In great contrast with the liveliness of the first two nights, the third is a very solemn affair. It’s remarkable how silent and calm the procession is, aside from a few hiccups here and there on the route to the water. Despite the size of the crowd, only murmurs seem to hang over them.
Ja’far himself spends the walk in relative silence. He holds the two boats delicately against his chest, eyes trained forward. The only time his gaze shifts is to glance at the taller man beside him, checking to make sure Sinbad’s gaze isn’t too distant or turned entirely inward.
Stranded far from home, this event is the closest either of them can get to the tradition visiting the memorial of Sindria, and both of them agreed to take part for that very reason. It’s far from being the same; none of the other generals are there nor can they look out over their own country for any comfort. But it’s something.
Finally the parade reaches the bay and the multitude disperses far and wide over the beach. Ja’far watches for a moment, before turning to his friend with what he hopes is a reassuring smile. This sort of thing… he knows Sin can start drowning in his own thoughts and the painful memories of that day. Soflty he tugs at the other’s sleeve, trying to get his attention.
“Are we ready to set them afloat?”
It’s that time of year again. What a strange coincidence that a ceremony for the dead and departed would be held around the same time. If he didn’t know any better, he might have called it “fate” or “destiny”... but he knows the true meaning of those words, and so he knows that this is coincidental and nothing more.
It’s nice, though. The atmosphere is a little melancholy, but there are as many people silently celebrating the lives of their loved ones as there are mourners. It is not a wholly depressing affair, nor is it when he, the Eight Generals, and those who were there at that time gather at the memorial. Though they mourn their losses, it is their wish that those who lost their lives can see how far they’ve come, and that their sacrifices were not in vain. It is a time of reflection and mourning as much as it is a time of celebration for what they have accomplished and how much closer they’ve gotten to making their shared dream a reality.
It’s different this time.
The parade is quiet. Somber. He hardly says a word as they make their way to the water’s edge; nor does Ja’far, who walks silently beside him. For Ja’far, this is not unusual; while he mourns as much as anyone else, he does not show it as loudly as Hinahoho or as verbosely as Spartos. To speak now, in the absence of their other companions, would feel like interrupting or trespassing upon his grief. Thus, Sinbad says little until the formal ceremony nears an end.
Ja’far’s smile, however unsteady, is welcome, and Sinbad gives one in return. Only the edges are false and uncertain, with the rest invigorated by his genuine desire to celebrate how far they’ve come, lest all these sacrifices be in vain.
( Perhaps they are, he thinks. At least for now, when there is no Sindria for them to smile down upon and no link to the world they’ve left behind. )
“I think so,” he says softly. “If we set their course due south, they should reach Sindria in no time at all.”
It’s a nice thought, at least, and one he hopes will earn a smile, or perhaps even a chuckle, from Ja’far. Goodness knows they could both use it.
