A Day of Thanks to the Sea
"Isn't anyone going to sit down? Meals are meant to be shared."
The moment the words left my mouth, the banquet hall—which had been bustling with people ferrying plates and cutlery—fell silent as if a spell had been cast.
Priests, officials, nobles, and servants lined along the walls all turned to look at one another. Even the cooks who had been carrying out the next course froze on the threshold, blinking rapidly.
I tilted my head, wondering if I'd said something strange.
So many people had prepared this meal, yet I was the only one seated at the long, wide table.
Chairs stood neatly arranged on either side—enough for dozens—complete with plates and glasses, yet no one dared approach them.
"It's not like there aren't enough seats."
I pointed at the empty chairs with my finger.
"Let's eat together."
The elderly Priest-in-Charge standing at the front stepped forward, flustered. He clasped both hands before his chest, bowed deeply, and after a long moment of hesitation, carefully opened his mouth.
"Simply remaining in the presence of the place Mother has graciously bestowed upon us is already an honor too great for us to bear."
"So sit down."
"How could we possibly take seats at the same table as Mother?"
I narrowed my eyes at the Priest-in-Charge.
He was truly afraid. It wasn't quite the look of someone fretting over punishment for offending me. It was the fear of crossing a line that must never be crossed—of treading upon it with his own feet.
The City Lord standing beside him hurriedly bowed his head as well.
He was a middle-aged man in clothes embroidered with glittering gold thread, several jewelled ornaments pinned to his chest. From the way everyone had been watching his reactions earlier, he was clearly the highest-ranking person in this city.
"The Priest-in-Charge speaks truly."
The City Lord continued without even thinking to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead with a handkerchief.
"While Mother partakes of the meal, it is enough for us to attend at her side, and afterward to gratefully share whatever food she has left."
"Whatever I leave behind?"
"What blessing could be more precious than that?"
At that answer I set down my fork.
The City Lord's face went deathly pale, convinced he had said something displeasing, and everyone standing nearby collectively held their breath.
I slowly surveyed the broad table before me.
Dishes kept arriving. Golden-roasted fish and warm bread, fragrant soup and thinly sliced meat, every kind of fruit and sweet pastry.
There was enough food that even ten people couldn't finish it alone.
The thought of all of it piled in front of me while dozens of people stood against the walls watching me eat and waiting for the leftovers made my appetite fade a little.
"No."
When I spoke the single word, the air in the banquet hall grew heavy.
The City Lord nearly collapsed as he bowed.
"Please forgive our rudeness."
"It's uncomfortable having you all standing there watching."
I propped my chin on my hand.
"And eating alone is no fun."
People's expressions shifted subtly.
The Priest-in-Charge still looked flustered, but realizing he could not refuse me, he carefully glanced around.
The problem was who would sit where.
When he turned his gaze to the City Lord, the City Lord immediately shook his head. When the City Lord looked back at the Priest-in-Charge, the priest took a step backward.
The two of them wordlessly deferred the seat of honor to each other. The other nobles watching them were so terrified of committing an unforgivable rudeness by sitting first that they could not even properly lift their eyes.
"The Priest-in-Charge must sit nearest to Mother."
"As the secular ruler, the City Lord ought to represent the citizens."
"According to temple etiquette, the Priest-in-Charge..."
"Today's banquet is being held in the City Lord's hall, so..."
The two began quietly foisting the seat upon each other.
Similar whispers spread among those standing behind them.
Nobles insisted family rank must be considered. Officials claimed they must sit below the nobles. Servants and cooks believed they had no right to approach the table at all.
Among the men, glances were exchanged over whether women could sit at the same table. Among the priests, a quiet argument broke out over whether those without clerical office could sit near me.
I watched the scene in silence until my head began to ache.
All I had said was that we should eat together, yet there were far too many problems to solve over a single chair.
"Then I'll decide."
At my words every voice stopped.
I pointed first at the elderly Priest-in-Charge.
"You—there."
When I indicated the second seat to my right, the Priest-in-Charge's eyes trembled widely.
