Kildar

Chapter Twenty-One

“Here come the youngsters,” Father Makanee said a few minutes later, gesturing to where the troops were walking up from the range. They’d turned in their weapons and were obviously discussing the zeroing with enthusiasm. Mike thought they’d probably be less enthusiastic by this time next week.

“Oleg,” Mike said, shaking the hand of the Kulcyanov family militia leader. “It was going well when I left.”

“Oh, it went well, I think, Kildar,” Oleg replied, nodding at him. “I’m not sure about Shoka. He had trouble hitting the mountainside.”

“There are things to be said for simply being a pack mule,” Mike pointed out. “And later we’ll see how he takes to heavier weapons. Some people do better with machine guns than rifles. If he’s one of those, he’ll be perfect.”

“Are you here to watch the competition, Kildar?” Sawn asked, walking over to the axe range. There were four ranges set up but it was still going to be a while before everyone could be run through.

“The Kildar wishes to participate,” Father Mahona said, formally. “He would be one of the woodcutters. If he can throw well enough.”

“He got the axe in the target,” Father Makanee pointed out. “For one who is not a Keldara, to get the axe in on only three tries is a feat.”

“On the short range,” Father Mahona responded. Mike noticed that everyone was backing up and gulped as Sawn took a position that was twice as far as the previous line.

The Makanee militia leader spun the axe with the fingers of his right hand for a moment and then in one continuous motion brought it up to shoulder level and let fly. The axe spun hard and true, making a series of turns that were a blur, and then buried itself in the wood. The head was very near the center of the top log, the one painted in white as a target.

“Crap,” Mike muttered. He never wanted to fight a Keldara with just an axe, that was for sure.

Some of the young men lined up to contest the throw while others simply gathered around and shouted encouragement. Mike noticed that all six of the militia leaders participated. He’d mostly talked with Genadi about who would be a good potential leader of the militia, but the six were, effectively, the designated heirs in their generation for the Families and the Keldara were careful about that. You had to show intelligence and wisdom and physical prowess to be considered for the spot of a Father of the Family. And the six had all three in abundance. Hell, most of the Keldara had all three, the six were simply exceptional.

And they all turned out to be exceptional with the axe throwing. Mike wasn’t sure to what extent they were simply showing off for the Kildar, however. He had to consider that when Oleg ended up breaking the axe handle and burying the head so deep that it took a few minutes to work it out.

It took about an hour to run all the men who were contesting through the course and Mike had to admit that he didn’t have a chance. Even the regular Keldara were very good at the skill while the leaders were fucking masters. That meant the six Families were all represented of course. There were a few misthrows, Shoka in particular had hit the target so hard, and at such a bad angle, that the axe bounced back practically to the onlookers. But Mike was easily going to be in the bottom ten percent.

“Kildar, will you try your hand, now?” Father Mahona said, smugly.

“I’m not nearly as good as any of these fine young men,” Mike said, nonetheless taking the axe from a slightly smirking Sawn. “But I will give it a try.”

He considered the range as he spun the axe in his hand, much as Sawn had. The distance was about twice what he’d thrown before, so if he simply kept the same spin and threw a bit harder, it should at least hit. He spun the axe a bit harder and then brought it up, hurling it as hard as he could at the target.

It had to be luck. He knew it was luck. But luck had been with him more than once and She smiled on him again. The axe ran true to the target, the handle impacting hard enough that it came damned near breaking as Oleg’s had, and the head buried itself in the target. It was slightly to one side, but deeply embedded. And instead of being in the bottom rank of throws, the toss was very near the top.

“Lucky,” Mike said, shrugging, as the Keldara applauded by slapping their thighs.

“A very good throw,” Father Makanee said, glancing at Mahona. “I think that the Kildar has proven his worth.”

“For poplar, perhaps,” Father Mahona replied.

“Poplar would be a good choice,” Father Kulcyanov said, having overheard the exchange. “The tree of spring, the fire that we burn upon the hearth, the tree of quicklife.”

