by Jacky Gray
Slater rose unsteadily to his feet, once more a vision had damaged the balance connections to his brain. Mondilla took his arm, leading him toward the ring-stone which they encircled three times. The chanting of the villagers grew louder and Slater looked in vain for Diltan as Mondilla guided him widdershins around the inner ring.
Circling round one of the western stones of the inner circle, she said prayers, calling it the Lughnasadh stone. Slater was aware of the villagers gathering in the space between the outer henge and the inner circles. Mondilla seemed in a hurry – the timing must be important. After the third loop, she led him toward the central stone which he knew as the obelisk, weaving between the stones of the inner structure.
Several girls waited there and he resisted as two of them tried to remove his jacket. Mondilla raised her hands in his direction and a calming energy released in his mind. It washed through his limbs like a warm wave, ensuring his compliance. He allowed them to dress him in the white robe and place a crown of leaves on his head. One girl offered a beaker and, when he didn’t take it, she raised it to his lips. A thick liquid warmed his insides and he began to relax even more as they led him to the obelisk.
Images from the nightmare filled his mind – he was to be sacrificed to the sunset. Exactly as in his dream, he was powerless to move, bound to the stone by enchantments from the priest’s chair and herbs in the drink. As the sun set behind the Lughnasadh stone, the shadow approached, marking his time. Mondilla raised her arms to the sun, and the tone of the chanting changed as the people slowly came inside the inner circle and began to walk sunwise round the inside. But none of them crossed the shadow line, leaving the temple at the previous stone to walk outside, re-emerging after the Lughnasadh stone.
Seeing Diltan in the line, Slater tried to call him to ask for help, but the words would not form in his mind. Then the chanting changed again as everyone stopped moving. Everyone except one figure who approached the centre of the temple in the shadow of the Lughnasadh stone, his arm raised high. As the unknown antagonist got closer, Slater could not believe his eyes. The one person he trusted would perform the foul deed. Diltan, his friend, was going to kill him.
Gripped in terror, Slater tried to move limbs which refused to obey. He could not so much as hold out his hands to protect his chest from the blade, let alone run from his assassin. But then a voice, sweet and gentle sounded in his ear. ‘Do not worry, Slater. It will not hurt. The sacrifice will help to renew the earth force to the whole land. Your name will be honoured and remembered for ever. You must have faith and it will be all right.’ The persuasive voice was joined by the voices of all the people within the temple as they added their words of reassurance.
But Slater was not reassured. He felt used and betrayed. His only crime was helping these people, especially Mondilla and Diltan. They were the two who would be responsible for his death. He could not see the priestess, but the look on Diltan’s face said he would be happy to perform the terrible deed. As he came within a pace of his victim, he lowered his arm, and turned in a slow circle as a signal for the crowd to cease the chant. Facing Slater once more, he raised his arm. The weapon in his hand glinted red in the dying rays of the sun as he brought it toward Slater’s undefended chest.
19 – Sacrifice
Sharp pain signals throbbing through to his brain, forced Slater awake. Moving his head caused an even sharper pain in his left cheek, so he lay still and tried to assess his current predicament. He was not constrained at the sun temple obelisk, but lying down on a skin which gave off a musky smell. They must have moved him when he lost consciousness. A blink verified the darkness; he could not make out the hand in front of his face, indicating night time. He couldn’t see a moon, but even if he had, it wouldn’t have helped – without knowing the phase of the moon and which way was east, he could not estimate how long he had been unconscious.
The nearby chanting of prayers suggested he was still surrounded by the villagers. Listening hard, he heard them giving thanks to the sun and moon for the mild summer weather. This could possibly still be part of the sunset ritual. Because equinox meant there were twelve hours of day and night, it was much more likely that they had completed the ritual, had a party, and then got a decent night’s sleep in their warm beds before rising to welcome the sunrise. Nice for some. He wondered if they had taken it in turns to watch over their prisoner and whether the person drawing the shortest straw had grumbled.
A part of him was surprised to find himself still alive, but based on what had happened so far, he doubted this would still be the case once the second part of the ritual had completed. It was important not to let anyone know he had woken until he had considered all the available possibilities for escape.
First things first, he had to do something to relieve the pain and allow him to concentrate. With great care, he moved his right hand to the edge of the thick skin and felt a wooden platform. Several sharp sticks poked through gaps between the timbers. This accounted for the pain in his cheek. Lifting his head, he found a new position and resettled – a tiny movement. The disproportionately large protests of stiff muscles on his left side suggested he had been lying on this hard surface for some time. So his reasoning was correct. The depth of darkness did not indicate the middle of the night; most likely just before dawn.
The chanting paused and he heard a crackling sound which could only be coming from the flame of a torch. So, if there was a torch nearby, why couldn’t he see more? Maybe it was outside the temple. Sniffing the air, he smelt not just burning twigs, but the sort of spices which regularly got burnt during ceremonies. Risking the possibility someone might see the movement, he turned his head toward the direction of the sound and smell.
