Free Love's Blazing Ecstasy by Kathryn Kramer Page B

feeling as if she were being joined together with all the powerful forces of nature. She could hear her father’s voice—clear and strong—as he began his singing.
    “The seasons are never-ending.
    The circle of life flows on.
    The mysteries and miracles of wisdom,
    Encompass us with the dawn.”
    Wynne gripped Isolde’s hand tightly and felt another worshiper grip her other hand. The ritual continued with songs of transformation and rebirth—the summer solstice—the festival of Lugh, when nature attains perfection. The bare and cold ground of winter now wreathed in the bright new green was bejeweled with the dew of life.
    “Everywhere man turns, he sees the blessing of rebirth,” the congregation echoed.
    “The wheel of the heavens turns and brings seedtime and harvest, heat and cold, light and darkness,” her father sang out.
    Wynne’s senses were dulled to the rest of the ceremony, for as she looked toward the huge hand that held her left hand, she gasped. It was he; the man she had grappled with the night she had found Valerian. Even without his strange symbols, she could recognize him, so strongly was his face etched on her memory. Now he was staring at her with antagonism.
    Wynne opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the man fled. Anxiety touched her heart for the circle had been broken by his departure; an ill omen for her tribesmen.
     
     
     

    Chapter Eleven
     
     
    “Quickly, take my hand,” a voice intoned in Wynne’s ear. She looked up into the eyes of Edan, the man her father had betrothed her to. She was relieved that the broken circle might not be noticed now if she grasped his hand, for that would cause disquiet to the worshippers. Isolde still clung to her right hand, her eyes closed as she chanted and it appeared that none of the others had observed the break in the circle.  Perhaps no harm had been done then.
    Edan’s hand was warm and strong. She turned to look upon him, her childhood friend. With his red hair and gray eyes, he was so different from Valerian. Like all the men of her tribe, Edan wore his hair long and had a long moustache. Even his skin was different from the Roman’s—not golden, but ruddy, freckled. Edan was handsome in his own way and she was fond of him, though she had long resented having her future bound to a man without her consent. But that didn’t matter anymore—now she belonged to the Roman.
    Wynne breathed a sigh of relief that the circle was again intact, but the question still echoed through her mind. Who was the giant of a man who had so frightened her, and why was he at the ceremony?   To make trouble, frighten her, or perhaps to spy?  He was not one of her own tribesmen, of that she was certain. Was he from a neighboring village?
    Whoever he is, I must tell my father what I have seen. They must find him. Perhaps he can l ead us to the sacrificial worshipers before the dark ones cause trouble for my people . It was because of miscreants and seditious Celts that the Romans believed that all Celts practiced human sacrifice. In truth, Wynne’s tribe had not done so for generations, but still the lies persisted and the flames had been fanned by the bloodlust of the evil ones.
    “With every bit of strength I have in my body, I vow I will stop them,” she said beneath her breath, closing her eyes in a silent prayer to the gods.
    The ritual continued long into the night, until Wynne was exhausted and longed for sleep. Yet it was always thus, for the worshippers must meet the dawn to welcome the light of the sun. Soon it would be time for a symbolic sacrifice to be made. The one who had been chosen as the bridegroom for the Goddess of the Water of Life would be placed on a raft, arms outstretched to greet the goddess. He must be a chaste young man who had never lain with a woman. His life would be his own after tonight, but there was a time long ago when the sacrificial victim had been given to the goddess for eternity, to sleep the slumber of