“The rites must be explained,” Father Makanee pointed out. “May I?”

“It is yours to explain,” Father Kulcyanov said, nodding.

“Kildar,” Father Makanee said, formally. “Choose nine young men to accompany you. You should go to the poplar stands along the river. Choose three trees that are crowding the others, trees that are high and straight but unlikely to cause damage if removed. They must be cut by the light of the moon only and you have until dawn to finish the task. Only you must swing the axe. When the trees are cut, you and the other nine return them to the tun along with the top cuttings. In the meantime, the other young men will scour the woods for branches for kindling. The branches of kindling must be gathered and not cut. At dawn, the nine who cut the trees must make the first cuts of the turf for the fire, but they do not have to complete the building of the pit. After cutting out the circle, they can retire and rest until noon, when the rest of the competitions begin. No one is required to participate in any of the competitions, so you can feel free to rest as long as you’d like. In fact, you don’t have to do the cutting, although it would be an honor.”

Mike hadn’t realized he was being set a task that would take all damned night. But at this point, he really didn’t see a way to back out.

“I’ll do the cutting,” he said, mentally kicking himself. “I can tell a chainsaw is out, but can I use a regular axe? One of the ones I had brought in? They cut better.”

“The axes to be used are not these,” Father Kulcyanov said. “They are kept by the Families, forged upon our fires and remade as necessary. We would… prefer you use those.”

“Can do,” Mike said, nodding. “Father Kulcyanov, I have lived among the Keldara for only a short time. I would have you choose the nine men to accompany me.”

The detailing didn’t take long and before dark had settled, Mike and his group, along with several others, had gathered in front of the Kulcyanov house. Father Kulcyanov entered and returned in a few moments with four axes; he was apparently the keeper of the spares. Each of the axes was subtly different; one was fairly light with a single, broad, edge, one was single sided and much larger, the third was about the same size with a pick back and the third was a monster with two heads. He set all four on a table by the door and then picked up the smallest.

“This is the axe Camaforn,” the father said, formally, handing it to one of the winners. “Bear it with pride.”

“I bear it with pride, in the name of the All Father,” the young man said, bowing.

“Your tree is the pine, the evergreen, the fragrant boughed,” Father Kulcyanov said. “Bring three logs, of the size of a man’s thighs, to the tun by morning, that the blessing of the Father of All may be upon us.”

“I shall in the name of my Family,” the Keldara said, nodding and turning away.

The ritual, and there was no question that it was a ritual, continued through the other two groups. Oleg got the second to the largest axe, leaving the monster to Mike. He wasn’t sure he could swing it for any time at all, much less cut down three trees “of the width of a man’s thigh.” His thigh? Vil’s? Father Kulcyanov’s? He guessed, however, that questions were not encouraged at this point.

“This is the axe Culcanar,” Father Kulcyanov said, holding out the axe across outstretched hands. “Bear it with pride.”

“I bear it with pride in the name of the All Father,” Mike said. He wasn’t particularly religious, but he’d come to the firm conclusion that they weren’t talking about a Christian god.

“Your tree is the poplar, the tree of spring, the tree that burns upon our hearth, the quick lifed,” the Father continued. “Bring three logs, of the size of a man’s thighs, to the tun by morning, that the blessing of the Father of All may be upon us.”

“I shall in the name of the Keldara,” Mike said, formally. He’d thought about what he should swear by as he watched the ritual, and decided that, as the Kildar, he could only support the whole group. He’d thought about doing it in the name of the SEALs, but if Adams heard he’d never give him a moment’s peace.

Father Kulcyanov nodded in approval, so apparently he’d chosen right.

Mike gathered his group up and headed down to the stream. The nearest serious stand of poplar was about a kilometer and a half away. The night was a tad cold for how he’d dressed, but he figured he’d be warming up in a bit.

