After a long night of expectant waiting, keeping the vigil as the candles flicker in their windows and their hearth fires slowly sink down to embers, the people of St. Loomis don their best clothes and warmest cloaks before heading out to the cathedral courtyard before dawn's first light. There they watch as the bundles of firewood, brought one by one by through the previous day by all in town and laid out upon the cold ashes of the Pyreday bonfire, are rekindled from the flame of the holy pyroskenion via the offices of Archbishop Matthew and the year's Holly Queen -- who, to everyone's surprise and perhaps a mild bit of chagrin, had turned out to be the little bastard half-Yehani maidservant of Lady Eoforhild, which the more pious have attempted to chalk up to some subtle reminder from Dionos that Kalen himself came from equally uncertain roots.
Everyone in town, high and low, whether gathered in the courtyard or thronging the street outside, is on hand to watch the flames flicker and rise towards the sky, just as the first glow of dawn begins to kindle through the fog. Mayor Willason is there, stupendously attired though looking more as if he had just woken up rather than come through a night of wakefulness. His assistant Pomeroy cuts quite a fine figure as well, his native superciliousness discreetly veiled for the occasion by a demonstrative piety. The Greyleighs all look on, in various modes of patience and fidgetiness characterized at their extremes by the elder and younger ladies of the manor, and close by are many of the Mistwatch, from the slightly somber Master of Lamps and Quartermaster down to the poor infamous Tig, who mostly keeps his eyes down and seems to hope to draw as little notice as possible even from the still-admiring eyes of some local girls.
The workers and craftsmen of the town lend their own dignified or perhaps just surly presences, from Otty the Blacksmith to Saro the Luthier and even Tholbert the Carpenter. The last of these seems sometimes to be casting an almost tender eye upon his new apprentice Thoe, who has himself arrived in the tow of a number of folk from the slums (surely that look is just an odd trick of the glowing firelight, though). Among these folk is Lucy Mudlark from the pawn shop, now made significantly more famous not just on account of St. Hollyberry's new bells but for having been kissed by a genuine real-live prince during her day as the Mistletoe Maiden. The genuine real-live prince in question is in attendance as well, though at a remove from the rest of the noble folk -- and it seems to many that his countenance holds a stern and remote expression perhaps better befitting the Day of Ashes. The servants of Greyleigh Manor quietly conclude among themselves that this can only be the inevitable outcome of persisting in taking a bath -- a cold bath, even, when it came to that! -- every single day, against all common sense.
At the very end of the ceremony, as the voices of the Archbishop and his choir are raised in High Elukoi praises of the New Song reborn and the Dreamer's beautiful undying Dream, a flock of unruly urchins snatch up the bells strung on the garland outside the cathedral yard and dash off through the streets, jangling them with immense glee. But rather than provoking dismay or censure, the release and merriment of the day seem to render the act joyous rather than impious, and before long all the bells throughout town seem to be ringing as people tug at garlands and swing wreath-hung doors, sending a festive jingle of hope through the foggy streets of the new day.