His lips moved soundlessly before he asked in a shaking voice,
"Dare I sit at Mother's side..."
"Sit."
"...I shall obey."
The Priest-in-Charge approached the chair as if his legs would barely hold him. When he sat, low gasps of awe rose around the hall, and the scribes immediately began flying their quills across parchment.
I pointed next at the City Lord.
"You—across from me."
The City Lord looked back and forth between the chair and me, fretting over whether he was allowed to sit closer than the Priest-in-Charge. When I pointed again, he hurriedly moved and perched only the edge of his backside on the chair, back ramrod straight. He could not even lean against the backrest, let alone breathe freely.
"And you."
When I pointed at a young maidservant standing by the wall, she turned her head as if checking whether someone else stood behind her.
"Yes, you."
"M-me, my lady?"
"Mm. Sit next to the Priest-in-Charge."
All color drained from the maidservant's face. The water pitcher in her hands trembled lightly, and the senior maid beside her stood open-mouthed, unable to speak.
"But I am a lowly maidservant, and that seat..."
"You're the one who prepared the water."
She was the very person who had prepared the fruit water I had just called delicious. I patted the empty seat with my palm.
"Hurry up. The food's getting cold."
At those words the maidservant's eyes instantly reddened. She handed the pitcher to someone else, bowed several times, and carefully sat in the chair beside the Priest-in-Charge.
The Priest-in-Charge seemed startled that a maidservant had taken the seat next to him, yet because I had assigned it myself he said nothing.
I continued choosing people.
A soldier in splendid uniform. An elderly cook standing tense by the kitchen door. A fisherman who had brought fish from the harbor and somehow ended up following all the way into the banquet hall. A little girl who had been peeking at me from behind the crowd, and her mother. A merchant with a long beard, and an aged servant who had been smoothing the wrinkles in the tablecloth.
"You—here."
"You—next to him."
"The child sits with her mother."
Each time I pointed someone out, a small stir rose in the banquet hall.
A fisherman in worn clothes sat beside the City Lord. Across from a noble lady sat a boy who had been carrying flour in the kitchen. To the Priest-in-Charge's left sat the young maidservant; to his right, a female soldier in armor.
Men and women. Old and young. Nobles and commoners. Priests and merchants.
People who would rarely even enter the same room under ordinary circumstances now sat around a single table.
Of course, sitting down did not immediately make the atmosphere comfortable.
Everyone sat rigid on their chairs, hands folded neatly on their knees. The food was right in front of them, yet no one reached for fork or spoon.
I ate another piece of fish and looked around.
"Why aren't you eating?"
The City Lord answered carefully.
"To partake of food before Mother..."
"I've already started eating."
"That is so, yet for us to reach out before Mother takes the next dish..."
"Just eat."
No one moved.
I thought for a moment, then lifted the bread basket in front of me and held it out to the Priest-in-Charge.
"Take one."
The Priest-in-Charge received the bread with both hands. He had only been given a single warm roll, yet he stared at it as if a sacred treasure had been placed in his palms.
"You can eat it."
With trembling hands he tore off a small piece and put it in his mouth. He kept his eyes closed while chewing, and after swallowing, tears even gathered at the corners of his eyes.
I made an incredulous face at the sight.
"It's just bread."
"It is sustenance Mother herself has shared with me."
The Priest-in-Charge's voice was already thick with tears.
"For the rest of my life I shall never forget today's grace."
"If you do that every time you eat, the food will all go cold."
When I held the bread basket out to the City Lord as well, he quickly took one. Only then did the others begin to move their hands little by little.
The cook carefully transferred fish he himself had prepared onto a plate. The female soldier lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips. The fisherman gripped his fork with white knuckles, unused to the gleaming silver cutlery. The little girl kept licking her lips as she stared at the sweet pastries on the plate.
Noticing the child's gaze, I pushed the pastry plate toward her.
"If you want one, eat it."
The child glanced at her mother. The mother, unable to decide whether she dared give permission, looked back and forth between the Priest-in-Charge and the City Lord.