The axe was not nearly as heavy as it looked; the head was actually fairly thin. But it didn’t look like an axe for cutting trees, it looked like an axe for lopping off heads. If it was actually a battle-axe, the light weight made sense. You’d have to swing it for a long time in a fight; having a super heavy axe would make you wear out faster than your opponent.

The moon was past halfway and there was enough light to examine the axe, to a degree. It looked, hell it felt, old. It might have been reworked, but it had probably been reworked over centuries. And the original design appeared to be intact, as if each craftsman that had worked on it had been careful not to change a line. The whole festival was making him furiously curious about the origins of the Keldara.

“Okay, guys,” he said to the group as they approached the stand of poplar, “I’m new here and I haven’t been fully briefed. Hell, I’ve never chopped a tree down of any size. What the hell am I doing?”

There were chuckles from the mostly faceless group in the darkness, but one stepped up next to him and pointed at the poplars.

“There is one that is of a size,” the Keldara said, stepping forward. “The limbs will make it heavy to the north, yes? It has grown out that way for light. Cut here,” he continued, pointing to a spot on the side where there was a barely visible discoloration. “Cut into it about halfway. Then cut on the other side. When you start to hear it creak, drop the axe and run like hell.”

“This is a special axe,” Mike pointed out, spitting on his hands in preparation. “Should I really drop it?”

“Culcanar will understand,” the Keldara said, cryptically.

Mike stepped up to the tree and started cutting as the young men in the group spread out through the trees, picking up fallen limbs.

Mike considered the ritual as he cut. The poplars along the stream were obviously kept there as erosion control and a ready source of firewood. They had been thinned out from time to time, there were stumps visible, but they’d been treated with care. He wondered how much the ritual had to do with care of the trees and how much to do with spring planting. Even the gathering of the wood from around them was a form of care, since it reduced the possibility of a wild fire. And cutting out certain trees, each of the cutters had been given a different wood to gather, meant that the clearing was widespread.

The entire festival had a very old feel to it. There were touches of Norse, touches of Celtic, but very little that he recognized from Georgian or Russian. “All Father,” for example, was a name for Odin, the Norse father of the gods. But certain names, the name of the axe for example, Culcanar, sounded more Celtic. And very unchanged. There was no “ov” or “ich” to it. Culculane was a Celtic warrior myth. He seemed to recall it meant “Dog of Culan.” So the axe’s name, if it was from Celtic, would be something like “Dog of Canar.” But the Keldara had referred to it in first person. That might refer to the axe or the original owner. He simply had to get to the bottom of “the mysteries.” It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Poplar was a soft wood, but he could feel himself wearing out by the time he’d cut halfway through the tree. And he had two more to go. He felt sorry for Oleg, who had gotten oak, which was much harder. Presumably, someone was cutting maple which was hard as rock. That person was in for a hell of a night.

He’d gotten seriously warmed up on the first half, but he didn’t stop as he moved to the other side of the tree. He was on a time limit and the moon was well up. He started in on the other side, getting into the rhythm again, one cut down, one up, chopping out a wedge in the side of the tree. But before he’d really gotten in the zone he heard a creaking sound and, taking the advice of the Keldara, he dropped the axe and ran like hell.

The tree seemed to be puzzled for a moment, swaying slightly as all the Keldara backed away hurriedly. Then it bent over and crashed to the ground with a slight twist, easily missing everyone.

“Do I top it now, or do that later?” Mike asked.

“Now,” the same Keldara answered. “If you will, Kildar.”

“Trim it up?” Mike asked, picking the axe back up and walking to the end. “Cut it in half or what?”

“Just top it, Kildar,” another Keldara said. “We can carry it, topped, to the tun. And others will drag the top up. Later it can be cut in half.”

Mike chopped the top off, leaving a log that was about twenty-five feet long. As big around as it was and filled with sap, it was going to be a fun time carrying it.

“Next tree, if you will,” was all he said.

