"So you've been up all fucking night?" Adams asked as Mike was sipping coffee.
"I've been up all night cutting down trees," Mike replied, working his back and shoulders. "And now I've got to be back down in the compound in . . ." He looked at his watch and shook his head, " . . . an hour and a half. And there's events all afternoon I'm supposed to compete in."
"Endurance test," Nielson said, nodding. "Nine men are chosen the night before, worked all night, given a short break, and then they have to compete all day. The winner is the king for the year."
"I hope like hell I don't get sacrificed in winter or something," Mike said.
"You've been reading the Golden Bough," Nielson said, chuckling. "Unlikely. Actual human sacrifice is pretty much gone from these rituals. But, you're right, this is very interesting stuff, especially since much of it isn't similar to local rites."
"Hey, Kildar," Vanner said, wandering in the kitchen for coffee. "You don't look so hot. Another tough night with the new manager?"
"Bite me, Vanner," Mike said. "What do you make of that?" he asked, pointing at the axe. Since dawn he'd been able to see it better. It was definitely old, but very well maintained, with a silver edge to the blade and deep carvings on the head and haft that were distinctly Celtic looking.
"It's an axe," Vanner said.
"Is that all our intel specialist can dig up?" Adams asked, laughing.
"Okay, it's a big battle-axe," Vanner said, picking it up and looking at it. "Celtic? Where'd you get it?"
"It's part of the Keldara spring ritual," Mike said. "Take some pics and see if you can find anything similar on the Web. Originals, not modern. That's as original as they come, unless I'm much mistaken."
"This is a Keldara piece?" Vanner asked, puzzled.
"There are nine of them. Father Kulcyanov keeps four and the rest are with the other families," Mike replied. "That's the largest. They're all named. That one's called Culcander or Culcaner or something."
"Not Culculane?" Nielson asked, sharply.
"Not Culculane," Mike said, nodding. "But similar, don't you think? Anyway, see what you can find."
"Will do," Vanner said. "Although I was hoping to go to this festival today."
"Just see what you can find fast," Mike said. "And get pics. I've got to be out of here, with it, in about an hour."
"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."
"Well, being gorgeous helps," Mike pointed out, smiling. "But you're not all that strange at all. You're just strange to the Keldara. And they're not used to much strangeness."
"And you are?" Katrina asked.
"Trust me," Mike said. "You're not a patch on some of the girlfriends I've had. I won't get into the list, don't know if I could remember all of them, but you're not nearly as strange as half of them. But I do care for you, a great deal. It's one of the reasons I won't sleep with you; I don't want you to get hurt. And here we are back on that subject."
"If you hadn't brought all those girls into your household there would be a place for me," Katrina said, sadly. "But you did. And that foreign witch."
"I needed Anastasia because of the rest," Mike replied. "But, trust me, if you were in the household it would be a special place. I'd like you to make your home among the Keldara, though, if you can. And if it turns out you can't . . . we'll talk. But not this spring, it's too soon. You're far too young . . ." He held up a hand to forestall the response. "I know, among the Keldara you should be married already. But among my people you're far too young. And, yes, some of the girls that we picked up are younger. I had them thrown on me, I didn't have much choice. And I don't intend for to . . . open them until they're a bit . . . older. Besides, there's more out there than just me. I'd like you to try to live life before you throw yourself at me. And if you can't . . . we'll talk. That's all I've ever promised and it's all I will."
"You are the most stubborn man," Katrina said, exasperatedly.
"Get used to it," Mike said. He'd been eating as they talked and he wiped his hands. "I hope like hell I can just watch for the rest of the day but I get the impression I'm supposed to participate in these contests."
"You are one of the Burakan," Katrina said, shocked. "Of course you have to compete."
"More luck me," Mike said, laying back and looking at the sky. "I'd rather just lie here and sleep. This is a nice spot."
"I like it very much," Katrina said, crossing the blanket and lying down by him. "Is this permitted?"
"Very much so," Mike replied, putting one arm under her head. "But that's all the touching we're going to do."
"I think this is where the water sprites come to play," Katrina said, snuggling into him. "In the spray and the falls of the stream. It is a very pretty place."
"Pretty girl, pretty place to snuggle and I've got to go, what? Throw a bull? I've never thrown a bull in my life. Carry big rocks? Done that in SEAL training. Toss a big log? Wrestle?"
"And jump the fire pit," Katrina said. "You must play with the bull, also, not just toss it. The Burakan are judged on their artistry in playing with the bull."
"Great," Mike grunted. "I should have been in the rodeo. Maybe I'll play the rodeo clown, I saw one of them one time. It looked like a hell of a way to make a living."
"Whatever you do, do not let yourself get directly in front of the bull's horns," Katrina said. "It will gore you for sure."
"Hold on," Mike said, sitting up. "It's got horns?"
"Of course," Katrina said, sitting up as well. "It is a fighting bull."
"You could get killed that way," Mike pointed out, realizing how fatuous the statement was after he said it. "Are they nuts?"
"It is a test of courage," Katrina said, her eyes narrowing. "You're not afraid are you?"
"Of course I'm afraid," Mike said, then frowned. "In my culture it's not a shame to admit fear. You just work through it. Sure, there's times you don't mention it. In a sub comes to mind. But you just do the damned job. But fighting with a bull? With horns? That's nuts!"
"You admit to being afraid?" Katrina said, amazed.
"I've been flat terrified more times than I want to remember," Mike said, thinking about a corridor stinking with dead bodies, not to mention spraying poison gas in a closed room. "There was one time," he said, avoiding those particular, highly classified, events, "when I had a double failure on a jump. You know what a parachute is?"
"No," Katrina said, frowning.
