He goosestepped back, completing the circle then raised his hands.
“Father of All, look down upon us!” he bellowed, holding his hands to the sky. “We bring food for your Son that he might bring back the spring!”
There’d been a lowing of cattle as he was marching back and out of the darkness they were led. Most were being led by the team leaders but they had a lot of help. The cattle were oxen, steers that were used for carting until Mike had brought in tractors. These had been fed-up, stalled was the old expression, and were fat and ready for the slaughter.
Vil was leading the first one, holding a pole that was attached to the ring through its nose and two more Keldara males followed with nooses in their hands.
“Ay, Samman seaol Latrach! Uraim Na Mair Imakt!” Father Kulcyanov started to chant, still holding his hands up.
The whole group joined in as the two Keldara fixed the loops around the oxen’s back legs and held it in place.
On the second repetition of the chant, at the “… Imakt”, Oleg struck downwards, severing the ox’ broad neck in one massive cut.
Blood from the stricken animal sprayed across the nearest spectators, who were on their feet chanting and stamping. The entire group let out a cry as one of the Keldara girls slid a basin under the slaughtered beast’s neck, catching as much of the blood as she could.
Another of the oxen was brought out of the darkness, taking up the western position by Mother Lenka. Again it was held in place by three men as Oleg slashed downward. Another group of Keldara, this time including Adams, was splashed by the blood.
On the south, Vil had been handed the basin filled with blood and with a cry splashed it in a circle, starting towards the fire and raising a fragrant smoke like cooking beef then out over the Keldara.
Mike was standing, now, but he was fighting what was going on around him because the Keldara, normally incredibly reserved, were descending into hysteric frenzy. The drums, the chanting, the stamping feet, was turning into a giant dance of ecstasy, fueled by the blood rite they had been denied for so long.
Pavel had collected the blood on the west and he sprayed it into the fire and through the group, liberally dousing Mother Lenka who raised her hand to taste of it, letting out a scream that sounded very like orgasm.
Now it was Mike’s turn and Sawn was leading this ox, who was fighting as hard as he could to get away. Oleg had come around the fire, his body covered in blood, eyes wide and staring and Mike winced as the axe came down.
It was like getting hit by a water from a spray-nozzle on a hose. As the ox twisted in death it sprayed the whole group which went absolutely frantic. The bucket of blood from Sawn wasn’t really necessary.
On the east it was Pavel and he made sure to liberally douse Gretchen, who was pretty wide eyed since all she could do was stand there holding up the effigy. She hadn’t gotten into the frenzy because she couldn’t but she had a very strange look on her face. It made Mike wonder exactly how long ago the Keldara had stopped comitting human sacrifice. She looked… fixed on the fire. As if psyching herself to be thrown into it.
A fifth bull was slaughtered on the south and a sixth on the north, splattering Mike again and then Father Kulcyanov shouted something Mike for the life of him couldn’t catch and people picked up both Mother Lenka and Gretchen and carried them towards the fire. The group was so frenzied Mike started forward and he could see Adams moving as well. He wasn’t sure either one of them could stop the hysterical Keldara before they tossed the two women in the bonfire but he was damned well going to try.
But at another cry from Father Kulcyanov, the effigy was thrown into the fire by Gretchen to another scream from the crowd. It was covered in blood so there was another smell of steak being overcooked.
Both Mother Lenka and Gretchen were dropped, rather unceremoniously, and the drums broke into a different rhythm. Father Kulcyanov stepped back, looking as worn as Mike had ever seen him, and settled onto one of the turf benches, holding his chest.
There was still a big pot of beer by Mike’s seat, courtesy of Stella who was now dancing around like a mad thing, covered from head to toe in blood, so he picked it up and poured some, holding it out to the old man.
“Thank you, Kildar,” Father Kulcyanov wheezed. “I think this may be the last year I can do the Rites.”
“Which will be too bad,” Mike said. “Because you do them very well.”
“It must be a warrior,” the old man said, taking a sip of beer and catching his breath. “One who had taken lives and seen the face of Fir. There are, were, so few left. I held on… ”
“And you’ve got a whole new crop,” Mike pointed out. “I’d hate to skip a generation, though. Talk about that another time. Do you have anything else you need to do?”
“No,” Father Kulcyanov admitted. “Except figure out a way to pry Culcanar out of Oleg’s hands before he kills someone with it.”
The ceremonial axes of the Keldara were named and Mike now recognized the axe he had wielded in the spring festival. The damned thing was a monster, a real man-killer.
Mike looked over at the team leader, who was apparently doing some sort of an axe dance and was pretty much out of it, and winced.
“Let somebody else handle that,” Mike said. “Me, maybe. I can stand in, right?”
“Yes, Kildar. I’d appreciate it.”
“Well, this looks like a party for the youngsters,” Mike said, standing up and gesturing to Adams and Nielson. He couldn’t find Vanner for a minute then spotted the intel NCO. HE was covered in blood and dancing with one of the female intel specialists. He pretty much looked like the Keldara, covered in blood and completely out of it.
“Get Father Kulcyanov down the hill,” he said to Nielson. “Ass-Boy, you and me got a job.”
“What?” Adams asked, trying to wipe some of the blood off his face. “When you said it would be bloody… ”
“Yeah,” Mike said, licking the back of his hand. Tasted like raw steak. “See Oleg?”
“Yeah,” Adams said, uncomfortably.
“We gotta get the axe out of his hands.”
“Oh fuck.”
“I’m not going to track this shit through the caravanserai,” Mike said, looking at the doors. He had a rather nasty cut on his arm he was ignoring. Pain is weakness leaving the body. Nobody was dead and that was the important thing. The next time, though, he was going to sit on the south and pry the damned thing out of Oleg’s hands right after the last sacrifice.
“Fuck it,” Oleg said. “It’s late. We just strip right here and head for the showers.” The Master Chief was unscathed. Well, except for a few hairs that had been cut slightly shorter when he ducked the axe. Given that he was damned near bald…
“Works for me,” Mike said, pulling off his shirt. “And we’ll just burn the clothes.”
“I think some of the Keldara were starting to strip when we left,” Adams said. “They probably had the same idea. Damn, these pants are stuck on!”
Mike walked into the great room of the caravanserai, holding his blood-soaked clothes under one arm and paused, froze really, at the sight of Daria and Anastasia playing chess.
Daria Koroleva was Ukrainian, blonde and nearly as beautiful as Anastasia with, if anything, a better figure. She had been kidnapped into the sex-slave trade in the Balkans where Mike had rescued her from a snuff house. Since she was a trained secretary, and he’d needed somebody to keep up with the administrative side of the mission, he’d dragged her along. And when he offered her a job she’d jumped at it. They’d been lovers from time to time as well. There really wasn’t much there but lust and some friendship but she was a great administrative assistant.