Unto the Breach pos-4, page 7
part #4 of Paladin of Shadows Series
Vil was leading the first one, holding a pole that was attached to the ring through its nose and two more Keldara males followed with nooses in their hands.
“Ay, Samman seaol Latrach! Uraim Na Mair Imakt!” Father Kulcyanov started to chant, still holding his hands up.
The whole group joined in as the two Keldara fixed the loops around the oxen’s back legs and held it in place.
On the second repetition of the chant, at the “… Imakt”, Oleg struck downwards, severing the ox’ broad neck in one massive cut.
Blood from the stricken animal sprayed across the nearest spectators, who were on their feet chanting and stamping. The entire group let out a cry as one of the Keldara girls slid a basin under the slaughtered beast’s neck, catching as much of the blood as she could.
Another of the oxen was brought out of the darkness, taking up the western position by Mother Lenka. Again it was held in place by three men as Oleg slashed downward. Another group of Keldara, this time including Adams, was splashed by the blood.
On the south, Vil had been handed the basin filled with blood and with a cry splashed it in a circle, starting towards the fire and raising a fragrant smoke like cooking beef then out over the Keldara.
Mike was standing, now, but he was fighting what was going on around him because the Keldara, normally incredibly reserved, were descending into hysteric frenzy. The drums, the chanting, the stamping feet, was turning into a giant dance of ecstasy, fueled by the blood rite they had been denied for so long.
Pavel had collected the blood on the west and he sprayed it into the fire and through the group, liberally dousing Mother Lenka who raised her hand to taste of it, letting out a scream that sounded very like orgasm.
Now it was Mike’s turn and Sawn was leading this ox, who was fighting as hard as he could to get away. Oleg had come around the fire, his body covered in blood, eyes wide and staring and Mike winced as the axe came down.
It was like getting hit by a water from a spray-nozzle on a hose. As the ox twisted in death it sprayed the whole group which went absolutely frantic. The bucket of blood from Sawn wasn’t really necessary.
On the east it was Pavel and he made sure to liberally douse Gretchen, who was pretty wide eyed since all she could do was stand there holding up the effigy. She hadn’t gotten into the frenzy because she couldn’t but she had a very strange look on her face. It made Mike wonder exactly how long ago the Keldara had stopped comitting human sacrifice. She looked… fixed on the fire. As if psyching herself to be thrown into it.
A fifth bull was slaughtered on the south and a sixth on the north, splattering Mike again and then Father Kulcyanov shouted something Mike for the life of him couldn’t catch and people picked up both Mother Lenka and Gretchen and carried them towards the fire. The group was so frenzied Mike started forward and he could see Adams moving as well. He wasn’t sure either one of them could stop the hysterical Keldara before they tossed the two women in the bonfire but he was damned well going to try.
But at another cry from Father Kulcyanov, the effigy was thrown into the fire by Gretchen to another scream from the crowd. It was covered in blood so there was another smell of steak being overcooked.
Both Mother Lenka and Gretchen were dropped, rather unceremoniously, and the drums broke into a different rhythm. Father Kulcyanov stepped back, looking as worn as Mike had ever seen him, and settled onto one of the turf benches, holding his chest.
There was still a big pot of beer by Mike’s seat, courtesy of Stella who was now dancing around like a mad thing, covered from head to toe in blood, so he picked it up and poured some, holding it out to the old man.
“Thank you, Kildar,” Father Kulcyanov wheezed. “I think this may be the last year I can do the Rites.”
“Which will be too bad,” Mike said. “Because you do them very well.”
“It must be a warrior,” the old man said, taking a sip of beer and catching his breath. “One who had taken lives and seen the face of Fir. There are, were, so few left. I held on… ”
“And you’ve got a whole new crop,” Mike pointed out. “I’d hate to skip a generation, though. Talk about that another time. Do you have anything else you need to do?”
“No,” Father Kulcyanov admitted. “Except figure out a way to pry Culcanar out of Oleg’s hands before he kills someone with it.”