"I said you can eat it—why are you looking at other people?"
At my words the child stretched out a small hand and took a pastry. The moment she bit into it her eyes went round, and a bright smile soon spread across her face.
"It's delicious."
"Right?"
I found myself smiling without meaning to.
"Give me one too."
The child picked out the biggest-looking pastry on the plate and held it out to me. Faces around us filled with fresh horror, but I accepted it casually and put it in my mouth.
Sweet fruit jam oozed from the crisp crumbling dough.
"It's good."
When I nodded, the child beamed with pride.
That smile was the beginning; the frozen atmosphere at the table thawed just a little.
The fisherman carefully explained to the City Lord beside him that the dish used fish he had brought, and though the City Lord was startled at first, he soon asked the name of the fish and the season it was caught.
The maidservant, seeing the Priest-in-Charge's glass empty, poured water for him out of habit; the Priest-in-Charge thanked her and then placed a piece of bread on her plate himself.
The female soldier taught a boy struggling with the cutlery how to hold a fork, and the elderly cook slowly relaxed his stiff shoulders as he watched people enjoy the food he had made.
At first, every time I took a bite everyone lifted their forks together, and only when I drank water did they tilt their glasses. As time passed they began choosing what they wanted for themselves. Someone asked for more soup; someone passed the bread basket to the person next to them.
The child's laughter rang out now and then, and the clink of cutlery against plates continued naturally.
The banquet hall that had felt far too wide and cold only moments ago was now filled with the warm smell of food and the voices of people.
I leaned back against the cushions and watched the scene.
The City Lord and the fisherman were talking over the same plate of fish. The Priest-in-Charge smiled faintly as he drank the water the maidservant had poured. A noble lady wiped jam from the little girl's mouth with a handkerchief.
Their clothes, their speech, the ways they had lived—all different. Yet while they sat around one table sharing a meal, those differences hardly showed.
Everyone ate when hungry, their faces softened before delicious food, and when a neighbor's plate emptied they naturally passed more.
"This is better."
When I murmured it, the nearby Priest-in-Charge set down his fork. He composed the face that had just begun to relax back into solemn reverence and looked toward me.
"May I ask what Mother means?"
"Better than eating alone."
I answered while looking around the table.
"Meals taste better when everyone eats together."
After those words, no one could speak for a while.
Someone set down the spoon in their hand; someone slowly looked at the person sitting beside them. Hot emotion welled once more in the Priest-in-Charge's eyes.
"That all people should gather around one table..."
He repeated my words in a trembling voice.
"...share the food each possesses, and give thanks for the life received that day."
"It's not that grand."
I said as I picked up another pastry.
"Families should eat dinner together, right?"
The Priest-in-Charge's eyes shook widely.
By the time I realized I had added something unnecessary, it was already too late.
The City Lord straightened his back with the face of a man who had received a profound revelation, and the scribes at the far end of the table exchanged glances before their quills began flying again.
"At the end of each day, the family must gather in one place."
"Regardless of rank or gender, they share food and give thanks for the sea's grace."
"Those without family should share a table with their neighbors."
"For households too poor to prepare an evening meal, the city must share food."
Conversation swelled rapidly from every direction.
I stopped with the pastry halfway to my mouth.
All I had said was that we should eat together, yet somehow a new tradition was already being born.
"Wait."
When I spoke, everyone instantly closed their mouths. Dozens of pairs of eyes looked at me filled with expectation.
If I said the wrong thing, something far grander than this would come into being.
I thought for a long while, then put the pastry in my mouth.
"...Just eat for now."
The Priest-in-Charge bowed his head, face full of emotion.
"Yes, Mother."
That day's meal in the banquet hall continued deep into the night.
There was no elaborate etiquette, no fixed seating. People shared food with those beside them, refilled empty plates, and listened to the stories of people they had only just met.
And later—
the people of this city created a day at the end of which families and neighbors gathered around one table to give thanks for the life the sea had bestowed.
...Everything I do just ends up getting treated as sacred.
Kinda fun, though.