He had carried a bag to the table and now dipped into it, removing a laureate that appeared to be made of some yellow vegetation.
“Crap,” Nielson said.
“The Golden Bough,” Mike replied in English, shaking his head as he recognized the distinct outline of dried mistletoe. “How fucking old is this ritual?”
“What are you talking about?” Adams whispered in English, leaning across Father Ferani as Father Kulcyanov placed the laureate on Oleg’s head.
“Too long to explain,” Mike whispered back. “There’s a whole damned book about it. But we might be watching the oldest—”
“And most original,” Nielson interjected.
“And most original spring rite in the world,” Mike finished.
“What do you talk about?” Father Ferani asked suspiciously.
“This is a great honor,” Mike said in Georgian, gesturing at Oleg who now stood up and held his hands up to applause. “This ritual is written of in books, but it was thought to be lost in time. The Keldara seem to have kept it, with some additions that might be… I don’t know. But this is something that I never thought I’d see.”
“Where did you hear of the mysteries?” Father Mahona interjected, sharply.
“There is a book,” Mike said. “It lists many of the rites of spring around the world. But the giving of the Golden Bough has not been done, as far as the book is concerned, for centuries. The King of Spring, is he also called the King of the Wood?”
“This is something we do not speak of,” Father Mahona snapped, sitting up rigidly and turning away.
“Sorry,” Mike said, shrugging. “Shit,” he added, closing his eyes.
“What?” Adams asked, ignoring the frown on Father Ferani’s face.
“The rock pickers,” Mike said. “The chant they used. It had something about Sybellios in it, I think.”
“The Cebellian Mysteries?” Nielson said, excitedly. “You don’t think… ?”
“I think we should stop talking about it,” Mike said, looking at the expression on the elders’ faces.
Oleg had left the high table and now walked down among the women, rubbing his chin in thought. He deliberately walked right past Lydia, looking over the young women and pausing by Irina, who was seated near her friend, then darting back and seizing Lydia, pulling her to her feet and kissing her in front of the whole group.
The girls gathered around Lydia, covered her in necklaces made from wildflowers and put a wreath on her head of flowers to match the one on Oleg’s head.
This appeared to be the signal for everyone to get up from the table. As the women, with Lydia being the exception, started to clear the feast, Lydia and Oleg were led back to the main table and given a place of honor next to Mike.
“Congratulations,” Mike said to the grinning Lydia.
“Oleg has tried for the last two years to win the Ondah,” she admitted, beaming. “Last year he was beaten by Vil.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Mike said.
“He did better on the test of the stone and the test of fire,” Oleg said, leaning over to explain. “I always overestimate how far I can jump. Last year I was so badly burned, I had to stop.”
“After I teach you how to walk on the fire, it will be a test of distance,” Mike said, smiling.
“Everyone was amazed,” Lydia said. “No one had seen anyone walk on fire. We’d heard of it, but…”
“It’s really not that hard,” Mike said. “Anyone can do it, even the women.”
“That would make the test interesting,” Oleg said, grinning.
“When do we light the bonfire?” Mike asked. “No, let me guess. At midnight, but the fires in the houses have to be extinguished first.”
“You know our ways,” Oleg said, his brow furrowing.
“I’m having a lovely time watching them,” Mike admitted. “When your reading is a little better, I’ll show you why. But… are there things that happen after the bonfire is lit?”
“There are mysteries that we don’t even share with you, Kildar,” Oleg said, formally.
“That’s okay,” Mike said. “I’d be surprised if you did.”
When the feast was cleared, the group got up and headed for the hill with the bonfire laid on it. The other Burakan picked up their axes so Mike did the same.
“Kildar,” Oleg said, walking beside him in the darkness. “We must bring the fire from the wood.”
“Do you use the drill method?” Mike asked. “Or flint and tinder?”
“The drill,” Oleg said, looking over at him in the moonlight. “Your reading again?”
“The needfire,” Mike said. “Teigin something?”
“Yes,” Oleg said, shaking his head. “I see the mysteries are not so mysterious.”
“There are some,” Mike said. “How do you do it?”
“There is an axletree set up,” Oleg said, “with the drill protruding from it and into a plank of oak. Two of the Burakan hold the drill steady while the other six turn the axle. The Ondah is supposed to blow the fire to light. I think that you should do it. You are the true Ondah.”
“Forget that,” Mike said. “Getting the fire started is important and you’re probably better at it than I am. You do it.”
“As you wish, Kildar,” Oleg said, clearly unhappy.
“You’ve started a fire with a drill before,” Adams pointed out as the Keldara continued up the hill and Mike slowed down.
“Let him have his moment,” Mike said.
A circular theater of turf benches had been set up around the fire, with four openings to let people through. Mike took a quick read on the stars and was pretty sure they were at the cardinal points of the compass. The axletree had been set up to one side and as the whole group filed into the area the nine Burakan stepped forward to bring the fire. Mike looked over at the caravanserai and, sure enough, somebody had turned off all the lights; the valley was in total darkness save for the moon. The duty squad was probably pissed as hell. On the other hand, Vanner had ended up wiring the whole cellars so they were probably down there playing cards and watching TV on the satellite.
The women had arranged themselves on the north side of the circle and the men on the south. As everyone settled into position, Father Kulcyanov carefully aligned the spokes of the axletree with what Mike assumed was ritual significance. But Mike, frankly, was ritualed out. He’d had a good meal and a long day. At this point, all he really wanted to do was sleep.
He took his designated position, however, and started turning the spokes on command. The drill was supported by a plank laid across two mounds of cut turf, drill held by Sawn and Vil, with Oleg crouched waiting for the fire.
Turning the spokes was boring at best. Mike wanted to get into the game but he was just too worn out to care. Finally, though, there was a flare of light from under the plank and Oleg waved for the whole assembly to be removed.
The fire was small, but Oleg carefully built it up with twigs until there were a few solidly burning brands. Then he transferred it to the kindling of the bonfire. In moments, the kindling had caught and started to work on the main logs.
“The taigon-tar is come,” Father Kulcyanov said, raising his hands to the sky. “The Father of All looks upon us with kindness and will bring us good crops and a well people for the year. Let the bannach caillean be chosen.”
“Dead on,” Nielson said as Mike settled on the turf next to him. “Even the same pronunciation, which is surprising.”
The older women went around among the men, passing out cakes. There was a brief discussion with Father Kulcyanov and a cake was given to Mike, but not to the trainers.
“Nine knobs,” Mike said, showing it to Nielson.
“Bet you get the black bean,” Nielson replied, grinning.