Landing Day
Landing Day is one of the most important celebrations in Thalrassa.
The citizens of the Rakkian Empire celebrate many holy days, but none have quite the significance of Landing Day. Come, adventurer, and learn more about the Arrival, and how Mali pulled dry land up from the waters for the weary people and their king, Kahé.
This is a snippet from A Dread Tide Rising. The crew of the Sparrowhawk put ashore in the Thousand Isles and find themselves just in time for the Landing Day celebration.
Paidric dropped anchor in a sheltered bay on Tua, a small isle supporting little more than a fishing village and several herds of goats. The villagers welcomed them with flower garlands placed around their necks and an invitation to celebrate with them. One by one, the crew found themselves taken by the hand and danced into the growing throng of celebrants.
They had arrived on the eve of Landing Day, and the villagers insisted that the crew participate. As the last of the sun’s light drained from the heavens, bonfires sparked to life along the beach. Everywhere, men and women danced, food was cooked, and voices were raised in song and laughter. Mac found a drink in his hand. A sip and he knew what it was, ohai, a fermented beverage made with pressed fruit and the juice of a particular type of seed called niu. Ohai was potent and went down easily, a fact he had learned several years back with those two twins.
Mac was not the only one enjoying the fruits of the islanders’ labors. Hax and Wynn both held wooden cups of ohai. Pax was drink-free, and Mac had a feeling she would stay that way. She worried it would erode her edge. Under other circumstances, Mac could see her point, but there was no danger here. Not tonight. Landing Day was a time of coming together, reminiscing, and celebrating the year that was. Gorm was also abstaining, although that had less to do with the big man’s worry about threats and more to do with certain vows he had made years ago. For his part, Mac was content to enjoy what the waters brought, namely a cup full of ohai, a night filled with song and stars, and a brief moment in which to forget the larger world.
Eventually, the ebb and flow of humanity subsided. With bellies full of hot food and ohai, the villagers settled on the sandy beach. The flames died down, flickering low, all but one central fire. Surrounded by large pieces of volcanic rock, wood was piled on until the flames leaped high into the night sky. A drum sounded, low, rolling beats echoing out over the water, mingling with the drumbeats from other villages on other islands, all across the archipelago. Being part of something so much greater than oneself was a peculiar feeling.
A cloaked shape shambled toward the fire, back stooped, and hood hiding the face. “Who’s that?” a voice asked near Mac’s elbow. He started briefly, then realized it was Kye. The girl’s eyes were wide as she drank everything in.
He pointed toward the fire and the cloaked figure. “That’s the local priestess of Mali. She’s going to tell of the Arrival.” He looked at her curiously. “They still celebrate Landing Day on Rakka, don’t they?”
Kye shook her head. “Not anymore. The emperor made it a crime a few years ago. Said any worship not of the One God was a sin.”
Not since she was a child, Mac thought, laughing to himself. She was still a child. His humor evaporated when he thought about her other words. The One God. That was a peculiar thing, in truth. He supposed there was no accounting for what folks did in the Rings. A strange place that bred strange things. Here in the outer islands, folk held to the old ways. They celebrated things passed down across the long centuries from parent to child.
He glanced around at the crowd of villagers, noticing for the first time that there were fewer than at the last celebration he had attended here. Perhaps Rakka’s ways were not strange to everyone.
“What’s she going to do?” Kye asked, interrupting Mac’s thoughts.
“She’s going to tell the story of the Arrival. About how Kahé, the first king, won Mali’s approval, and she made dry land on the face of the water. You remember that bit from when you were little, right?”
Kye looked sheepish. “Not so much. Landing Day was always more of a chance for easy pickings than anything else. The Faceless plied the crowds, cutting purses and nicking jewels while everyone was wrapped up in the storytelling.”
Well,” said Mac, guiding Kye to sit in front of him so she could get a better view of the central bonfire and the priest, “seems like now’s your chance to make up for lost time.”