All he could see was a flickering glow and as he strained to see more, the platform creaked alarmingly. Luckily, the chanting had resumed, covering the noise. It was a different prayer this time, welcoming the Lughnasadh sun and inviting him to shine on the crops so they would ripen before the harvest. The creaking worried him – what sort of structure was he on and what were the sharp sticks about? Again, he felt past the skin to the edge of the boards underneath. His hand felt more wood, not shaped timbers but branches, twigs and leaves. His brain, still confounded from the earlier enchantment, took a while to work out where he was. The platform was on top of a bonfire. A bonfire which would be lit as the sun rose.
As though answering his unspoken question, the sky lightened enough for him to see exactly where he was. At the summit of a huge bonfire on top of the white mound of Silburgh hill. So he was to be part of the chain of beacons which blazed across the country, restoring the energy to the earth on the Michael line. He wondered bitterly how many others would be sacrificed to appease the Gods. And for such a small return. The main growing season had almost finished; only a few weeks remained before the crops would be harvested, scarcely more than a moon. Toward the east, he could see a pink tinge rapidly lightening the sky, making his white robe visible. As he looked down at it, he realised something important was missing.
Before his mind could register an explanation for the lack of blood on his clothes or the lack of pain in his chest, the chanting stopped. Mondilla’s voice inside his head commanded him to sit up.
Then she spoke aloud. ‘Silene’s mound is a wondrous sight to behold and brings much honour to the tribe of Kenit. But Slater has helped me to see it is not yet done.’ She pointed up to his platform and he looked down to see circles of faces raised to the top of the bonfire. Any escape attempts would be wasted; there were a couple of hundred people waiting to see him die. Her next words sealed his fate. ‘He has seen it is still not tall enough, so after the harvest we will begin once more.’
20 – Renewing Mother Earth
There were general sounds of dissent from the people who had already toiled for so many winters to create the massive structure. To be told their efforts were not good enough must have been heart-breaking. Mondilla allowed them a few minutes of well-deserved grumbli
ng to voice their frustration before raising her hand for silence.
‘I feel your misery, but reward is great. For every winter we give up, Lunai gives five summers of mild weather and good harvest.’
A lone voice raised an objection. ‘You say that afore. I am long dead afore she pays back all harvests from this mound.’
Several people gasped at the implied criticism, but many more were nodding their heads in agreement of this controversial statement. Mondilla watched, seemingly unconcerned as the wave of unrest swept through the crowd, gaining momentum as people decided where their loyalties lay. After several minutes she again held up her hand for silence. This time, it was slower in coming.
‘Solah rise soon. Must light fire now. When rites are done, I will tell more.’
Slater had been so focused on the crowd dynamics, he forgot about his part in the grand scheme of things. Something caught his eye. As he looked to the east, he saw the most extraordinary sight. For as far as he could see into the distance, small points of light blazed, joining to form a line which was rapidly making its way across the country. Forgetting his fear, he pointed, excitement catching his voice in his throat for a second. ‘The spirit energy. It’s coming along the Michael and Mary lines.’
Some of the children, who obviously hadn’t seen the spectacle before, ran to the north east and adults gave up their places so they could see. Some of the infants were lifted onto shoulders where they had the best vantage point as the bonfires were lit and the fiery line snaked its way toward them.
‘Slater, when light appears at sanctuary, you must burn sacrifice. It is above you.’ Her voice sounded inside his head, answering his question before he asked it. ‘You must come down before we burn pyre.’
The sky had lightened enough for him to see the straw effigy of a man attached to a pole at the edge of his platform. Despite being a good pace above his head, he reckoned he could just about reach it with a long torch. Before the question was fully formed about how to light it, a flaming torch appeared, held by a smiling Lunella.
‘Mother say I can bring fire today.’
‘Mother? You mean Mondilla?’
The girl nodded happily, and then pointed east. The beacon at the sanctuary was alight and Slater saw the two white lines cross there. After a pause, the Michael line took a slow path up toward the temple while the Mary line sizzled toward the West Kennet long barrow.
‘Quickly Slater, or serpent tail not have time.’ She handed him the torch and he touched each of the feet of the straw man in turn. They had been steeped in oil so they rapidly caught light, burning brightly. The sentinel at Knoll Down was well prepared. Twin lights appeared an instant later followed by another light to the north at Windmill hill. Lunella grabbed his arm and tried to drag him toward the ladder but he was fascinated by the twin spirals of white light surrounding the burning figures at Knoll Down. After several coils, they joined together and the light shot toward the long barrow, heading for the temple.
‘The pyre is lit. When the moon energy reaches Silene’s mound, the strength will make it burn fiercely. If you do not get down you will die.’ Mondilla’s voice sounded detached, as if his death was unimportant, but he could see the leading edge blistering its way round from the Swallowhead spring. The tail energy passed over the dormant section of the Mary line, causing a small fizzle either side. With a reluctant last glance, Slater clambered down the ladder.
With the advantage of the hill’s height, Slater watched the sun energy follow the Michael line along the West Kennet Avenue. The moon energy surged up the Mary line until it reached the outer circle where they fused together. The third line from the serpent’s tail changed course to enter the Aveburgh temple from the west. The crowd cheered as all three energies were visible in the henge.