He was well into the first cut when he heard a group approaching and looked up. From the shapes in the moonlight, he saw that the girls had arrived with food and beer. What he really wanted was some water and the river was right there. But he knew better than to drink unfiltered river water; damned gyardia cysts were everywhere and caused a rather raging case of Montezuma’s Revenge.

“Kildar,” one of the women said, walking over to him. “The cutting is going well.”

“I guess,” Mike replied, taking the beer bottle that she handed him and flexing his hands.

“I have brought you gloves,” the woman continued.

“Thank you,” Mike said, taking them from her and tucking them in his belt. “Is it Irina?”

“Yes, Kildar,” the girl replied, smiling.

“Sorry, didn’t recognize you at first,” the former SEAL said. “How’s the scar?”

“Healed,” she said. “I thank you for my life.”

“And I hope the Fathers took my little lecture to heart?” Mike asked. “You’re not considered…”

“Unmarriageable?” she asked, giggling. “No, they accepted your command. In fact, I am to be promised to Jitka Ferani. We will be wed next fall, if the jadan can be worked out.”

“Is that a dowry or a purchase?” Mike asked, having to use the English word for “dowry.”

“When a woman is wed, she must bring certain money and things with her,” Irina said, shrugging. “It is our custom.”

“Dowry,” Mike said, nodding.

“It is much money,” Irina continued, unhappily. “It is very hard on the Family.”

“Things will get better,” Mike pointed out. “More planting and I’m thinking about other ways the Keldara can make money. And, besides, this is spring. Aren’t you supposed to be happy?”

“You’re right, Kildar,” the girl said. “Drink your beer and eat your bread and meat, that you may have the strength to fell the trees of the spring. We’ll leave this here; we go to gather flowers.”

“Let’s see,” Mike said, smiling. “Girls gathering flowers, boys gathering wood. My, there might even be chance meetings.”

“There may,” the girl said, giggling again. “A few.”

“What about all this careful separation?” Mike asked.

“It’s spring,” Irina replied, shrugging. “On the nights of the spring festival, things are… different.”

“And here I am chopping down a tree,” Mike said, shrugging ruefully.

“It makes you one of the Nine,” Irina said, smiling in the moonlight. “You will be able to challenge for the Ondah, the King of Spring. The Ondah chooses the Queen.”

“I’m not even going to try,” Mike pointed out. “After this is over, I’m just going to crash.”

“You will find the day is long, but fun,” Irina promised. “No one will sleep tonight, except the young children and the old people. And tomorrow there will be feasting and games and dancing. And tomorrow night is the Lighting, and no one will sleep at all.”

“Sounds like Hell Week,” Mike said, grinning. “I’d better eat and drink my beer so I can finish cutting down this tree.”

Some of the girls hung around after Irina left, ostensibly looking for flowers in the woods and mostly hanging out with the boys, who began bringing in less and less wood. Mike didn’t care, though. He was busy cutting down the tree, thankful for the gloves Irina had brought. He had calluses, but not the right kind either in depth or position to help him with the axe.

As it turned out, he finished all three trees well before dawn. That only left getting them to the hill. That was where the others had their place. Five of them could lift one of the logs over their head, and Mike joined the second group, despite the weariness of his arms, lifting the log onto his shoulder and carrying it up to the hill.

They were one of the first groups in but as it turned out there was a particular spot that the logs had to be laid. Chocks were placed on the hill and then Father Kulcyanov, who was looking mighty worn, carefully had the poplar logs laid perpendicular to the slope at a particular point on the side of the nearly round hill.

When Mike returned to the hill, following the last poplar log and with the other four dragging the crowns, Father Kulcyanov stepped over to him and nodded.

“Kildar, you would do me a great honor if you could cut down one more tree before dawn,” the elder said. “Givi can show you the proper tree. It must be a fir tree, of the width of a thigh and at least as tall as two normal men. Again, it must be cut before dawn and should be in the village by dawn.”

“That’s not much time,” Mike said, estimating by the moon and then checking his watch.

