"Irene Radford - Merlins Descendents 01 - Guardian Of The Balance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Radford Irene)

Prologue
KA-THUMP-THM. Ka-Thump-thm-thm. The drums echoed MyrddinтАЩs heartbeat. Faster and faster the drums beat,
calling the college of Druids to Beltane revelries. Myrddin Emrys stepped into the center of the GiantтАЩs Dance.
Reverence for the ceremony he was about to preside over tinged the edges of his senses. But something was missing
in this time-honored ritual. He watched the revelries taking place all across the broad plain. The huge twin bonfires
roared just east of the Heel Stone. The communityтАЩs livestock had been driven down the processional avenue between
the fires to purify them for the coming year. Woodsmoke, singed hide, and the earthy aroma of livestock bunched
together grounded his awareness of his duties. The future and fertility of his community depended upon his proper
performance of ritual tonight. The community danced a serpentine pattern around and between the bonfires. All was
in place. Myrddin bent to his task, his ritual knife poised to cut sigils into the dirtтАФPridd, the living Goddess.
The four elements, Pridd, Awyr, Tanio, and Dwfr, were present. The omens indicated a season of bounty. He should
begin.
Higher and higher the bonfires leaped and danced in imitation of Belenos, the sun. Naked youths broke away from the
dance and jumped over the bonfire, defying the growing flames. Red and orange sparks seemed to fly from the bronze
torcs encircling their necks. Ale and sacred mead flowed freely among all of the participants. The pattern of life
continued in the age-old celebration. Myrddin downed his third cup of the honey wine, barely tasting the blessing in
each swallow. No one should hide from Dana, the Goddess, tonight by wearing clothing. But he was forced to wear a
white robe, woven of the finest virgin wool. He must remain separated from the revelries while presiding over them.
Only he among the current generation of Druids had been gifted with prophecy.
Only he was commanded to remain separate from the celebration of fertility.
He returned to the solitary ritual the chief Druid must perform. Ka-Thump-thm. Ka-Thump-thm. The drumbeats called
him away from his duties. He deliberately blotted out the images of the annual drunken celebration. He needed
concentration to maintain the continuity within the patterns of past, present, and future.
He cut the sigils into the Pridd. Male, female, birth, death, infinity. The same symbols snaked up his arm in vivid
tattoos.
Life unfolded in unending patterns of sigils, portents, and choices. Druids interpreted for those who lost sight of their
patterns in the midst of the loops and whorls of change. Tonight Myrddin had difficulty finding his own pattern within
the sigils he cut into the earth.
Ka-Thump-thm. Ka-Thump-thm-thm.
His concentration wavered as he caught sight of the naked virgins proceeding toward the bonfire through the ritual
maze cut into the turf. He needed to join them. Join with them.
To the strongest and bravest of the young men leaping over the bonfires would go the privilege of accepting the gift
of virginity from the prettiest maid in the community. Myrddin had never tasted that glorious honor. The smell of
sweat and musky anticipation pulled his concentration away from the sigils.
Tonight the men of the community would scatter their seed among the women.
Tomorrow they would scatter different seeds in the freshly plowed fields.
Powerful symbolism to entice the blessing of the Goddess.
The wool of his ceremonial robe rasped against his skin. The drums called to him, taunted him with the knowledge his
seed would never take root. His gaze lingered on Deirdre, the priestess who led tonightтАЩs procession. Sight of her full
breasts and gently rounded hips made his palms itch to touch her. A deeper itch grew within him. The mead heated his
veins. He downed another cup of the sacred wine of the Goddess, knowing it would inflame his desire. Yet he needed
a degree of alcoholic numbness to proceed with this ritual. Total stupor would make his duties easier, but then the
magic would desert him and the symbolism of tonightтАЩs ceremonies. All of Britain needed his sigils, properly and
lovingly drawn, to bind together tonightтАЩs revelry with tomorrowтАЩs planting.
Myrddin turned his back on the sight of Deirdre dancing on the opposite side of the bonfires. Still, the heat of the
flames sang in his blood. Ka-Thump-thm-thm. Ka-Thump-thm-thm. A strong young man prepared to leap over the
growing flames of the bonfire. The tempo of the drums built to a driving intensity, inciting the athlete to greater
strength and agility. The drums changed rhythm, creating a new pattern; one Myrddin couldnтАЩt interpret. What was
different about tonight? Why couldnтАЩt he ignore DeirdreтАЩs enticing beauty when he had resisted her for most of their
adult lives? Ka-Thump-thm-thump-thm-thm-thm. Faster and faster, the beat echoed in his heart. His body ached for