The tall Lughnasadh stone, the object of Slater’s terrifying experiences on the previous eve, glowed as it added its stored power to the joint Michael and Mary line.
‘Cover your eyes.’ The warning repeated up and down the lines of people. Small children ran to hide their faces in their mother’s aprons. The tail line reached a point between the two inner temples; Slater guessed this must be the centre of the henge. At exactly the same instant, the joint sun and moon energies reached the same point and for a split second, all three stopped. Much longer than the small pauses when the sun and moon lines crossed, this interval heralded something even bigger happening.
‘Earth, sun and moon are one.’ Mondilla’s voice was no more than a whisper, but the chant gained momentum as it was repeated by every person on the hill.
Almost before she finished speaking, the fearsome force of the three united energies reared its head in an awesome display of power. Slater pulled up the neck of his tunic to cover his eyes and peered through the thin linen at the column of pure energy that leapt into the air, dwarfing the temples below.
It split into four distinct strands, which looped back down into the centre of the temple. Two strands headed northward, the other two retraced their path, separating at the bottom of the henge. The moon energy raced back down the Mary line, heading toward Silburgh Hill.
People stood back from the centre of the mound, getting away from the bonfire while trying to stay high enough on the mound to watch the spirit energy surging down the lines, recharging the earth.
Slater watched the serpent tail dull back to its normal level and was surprised when Lunella joined him.
‘Earth is my favourite. Sun line is strong and Moon line is gentle, but earth line is best because is kind and strong, like mother and father.’
‘You can see the spirit lines?’
‘Yes. Can you?’
‘Yes but not everyone in my … village can see them.’ He paused, not knowing if she would understand the word.
‘Not everyone in my … village can see them.’ She grinned as she copied his emphasis. ‘Is strange if Mondilla daughter cannot see spirit lines.’
‘Of course. But why were all the people watching if they cannot see the spirit lines?’
‘They see them today because of spirit power. Fire lines glow four times in year.’
‘Let me guess, at the Beltane sunrise?’
‘Yes. At sunset for Imbolc and Samhain, but fires go other way.’ She mimed west to east. ‘Sun shines on sun and moon spirit lines so everyone can see them.’ She paused for a moment, as though listening, then said, ‘Mother says we must go to river.’
Following her lead, Slater scrambled down the hill and ran the short distance, skirting round the edge of the large crowd which had gathered to listen to her mother’s explanation. She was standing on the side of the hill with the rising sun making her aura glow. The mood of the crowd did not bode well. The man who had objected earlier had been stirring up some of the others and they were standing at the front, looking as though they were prepared for a battle. Although her appearance was calm and detached, Slater could tell she appreciated their support – this would not be an easy task.
‘Grimbold say we not need to make Silene’s mound taller. If you agree, stand with him to north. If you agree with me it must be taller, stand to south. If you don’t know, stay in middle. Make your choice now.’
Several people moved north but most tried to find a space in the centre. There were only a few, nearly all women, who ventured to the south. Mondilla would have quite a job on her hands, but she remained impassive, waiting for people to settle before inviting Grimbold to come up and say his piece.
He strode up beside her with some confidence. Almost a quarter of the throng, mostly men, occupied the north. Clearing his throat, he began. ‘We work hard for many winters to build hill. Lunai has one temple, she not need another.’ Several of the men agreed, raising their voices.
‘Aye, foul work and only for men.’
‘It breaks back and fills lung with dust.’
The voices got stronger and louder as Grimbold went on. ‘Every winter we work is a winter closer to death. It not matter if summers are good,
we not there to see them.’
He seemed to have finished and several of the men started clapping. He acknowledged their support with a couple of bows, and then returned to Mondilla’s side.
She waited for the crowd to quieten. ‘What if work less dusty and days shorter? Do you still object?’
Grimbold tossed a sceptical look at his supporters and they jeered their disbelief.
‘What if every man, woman and child from all villages help with building? Do you still object?’
There was no response from the men, but a number of people from the centre moved to join them. Slater could see it was not going well, but she had not finished.
‘Good harvest brings more crops. We can trade for help from other tribes.’
‘They get crops but we must work for naught.’
Slater could keep quiet no longer, struggling to speak simply in his passion. ‘It won’t be for naught. You work so your children and their children and many children for years to come will benefit. Every year more babies are born and we take more energy from the earth, so we must put more back in. All of Aveburgh temples return energy to the earth, so they must be big enough to do it properly.’ Pausing, he gulped some air into his chest which had seized in fright. He’d never before spoken to so many people, and they all appeared to be listening to his words. One or two of the older ones nodded their heads wisely.
‘He’s right. There’s two heads for every one when I was a bairn.’
‘If they need more energy, they must build it. Why do we get sick for them?’ Grimbold finally came to the crux of the argument.
‘You don’t need to get sick.’ Slater addressed him directly. ‘If everyone helps, the extra effort is shared. Those who can’t work on the hill can tend the animals and crops of those who can. The building can be done all year round, not just in the winter moons when it is cold and damp.’