“The young men assure me that you can do it,” Father Kulcyanov said. “I would send Oleg, but he has had trouble with the oak. He has not yet cut his last tree.”

“Okay, okay,” Mike said, feeling hard done by. “I’m on it. Any idea where to find a fir nearby?”

“Givi will lead you,” the elder said, gesturing to one of the Kulcyanov boys.

“Lead on, Givi,” Mike said. “Come on, boys, one more tree to cut down. You want it in the village?”

“Yes, Kildar,” Father Kulcyanov said. “In front of my house.”

“Let’s go,” Mike said, trotting off. They didn’t have a lot of time, if the tree was going to be there before dawn.

Givi led them to the hill behind the compound and up a steep path to near its summit. Mike could hear cutters in the woods as they passed and the sound of laughter from the girls who were “looking for flowers.” At one point he also clearly heard the sort of gasp you only got when two people were entwined. So much for all of the girls being virgins.

As they neared the summit, they came to a grove of firs. Mike could see that there was some sort of crosstree set at the top of the ridge, but the guide led him off to one side and it dropped out of sight. Givi led them through the grove to a tree that looked identical to the others. But he definitely felt that was the one to cut.

The fir tree had branches that reached nearly to the ground, making it hard to get the axe in.

“Is it okay to cut away the branches?” Mike asked.

“Yes,” Givi said. “It’s really the only way.”

Mike crawled under the boughs and hacked away a couple of branches, giving himself enough room to get at the trunk on one side at least. One of the lads had a sharpening stone with him and Mike quickly honed the blade — it had obviously needed it — and then started cutting the tree.

The spot where he was cutting had had branches on it so there were tough knots to negotiate. And the fir was much harder than the poplar. But he felt the urgency of time so he laid in as hard as he could, really hammering it so that chips flew. In about fifteen minutes he’d cut halfway through and crawled under the other side to give himself some room to cut there.

In less than an hour he had the tree felled and took a few minutes cutting away some of the larger branches so that the Keldara could get the tree up on their shoulders. When it was all ready, they started down the path as fast as they could, safely, racing the approaching dawn with those not carrying the tree gathering up the fallen branches and following. It was already pre-dawn, Before Morning Nautical Twilight as they’d say in the military, with the air a ghostly blue. The moon was down and the sun not yet up and the visibility sucked. There was also a slight ground fog, giving the woods an eerie feeling. It combined to really slow them down.

Mike wasn’t sure if Keldara dawn counted as the sun over the horizon or the traditional “telling a white thread from a black thread.” But whichever counted, they were in the village in time. When they got to the spot outside the Kulcyanov house, all eight of the other axemen and their parties were gathered around a hole dug in the hard courtyard.

The men carrying the tree laid it gently on the ground and the other axemen fell on it with a will, cutting away the branches until there was only a bit of green at the top. Then the whole group gathered together to set it in the hole and pull it vertical with ropes and pushing. When it was vertical, the earth that had been dug out of the hole was shoveled back in and tamped down hard so that the tree stood firmly upright.

Several of the cuttings from the tree fellings had been gathered in the same area and as soon as the tree was erected, the axemen started chopping them up. They cut the boughs from the woody portions so that there was soon a huge heap of greenery one side of the courtyard.

As this was going on, the younger children and old people of the village started to come out, bringing breakfast for the whole troop. Mostly it was cakes with some sort of a wash on them and eggs, with buttermilk instead of the usual beer. Mike was so thirsty from the previous night that he ended up drinking about a gallon of the milk. He also started to wonder when he could leave to go get some sleep.

Besides whatever else they had been doing, the girls from the village had been gathering flowers. They proved it by coming forward, as soon as the boughs were cut, with baskets heaped with wildflowers. Using twine and vines they began tying the flowers all around the tree, getting boosts from the boys to get the upper sections, which involved a certain amount of grab ass and lots of giggling. At the top, which involved standing on shoulders, the girls hung small oatmeal cakes and brightly colored eggs like Easter eggs from the branches that had been left.