The ceremonial axes of the Keldara were named and Mike now recognized the axe he had wielded in the spring festival. The damned thing was a monster, a real man-killer.
Mike looked over at the team leader, who was apparently doing some sort of an axe dance and was pretty much out of it, and winced.
“Let somebody else handle that,” Mike said. “Me, maybe. I can stand in, right?”
“Yes, Kildar. I’d appreciate it.”
“Well, this looks like a party for the youngsters,” Mike said, standing up and gesturing to Adams and Nielson. He couldn’t find Vanner for a minute then spotted the intel NCO. HE was covered in blood and dancing with one of the female intel specialists. He pretty much looked like the Keldara, covered in blood and completely out of it.
“Get Father Kulcyanov down the hill,” he said to Nielson. “Ass-Boy, you and me got a job.”
“What?” Adams asked, trying to wipe some of the blood off his face. “When you said it would be bloody… ”
“Yeah,” Mike said, licking the back of his hand. Tasted like raw steak. “See Oleg?”
“Yeah,” Adams said, uncomfortably.
“We gotta get the axe out of his hands.”
“Oh fuck.”
* * *
“I’m not going to track this shit through the caravanserai,” Mike said, looking at the doors. He had a rather nasty cut on his arm he was ignoring. Pain is weakness leaving the body. Nobody was dead and that was the important thing. The next time, though, he was going to sit on the south and pry the damned thing out of Oleg’s hands right after the last sacrifice.
“Fuck it,” Oleg said. “It’s late. We just strip right here and head for the showers.” The Master Chief was unscathed. Well, except for a few hairs that had been cut slightly shorter when he ducked the axe. Given that he was damned near bald…
“Works for me,” Mike said, pulling off his shirt. “And we’ll just burn the clothes.”
“I think some of the Keldara were starting to strip when we left,” Adams said. “They probably had the same idea. Damn, these pants are stuck on!”
* * *
Mike walked into the great room of the caravanserai, holding his blood-soaked clothes under one arm and paused, froze really, at the sight of Daria and Anastasia playing chess.
Daria Koroleva was Ukrainian, blonde and nearly as beautiful as Anastasia with, if anything, a better figure. She had been kidnapped into the sex-slave trade in the Balkans where Mike had rescued her from a snuff house. Since she was a trained secretary, and he’d needed somebody to keep up with the administrative side of the mission, he’d dragged her along. And when he offered her a job she’d jumped at it. They’d been lovers from time to time as well. There really wasn’t much there but lust and some friendship but she was a great administrative assistant.
The two were both frozen, wide-eyed. Since they’d both seen him naked he could only presume that it was the blood.
“It got a little messy.”
“I can see that,” Anastasia replied.
“So we thought we’d just go take a shower,” Adams said, walking past.
“Good idea,” Daria said, tittering.
“So, I guess I’ll see you two tomorrow,” Mike continued, heading to the stairs.
“Okay,” Anastasia said. “Try to keep from tracking things up too badly.”
“I will,” Mike said. “Oh, and Anastasia?”
“Yes, Kildar,” the harem manager said, her hand over her mouth but the smile in her eyes.
“Could you make sure that before the Rite Gretchen has had a bath?”
Chapter Five
“You look perfect,” Anastasia said, picking a bit of lint off of Mike’s shoulder.
“I look like a fucking fruit,” Mike replied, frowning. “This get-up… ”
“You always say that the Rite is for the benefit of the young lady,” Anastasia said, playing with a curl of hair. “Not for you. And ladies like it when you dress up.”
“I know that,” Mike said, fiddling with the God damned lace ruff. “But, God, I hate this!”
The Rite of Cardane made virtue of necessity. The Keldara had long had the custom of dowry. Dowry was a poorly understood function of many early societies. The first year or so of marriage was a tough time for a new couple and women just had less economic worth in agricultural societies than males. Among other things, they spent a great deal of time pregnant and less able to do work than ever. Dowry was a response to this, providing the young couple with a starter fund.