The drums fell silent, and the priestess stepped forward. She threw her hood back to reveal stark white hair and a thin, angular face. “Gather ‘round, family. Hear the tale.” Despite her age, the priestess’s voice was strong and vibrant, carrying clearly to all those gathered before her.
She turned back and forth, encompassing the entire gathering with her dark eyes. “Come listen to the tale of the fallen West and the Arrival. The story of Mali and the first king, Kahé.”
She thrust a hand toward the sky. “Gather round. Hear the truth!” With her final utterance, she stepped in front of the fire, throwing her features into deep darkness. Behind her, the flames suddenly roared toward the sky, sparks flying away to mingle with the stars above.
As the flames once more sank toward the earth, the priestess began her story. Their story. She sang the song of the Arrival.
When the ancients failed the land,
The land failed.
Pestilence and famine, fire, then flood
Did rend and destroy.
When the ancients failed the land,
Their pride drowned beneath the waves.
A pitiful remnant, the last of the last,
Set forth across the waves to seek redemption,
Forgiveness for their sins.
Long they sailed, dry their cracked lips, red their eyes from weeping,
As the West sank beneath the sea and storm winds
Drove them forward.
No haven did they find,
No land to support their feet or rest their heads.
Only water ruled the earth.
Terror settled in the hearts of the few — dread and
Sorrow for the world lost ‘neath the waves.
In fear, they raised hands to one another,
Blood they shed polluted the waters.
Brother slew brother and mother murdered
Her children.
Each raised a hand against the other,
Violence so that even Mother Moon turned her back
In grief and tears.
In that lightless dark, evil was birthed,
And found a welcoming home
In the hearts of the few who still, fruitless, searched.
No haven did they find,
No land to support their feet or rest their heads.
Only water ruled the earth.
Then came one among them, least of stature and
Low of birth.
Kahé, houseless and cast adrift,
Drowned the evil beneath the waves then,
Turned his voice toward the goddess, pleading for
Their salvation and succor.
Hearing him, Mother Mali rose from the sea.
Knowing his grief and sorrow,
She birthed ten thousand isles.
Verdant homes she gave to the storm-tossed remnant,
So long as Kahé’s line should survive.
And the darkness be held at bay.
Haven at last they did find.
Land to support their feet and rest their heads.
Water and land rule the earth.
As the priestess’s voice faded away into darkness, Kye turned toward Mac. A thousand questions danced in her eyes, and he could tell this was the first time she had truly paid attention when the Arrival was celebrated. Of course, her time with the Faceless in Rakka and the emperor’s new laws had done the girl no favors.
“What was it like, the land in the West?” Her expression was skeptical.
“The old songs tell us that we came from a land that lay beyond the setting sun, larger than all the islands of the world put together. Dryland,” he explained. She did not look convinced.
“If it was so big, what could the ancients have done to drown it under the sea?”
Mac shrugged. “No one remembers. Whatever it was, it must have been so monstrous that the priests and priestesses saw no need to record it. Guess it was common knowledge. Down the long centuries, we’ve forgotten it, though.”
Around them, the villagers were breaking up. Fires burned low, and sand was kicked over the embers to smother them. The priestess of Mali made her way into the dark with the help of one or two able village lads. Hushed conversation ebbed and flowed around them.
“And what happens if Kahé’s line fails?” Kye asked.
Again, Mac shrugged. “From all I hear tell, the islands will sink back beneath the sea if that ever happens. Mali’s pledge was to him and his line, not the rest of us sots.”
“Don’t sound all that fair, does it?” She looked up at him, expression at once cynical and hopeful. Mac was forced to agree, but he hadn’t been there and, as such, had no say in the agreement.
“No,” he told her, guiding the newest member of the Talon back toward where Sparrowhawk waited on the beach. “No, it doesn’t. And if ever I come face to face with the goddess, I’ll be sure to have words with her about it.”
Kye’s laughter trailed behind them as they boarded the boat.
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