It was at that point that Mike finally realized that what he had cut was a Maypole.

Some of the girls who hadn’t been involved in decorating the Maypole had taken the boughs and gone around the houses of the Keldara, hanging them from the doorways until the entire village was decked in green. They added their wildflowers to the doorways and gathered more eggs and cakes from the women at the houses.

These were added to the doorways or hung from the Maypole. The children ran around trying to cadge them from the girls and Mike could understand why. The cakes were primarily oatmeal, but seasoned with honey and some fruit. They were pretty good; he’d eaten three when they were offered.

After the Maypole was decorated, the men trooped off towards the hill where the wood had been laid out. Mike figured he had to be in on this, too, so he followed along, noting in passing that “his” group had waited until he headed out.

When they got to the hill, he saw the point of the careful arrangement of the poplar logs. There were four sets of logs perpendicular to the hill, with the spaces between filled by four more sets parallel and the last set of three logs in a pyramid at the top.

Many of the men had carried shovels up to the hill and now one of them was offered to Mike.

“You must help in the first cut of the turf,” Givi said quietly, holding a hand out for the axe. “Stand by the base of one of the logs in the triangle and when Father Kulcyanov says, cut into the turf in a sort of circle towards the next log over, moving to your right. There will be one of the other axemen halfway between. Just cut to where he has started. Try to make it even.”

Mike did as he was told, watching Father Kulcyanov for the signal. The old man was standing under the pyramid of logs in what looked almost like a trance, looking to the west. At a certain point he raised his arms, held them for a moment, and then dropped them.

Mike had been looking in the same direction and realized that the sun had finally hit the tip of one of the distant mountaintops. He ignored it, though, as he dug down into the hard turf, making a cut in it and then moving on towards the next man over. It didn’t seem to be a race, but Mike hardly wanted to be last so he hurried while paying attention to getting a nice even curve. When he reached the point the other man had started at, he stopped.

“Kildar, we thank you for your assistance in the Rite of Spring,” Father Kulcyanov said, formally. “The other men will complete the circle while the Burakan retire to rest for the events of the day.”

“What do I do about the axe?” Mike asked, gratefully handing over the shovel. He was in decent shape but the exertions of the night had used muscle groups that were different from those he’d primarily been working.

“Keep it near you through the day,” Kulcyanov replied. “You may choose a champion to carry it for you in the tests. I ask that you be in the village again at noon for the first feasting. The women of the village will prepare the food. You will choose the food of one among them to eat.”

“Okay,” Mike said, going over to Givi to get the axe. “Givi, a moment of your time?” he asked, taking the Keldara by the elbow.

“Yes, Kildar?” Givi asked when they were well away from the group at the top of the hill.

“Make sure that Katrina makes one of those lunches,” Mike said. He looked at the raised eyebrow and shrugged. “I only know a few of the Keldara women by name, and most of those are taken already. I know Katrina’s not going to have anyone ask for her lunch basket or whatever. And I don’t want to step on toes.”

“If you are chosen as Ondah, would you ask her to be your queen?” the Keldara asked, askance.

“I’m not going to be Ondah,” Mike pointed out. “I’m going to throw in the towel, even if I get close. That’s for people like Oleg or Vil, not me. I’m the Kildar. So it won’t come up. Okay?”

“Of course, Kildar,” Givi said, nodding.

“I’m going up to the serai until noon,” Mike said, looking up at the sky and wincing. “I doubt I’m going to get much sleep.”

“Mike,” Adams said, walking up the hill. “Where the hell have you been?”

“It’s a long story, man,” Mike replied, walking down towards him. “You’re just wondering now?”

“Mother Savina said you were with the Keldara last night,” the chief said, glancing at the axe. “Nice. Buy it?”

“It’s a loaner,” Mike said. “I hope like hell you brought wheels. I’m not up to the climb up the hill at the moment.”