In the Keldara, dowry was set at the approximate income of the male for six months. When it was first explained to Mike, the sum of five hundred rubles or equivalent in materials seemed laughably small. But it was a function of how very poor the Keldara had been before his arrival.
The issue had first come to light in regards to Lydia and Oleg. Lydia’s family simply did not have the available cash, at that time, to pay her dowry. Mike, therefore, offered to just grant them the funds, Lydia was a fast-coming intel specialist and Oleg one of his top team leaders; just handing them the cash, more, seemed like a natural action.
However, the Keldara also had a hatred of debt that was deep and abiding. Thus Mike simply handing them the money with in his eyes absolutely no strings attached, was out of the question. A debt of honor would remain. In a way the Keldara were more stuck on honor and propriety than Japanese giri and gimu.
There was, however, one clear alternative: The Rite of Cardane. In Western Europe, the term was “droit de seigneur.”
In most feudal societies, the very bodies of the “serfs” was owned by the lord. And many lords required that the first person to “open” a virgin be themselves.
The Keldara may have been tenant farmers, may have had various overlords over the years, but calling them “serfs” must have always been a stretch. But the pressure must have been there. The Ottomans, for example, were big on virgins. So were the Tartars, who had clearly been in the area. Hell, the Russian tsarist lords rarely left a lady “pure” for her marriage bed. However, at some point they had made a “virtue” of both problems; in return for a young lady’s “virtue”, she would be gifted with her dowry.
When Mike finally understood what they were saying he nearly had a heart attack. While Lydia was a… well a fucking hotty, the guy he was going to be leaving to sloppy seconds was… his top team leader. Oleg was going to be at his back with a weapon a lot. Not to mention being a fucking ox. Pissing him off was very low on Mike’s list of things to do. And Mike couldn’t imagine “The Rite of Cardane” not pissing him off totally and permanently.
Oleg, however, had been fine with it. His biggest worry was that Mike would turn them down. Mike got along with the Keldara incredibly well, they even had similar senses of humor which was unusual, but sometimes they could blind-side him.
He had, therefore, reluctantly agreed to the “Rite.” However, he put several stipulations in place. If he was going to do this he was going to do it right.
First, he insisted that she be given some classes. Riding horses for one. But he also insisted on, as he put it, “other riding classes” conducted by Mother Savina, his housekeeper, and Anastasia. He also insisted that there be a little ceremony. He wasn’t going to just yank her up on the horse without any “by your leave” and ride off. Among other things it got way to close to where some of his demons lurked.
On his part he did his best to make the night special and the dowry much more reasonable than the cost of a good pair of jeans. Lydia had walked away with about four thousand dollars, plus five one hundred ruble notes, a pearl necklace and matching earrings.
The result, once Lydia let loose some of the juicier details, was that the unmarried females now considered the “Rite” a Right. They wanted their evening with the Kildar, damnit, and the dowry had nothing to do with it anymore.
Anastasia had added a few details to his original plans. Mike had to agree that they were popular, but he didn’t have to like them.
Which was why he was dressed in a pair of polished riding boots, a short, tight, black velvet horseman’s jacket that made him feel like a waiter, a silk shirt with a ruffled front and skin-tight velvet pants.
A waiter, hell, he felt like a God damned gigolo!
“I would rather face a thousand deaths… ” he muttered, turning to the door of the caravanserai.
“Don’t give me that,” Anastasia said, grinning. “We’re talking Gretchen, Michael Whateveryourrealnameis.”
“Yes,” Mike said, looking at her for a moment. “There is that,” he added, grinning.
“Just remember to take your time,” Anastasia said, picking at another bit of lint. “Be a good boy.”
“I’ll try,” Mike said. “Now you need to go.”
“Yes,” Anastasia said with a sigh. “I have a date as well. But if you need any help… ”
Mike rolled his eyes and strode out the door.
