“Can do,” Vanner replied, getting his coffee and leaving.
“Why are you so worked up about where the Keldara come from?” Adams asked.
“I over analyze,” Mike told him, grinning. “You said so yourself. I need a favor from you guys.”
“My wife, sure. My toothbrush, maybe. My knife, never,” Adams said, grinning.
“I need you to carry the axe for me,” Mike said. “It’s supposed to stay near me all day but it can be carried by a ‘designated champion.’ You’re so designated.”
“Thanks buddy,” Adams said, glancing at the weapon. “I’m a spear carrier now, huh?”
“That would be you,” Mike said. “And I don’t want to bring the ladies with me since I think I’m treading on really shaky ground. But they should be able to participate. Get someone as an escort for each of them and bring them down to the village at noon. That’s when the festivities mainly begin. Have a picnic lunch packed. Nielson, if you’d escort Anastasia, Adams maybe Klavdiya, etcetera. Make sure they’re briefed that I probably won’t be able to spend much time on them. I’ll try to get a chance to explain to Anastasia myself.”
“You’d better,” Adams said. “She looked all pouty last night when you didn’t come home.”
“She’s supposed to reduce my stress,” Mike said with a sigh. “Nielson, you explain it. I’ve got too much on my plate.”
“She’ll be fine,” Nielson said, grinning. “And if she’s not, I’ve got a belt.”
“Oh, brother,” Mike moaned, dropping his face into his hands.
Mike took his Mercedes back to the compound since he was damned if he was going to walk the hill. He had to stop short of the raised, area, though, since it seemed the entire Keldara tribe was out in force.
Children were running around at random, with a shouting, milling throng damaging the flowers on the Maypole by trying to get the eggs and cakes off the top. The women and teenaged girls, however, were lined up by the houses, most of them holding baskets, while the men stood opposite them. There didn’t seem to by any order to it, either by house or station, but Mike wedged himself in near Vil.
“What now?” he asked the other Burakan.
“Father Kulcyanov figures out when it’s noon,” Vil said, pointing to the old man who, alone among the adult males, was standing by the Maypole. “Then he gives a blessing and we head for the women whose baskets we want to eat from.”
“Okay,” Mike said as the elder shooed the children away and considered the shadow of the pole. After a moment, Kulcyanov raised his hands.
“Father of All,” the man boomed across the square, “we ask that you bring us fertility and good crops this year and that you bless the food that you have given us. Bless, too, this celebration of the return of your son and bring us a king that is worthy to stand in his stead.”
When he lowered his arms the men moved forward, homing in on the ladies whose baskets they preferred. There was a certain amount of jostling for some of the girls who weren’t effectively spoken for, but none around Katrina, who was looking a bit forlorn.
“Hello, Katrina,” Mike said, stepping over to her. “Mind if I share your basket?”
“I had hoped you would,” the girl replied, smiling like the rising sun. “But with women of your own, now…”
“They are not Keldara,” Mike pointed out. “Where do we eat?”
“There is a nice spot up the hill,” she said, gesturing to the rise behind the village.
“More hills,” Mike muttered, but followed her.
The girl led him up the hill to one of the streams that speckled the ridge. About a hundred meters above the valley, there was a small spot where the stream fell through a moss-filled crack then over a ridge of granite and another short fall. The ledge of granite continued on either side, flat and smooth from flooding, to banks of earth. The banks were currently covered in flowers of a type he didn’t recognize. There was just enough dry sand on one side of the ledge for the picnic to be laid out. He could see the compound through the trees and the caravanserai clearly and there were other couples in the woods in their own chosen bowers. But the screening trees, the banks and the babbling stream gave a feeling of intimacy. Too much intimacy in his opinion.
“I’m surprised you’re allowed up here like this,” Mike said as Katrina began unpacking the basket. “All that stuff about unmarried girls not being around men and all that.”
“The spring festival is different,” Katrina said, laying out the food. There was the inevitable bread and cheese and beer. She set out one bottle and tied the others with string to dangle in the stream. Besides the basics there were some more of the oat cakes and brightly painted eggs. “Things are allowed that are not allowed the rest of the year.”
Mike considered a discussion of fertility rites and then decided it would both go over her head and be a very uncomfortable discussion. He was remarkably attracted to the little redhead. He knew a good bit of that was his other head thinking, but there was something about her that appealed to him immensely. She just… fit in a way that most women hadn’t.
“The spring festival is about fertility,” she continued, looking up at him shyly. “That is why we set up the Maypole and decorate it with the colors of the season, that we can have good crops for the year. It’s said that a girl who is pregnant can touch it and her delivery will be easy. And… a girl who gets pregnant will have a boy.”
“Lots of reasons to get pregnant today, then,” Mike said, frowning. “But not if you’re unmarried.”
“I would not get pregnant today,” she said, not looking at him. “It’s not my time. Not that I’m in the bleeding,” she continued, quickly, looking up at him. “Just that I’m not at my time. So…”
“No,” he said, although it took a lot to drag it out of him. “It wouldn’t be good for you and you know it. And it would be bad for me, as well.”
“You’re just in love with that blonde witch you brought in,” Katrina said, angrily.
“I’m hardly in love with Anastasia,” Mike said, smiling faintly. “Pretty as she is. And she’s not nearly as pretty as you. So there.”
“You say that, but you never do anything about it,” Katrina said, pouting. “I could do the thing with the mouth.”
“Don’t go there,” Mike said, shaking his head and telling himself to get down. “Let’s just eat lunch and avoid that particular subject. If we can.”
“Very well, Kildar,” the girl said, primly. “If you insist.”
“I do, I do,” Mike said. “What do you think the women would think of selling their beer?”
“We already do to the village,” Katrina said. “Not the best, mind you.”
“I’d noticed,” Mike said, opening the bottle and pouring some for each of them. “But I was talking about a lot of it. Enough to ship overseas. That would take a full microbrewery at least. We’d have to make thousands of bottles for it to be worthwhile.”
“I don’t know about that,” Katrina said, frowning. “I don’t know how you’d do that. We just make it in the home.”
“I don’t know how to do it either,” Mike admitted. “But that’s what consultants are for. But if we started making Keldara beer as a microbrewery we’d probably be able to sell it in Europe or the States. It’s outstanding beer. And the money, most of it, would flow to the Keldara. I’d have a stake as well, but I’d just take a small cut of the profits.”
“Mother Lenka would be the person to talk to about that,” Katrina said. “She knows all there is to know about making beer.”
“But Mother Lenka is not here,” Mike replied, smiling. “You are, so I talk to you.”
“I like it when you talk to me,” Katrina said. “You don’t treat me like I’m strange or someone to be avoided. You pay attention to me for me.”