“No, Varlam,” he said, shaking his head at one of the kids as he tried to grab a piece of candy Mike had been handing to one of the younger girls. “This one is for Khava. This one is for you,” he continued, handing the boy a candy.
The ritual took about ten minutes every time he arrived at the compound, but he considered it time well spent. And Mother Savina always made sure he had pockets full of candy when he went out the door.
“Justinas,” he said, as he handed out one of the last pieces. “Do you know where Father Makanee is?”
“By the barn with the others,” the boy replied, stripping off the wrapper of the candy and shoving it in his mouth. He pocketed the scrap of wrapper since Mike had been furious the first time the kids scattered the ground with litter. “I’ll show you.”
The boy led him through the tangle of small gardens that now littered the compound and around a couple of cow biers to the Ferani barn. There Mike found the elders and most of the males that weren’t with the militia or working on projects gathered in one spot. At the moment, two of them were throwing axes at a target.
The axes the two were throwing were the standard wood-cutting axes that the Keldara used before he got replacements. They were a traditional European design, much lighter than the standard wood-cutting axe that was familiar in the U.S. Europeans had used the axes from time immemorial since most of the woods of Europe were relatively soft. It was only after arriving in the new world that a heavier axe became a necessity to cut the massive oaks of the American woodlands.
These axes had a thin, light, head and a round barrel connection to the haft, which was circular instead of oval as in most American axes. With the exception of the haft being longer, they looked a good bit like tomahawks and could be thrown like them.
“Father of All be with you this day,” Father Kulcyanov said when Mike approached the group. Mike was surprised by the sight of the elder. He had on what Mike would call “Sunday-Go-To-Meetin’ ” clothes, a fine pair of pants and shirt that he usually wore to church on Sunday. But what really got Mike’s attention was the tiger skin. The head had been hollowed out to make a sort of hat and a portion of skin trailed down the elder’s shoulders like a short cape. Both the head and the cape showed signs of wear, but it was apparent they had been kept carefully; there was much less motheating to them than the occasional heads and skins he’d seen in the houses. Kulcyanov wasn’t the only one so dressed, for that matter. All of the elders had their best clothes on and similar hats and capes. Father Shaynav was wearing a bull’s head and cape, Fathers Mahona and Devlich were wearing wolf heads, Father Ferani was wearing a stag’s head and Father Makanee was wearing a boar’s head. It was pretty apparent that this was part of the rites of spring. The first test, probably.
“Father of All be with you all,” Mike replied. “I would take a moment of Father Makanee’s time, if he is available.”
“Of course, Kildar,” Father Makanee said, walking over from the group. “How can I assist you?”
“A word,” Mike said, walking to the far end of the barn. “I wanted to ask about the festival,” Mike continued when they were out of sight. “I should have gotten more information earlier, so I could plan to participate. Tell me about what is going on, if you would, please?”
“Tonight the wood for the fire is gathered,” Father Makanee said, frowning slightly and apparently choosing his words. “And it will be gathered on the tun,” he continued, pointing out into the fields at one of the small hillocks that dotted the valley. This one was near the road, just north of the turnoff for the caravanserai. “Tomorrow morning the turf will be cut to make seats and the fire constructed in the middle. That will take most of the morning, but other things will be going on at the same time. The children will play games and the women will cook special foods. Starting at midday, the men will compete for the Ondah and that will take until in the evening.”
“The Ondah,” Mike said. “The test of strength? Wrestling?”
“There is wrestling,” Father Makanee said. “And tests of strength. There are five tests: the test of the stone, the test of the wood, the test of the bull, the test of the fire and the test of the man. The test of the stone is carrying a heavy stone as far as you can. The test of the wood is picking up a large log and throwing it as far as you can. The test of the bull is how well you can first taunt and then throw a bull in a ring. The test of the fire is how high you can leap over a fire pit. And the test of the man is wrestling.”
Mike blinked for a moment and then shook his head.
“That’s interesting,” was all he said. He realized that at least part of it fitted well with what were now called “Highland Games.” Certainly the rock carrying and the log throwing, what was called the cabar toss if he recalled correctly. But the bull and the fire jump were different and he didn’t know if wrestling was in the highland games. “Can anyone participate in these events?”
“Yes, Kildar,” Father Makanee said, frowning in turn. “But the men prepare for them all year and the only ones who can truly compete for the Ondah are chosen by the axe toss. You are speaking of the trainers?”
“And I might want to try a couple,” Mike said. “The reason I ask about the festival is to find out what I can do to be a part of it. Can I contribute food? Can I participate in the events? The wood cutting?”
“There are nine wood cutters,” Father Makanee said, wrinkling his brow. “They are chosen from among the young men, at least one from each family. They throw the axe to see who can throw the hardest and most accurately. But one must be from each family.”
“I don’t want to interfere in that,” Mike interjected.
“But if you want to cut the wood, that would be acceptable,” Father Makanee replied. “You will be the ninth cutter. It would be an honor. It is a long time since we had a true Kildar, but the tradition is that the Kildar often was a wood cutter. It would be good. But… do you know how to throw an axe?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Mike said, smiling faintly. “But not like those. I would have to practice with them.”
“Come practice with us,” Father Makanee said, drawing him back to the group. “We are only waiting for the young men on the range to join us.”
Mike was drawn back to the group and handed one of the axes amid some half-hidden smiles. The range was about ten meters long, with a point at which you had to stand and throw at a target that was constructed of large logs set up in a pyramid with the flat ends facing the thrower.
Mike did, in fact, know how to throw an axe. It was one of those oddball SpecOps methods for silent takedown, popular with Russian Spetznaz especially. The weapon of choice, however, was much shorter than the axe he was holding, with a much heavier head and a flat, hammer, back. And Mike had only learned it enough to get proficient, not expert. He’d met some Spetznaz on a training mission and only learned it to the point of “well, I can do it, too.” American SpecOps were firm believers that the best way to take down a sentry, silently, was to shoot him in the head with a silenced weapon.
So he stepped up to the line and swung the axe for a moment, thinking. The important thing about axe throwing was to get the spin of the axe just right. It had to spin a certain number of times so that the head was lined up with the target when it arrived. It was best if the handle touched the target just moments before the head impacted, to impart more emphasis. But this longer axe was going to rotate slower than the one he was used to using, both because the head was lighter and because the handle was longer.