Heartwood (Tricksters Game) Read Online Free PDF Page A

willingness to be initiated?”
    “I do so affirm.”
    “Before the people of your tribe, do you affirm your willingness to be initiated?”
    “I do so affirm.”
    “Kneel, then.”
    Tinnean knelt between two of the oak’s exposed roots. Struath gazed down at him. His vision blurred. Thirty years ago, he had knelt there to cut out Morgath’s heart.
    Do not taint this sacred place by thinking of him.
    Struath paused to gather himself. Tonight of all nights, his mind must be uncluttered.
    “Tinnean, son of Reinek and Cluran. Do you vow to honor the gods, worshiping them with your body, your mind, and your spirit?”
    “I do so vow.”
    “Do you vow to honor the Oak and the Holly, worshiping them with your body, your mind, and your spirit?”
    “I do so vow.”
    “Do you vow to honor the laws of our tribe, following them with your body, your mind, and your spirit?”
    “I do so vow.”
    Gortin stepped forward, holding the cluster of acorns. He raised them toward the naked branches of the heart-oak before pressing them against Tinnean’s forehead. “The blessing of the Oak upon you.”
    Lisula proffered the leather flask. Struath dipped his forefinger into it and daubed Tinnean’s cheeks with two spots of blood. “The blessing of the Holly upon you.”
    The Grain-Mother touched Tinnean’s chest with her sheaf of barley. “The blessing of the fruitful earth upon you.”
    Even in the fading light, Struath could see the awe on the boy’s face as he took him by the shoulders. He could still recall the shiver of excitement that had shaken his body so long ago, the swell of pride when he rose to his feet, the comfort of Morgath’s hands on his shoulders …
    Struath shook his head, frowning, and Tinnean’s expectant smile died. He offered the boy a quick, reassuring nod and turned him to face the tribe.
    “He knelt before us a man. He stands before us a priest. Welcome, Tinnean. Initiate of the Oak Tribe.”
    “Welcome, Tinnean.” The shout rolled through the glade, shattering the forest’s stillness. The sound was still fading when Struath raised his hand.
    “People of the Oak. The day is waning. On the morrow, we will celebrate the Oak’s victory and Tinnean’s first battle rite. But now we must make ready.”
    The Memory-Keeper began the song, his quavering voice quickly supported by others.
    “Now is the dark time.
    The sun’s light is ebbing.
    The old year is waning.
    The earth is asleep.
    Now at the dark time
    The Oak-Lord awakens.
    The Holly-Lord threatens.
    The battle begins.
    Pray for the Oak.
    Help him vanquish the Holly.
    Pray for the Oak.
    Make the darkness retreat.
    Sing to the Oak
    And the earth will awaken.
    Sing to the Oak
    And the spring will return.”
    As they sang, Struath led the procession around the heart-oak. He offered the first gift, sprinkling blood from the flask over the tree’s roots. Children crumbled oatcakes, women poured libations of berry wine, men paused to tie arrows and fishhooks to the lowest branches. The last streaks of color were fading from the sky when he motioned the priests aside. It was time.
    Only at sunset and sunrise, when the boundary between the worlds was thin, could they make the crossing. The first time, he had expected bolts of lightning or howling winds to mark the passage. Although he knew how it would happen, the wonder was as great as ever when he uttered the ancient words of permission and, between one step and the next, led the priests out of their tribal glade and into the grove of the First Forest.
    He heard Tinnean gasp as the shadowy figures of other worshipers appeared. They came alone and in pairs, men and women, even a few who looked to be children. Some wore animal skins, others robes. Some bore elaborate tattoos, others were unmarked. Countless strangers, from all the tribes who worshiped the Oak and the Holly. All came in silence and in darkness, torches extinguished during their passage; the First Forest did not welcome fire.
    Gheala