Petro was holding Dumbass’ reins and bowed as the Kildar came down the steps followed by Anastasia. He also had a lack of expression that bordered boredom. At this point he no longer had to try not to grin. The first three or four were grin making, after that, well…
“Thank you,” Mike said, mounting then taking the lead rein of the palfrey. “Now scat. You’ve got duties as well.”
“Yes, Kildar,” Anastasia said, finally grinning.
* * *
The pouring rain of the night before had led to a cooler day but clear as a bell. The sun had just set, it was what the military called “early evening nautical twilight” and Mike referred to as “blue time.” He wanted to arrive at just full dark and visibility was already a bit bad so he took the road down carefully. But he had to admit it was a beautiful evening for riding.
Dumbass was getting used enough to the routine that he didn’t try to canter. This wasn’t a run where he was going to get oat cakes and apples. This was work.
Mike ignored the fire burning on the dun. It was smaller than the Samman bonfire but, to someone who knew the processes and practices of the Keldara, an announcement of a ceremony of a different type. A group of young men were clustered there, one of them Kiril.
There was a younger Keldara female waiting by the door of the Mahona House when he arrived. Mike had requested that the minimum possible males be involved in the Rite and now getting the horse-holding duty was a perk among the younger Keldara girls. That way they got to peek without any fear of retribution.
The girl was smiling fit to burst but he just nodded at her sternly. Taking a breath, he pulled down the front of his jacket, strode to the door of the house and pounded on it sharply.
The door was opened by Father Mahona who nodded at the Kildar.
“I request the privilege of entering the home of the Mahona,” Mike said.
“This roof is yours, Kildar,” Father Mahona replied from within. “These walls are yours. This home is yours to enter.”
Everybody at this point had the Rite down pat.
Everyone had been cleared from the main room of the House leaving only the principals: Mother and Father Mahona, Father Jusev the Orthodox Priest and Gretchen.
Anastasia had designed the wear for the Rite. While giving the girls some very graphic instructions, “theoretical” sex education in its true form, she had them measured. A renowned clothier in Paris cutom-made the outfit Gretchen was now wearing. It was white but it didn’t look like, in any way, like a wedding dress. Covered in seed pearls, the front was a deep v that, in Gretchen’s case, was almost too much of a good thing. The girl was threatening to spill out. The skirt stopped well above the knees revealing for the first time that Gretchen, yeah, had one hell of a set of legs. My God did she ever. Long, shapely and tapered they were works of art. On her feet were a pair matching white high-heels, also decorated with seed pearls and rhinestones.
The outfit was an invitation to rape and, to the Keldara, beyond scandalous, which was why Mike limited the number of people present to the bare minimum. He knew that the younger girls were probably peeking from every corner they could find, but he’d sworn not only vengeance but revocation of right to be in the Tigers for any young male who took a peek.
Having been a young male, he was pretty sure they were ignoring him. If he’d been as sheltered as the Keldara boys, he’d have given his left nut to see Gretchen in that dress. All the “bother” of the Rite of Keldane went straight out of his head and he knew he was embarassing himself if anyone looked at the front of the very very tight, unpleasantly tight, pants.
“I am come to take my rights as the Kildar,” Mike said, sternly, looking Father Mahona in the eye.
“The right of the Kildar is acknowleged by the Keldara and the Family Mahona,” the Elder replied. “The Kildar is reminded of his duty to the future family.”
“I acknowledge my duty,” Mike said, turning to Father Jusev, the priest. “I have come to take my rights as the Kildar.”
“The right of the Kildar is acknowledged by the church,” Father Jusev said. “The Kildar is reminded of his duty of teaching,” the priest added, swallowing nervously.
Father Jusev was an older priest, one who had started when the Soviets were at their height and a few of the Tsarist priests were still around. Back then you had to be committed to become a priest; it was a good way to get sent to Siberia. And there wasn’t any such thing as a “liberal” Orthodox, back then the only people willing to profess a faith in a God who was communism’s bitterest enemy were the true-believers. Those guys didn’t tend to be “new-age.”
