stage and moved to either side of the coffin, stretching their hands out and pressing them together in a way that made Cade sick to his stomach. Off to his left, Cade heard Whistle groan.