"It's a device for jumping out of airplanes," Mike said, picking up one of the napkins and holding it by the corners. "Imagine this as a very big piece of fabric," he said, pulling it through the air. "You jump out of the plane and then pull a ring so that the big fabric, attached to strings, comes out. And you float down through the air."
"That must be exciting," Katrina said, her eyes wide. "You have done this?"
"A couple of thousand times," Mike said. "I used to instruct in it. But one time, on a training jump, the chutes wouldn't come out of the bags they were in. You use two, for safety, but neither one would come out. I had to struggle to get the reserve deployed. It didn't open until I was a couple of hundred feet off the ground and we'd jumped from higher than the mountains," he said, gesturing at the peaks around them. "Now that was frightening. But there was a reason for me to be doing it." He thought about it for a moment and then shrugged.
"Okay, I'll admit it, I'd still be jumping for fun if I was in the States." He thought about it some more and shrugged again. "So maybe fighting a bull isn't so nuts after all. But I don't know how."
"Grab it by the horns," Katrina said, holding out her hands. "Get to the side and pull down on the horns to the side. Twist the head and force it to the ground and the body will follow."
"Sounds easy," Mike said, grinning. "And it's not, is it?"
"No," Katrina admitted. "Do not let it get you in front of its horns or it will hook up and you will be done."
"Thanks for the handy safety tip," Mike said, standing up and holding out his hand. "And on that note, I think we'd better be getting back."
"Yes, we should," Katrina said, unhappily. But she took his hand. However, when he hauled her to her feet she continued up, swarming on him and planting a kiss on his lips.
Mike leaned into it for a moment, their tongues tangling, then pulled himself away. More like pried her off.
"Very nice," he said, setting her back on her feet reluctantly. "But I'm going to be late."
"You are so very stubborn," Katrina said, shaking her head. But she started to pack up the lunch.
The first test was the test of the stone. A course had been laid out, about thirty meters long, with a line at the end and one huge fucking stone at the beginning.
"In the test of the stone, the contestant must pick up the stone and carry it to the far line, then back," Father Mahona said for the benefit of the visitors. Most of the Keldara were gathered to watch, along with the trainers and the women from the castle. Mike was glad to see about five of the trainers were missing, which meant Adams and Nielson had kept a reaction team around. He'd worried that if the Chechens got frisky today, nobody was in a position to do anything about it. He also wondered when would be a good time to point out to the Keldara that future festivals were going to be interrupted by personnel being on duty. "A count is kept starting from when they cross the first line until they get back to the line. He who makes it to the far line and back fastest wins. If you drop the stone you are permitted to pick it back up and finish."
The Burakan weren't the only ones participating in the test; in fact they went last. A few of the Keldara men were lined up to try their hand and as Mike watched the first one lift the stone, Russell wandered over to get in the line.
"Going to try your hand, Russell?" Mike called.
"Going to show them how it's supposed to be done, Kildar," the former Ranger called back.
The first Keldara hefted the stone on his legs, then up to hold it with it mostly across his forearms, and staggered forward. As he crossed the line the whole group of Keldara began clapping, in time, on their thighs with a few of his friends yelling encouragement and trying to speed the clapping up. He dropped it halfway back, had to get it back up, and finished in about a minute and a half.
The other Keldara went one by one, most of them dropping the rock at one point or another and only one finishing in under a minute.
Then it was Russell's turn. The massive former Ranger had found some chalk somewhere and first chalked his hands, then bent at the knees and got the rock up, getting his hands all the way under it and twisting them in a complex fashion. Once it was in place, he took off.
Instead of the stagger that the Keldara effected, he did the first part of the course at a fast walk, the stone held all the way off his legs and freeing them up so he could really move. He finished in less than forty seconds, which the Keldara seemed to find amazing.
When he finished the course, despite blowing hard at the effort, he hefted the stone up and over his head, finally tossing it away from him and stepping back with a bow.
"Show off," Mike said when the Ranger strolled over. He was still breathing in and out slowly and deeply, but the effort clearly hadn't significantly strained him.
"The thing's about five-fifty," he said, handing Mike a block of chalk. "Strongman competitions use one that's about eight hundred. This is easy time. The thing to do is get it all the way up and hook your fingers," Russell whispered, demonstrating the finger lock. "You have to let the weight fall mostly on your right index finger; it keeps the fingers locked that way. Then just go."
The Burakan were next and Mike watched carefully. His competitors used the same technique as the regular Keldara and mostly made about the same time. The exception was Oleg, who hefted the stone nearly up to his chin and took off at a fast walk like Russell. He just had the muscles to hold the damned thing up that high, even without using the finger lock. He made the course in just under fifty seconds. Still not as good as Russell, but Mike's time to beat.
Mike suddenly realized that his competitive streak had taken over as he walked over to the stone. All SEALs had a competitive streak; you had to have one to make it through BUDS and on the teams. He wasn't intending to win the trial, if it came down to cases he'd throw one of the competitions. But he was damned well going to hang in as long as he could.
Mike looked at the stone, slowly chalking his hands and considering the course. When his hands were well chalked he bent at the knees and got the thing up on them without much of a struggle. He'd worked with weights that were heavier but not much and this thing was just awkward. He hooked his fingers under the rock as Russell had shown him and then stood up. It was solid. Sure that he had it, he stepped off as fast as he could.
He was fine on the first length but something about the turn made his fingers start to slip. He still managed to keep a hold on the stone but he had to slow down to keep it from slipping. He still made it across in respectable time, just about the same as Oleg.
He still had enough of a hold to heft the thing up in a clean jerk over his head and toss it off like Russell.
"Very impressive, Kildar," Father Mahona said. "The next test is the test of the wood."