by Jon Eugene

Night was descending, the twilight deepening. The children had danced the Maypole, intertwining their different colored ribbons into a braid around the pole that only a sharp knife could release; the feast yet to be consumed, the Belfires were being lit, the radiance invoking the sun’s lifeforce.

The community was gathering for the final rituals of the Beltane festival, that time when the Druidic gods gave life back to the earth, when people performed rites and rituals to guarantee a bountiful crop, health and prosperity to the community.

The people of the community, with their livestock, walked between a pair of fires, the leaping flames reaching skyward, purifying the people going between the pyres. As they passed between the fires, the people sang their prayers to the gods, the rhythmic sounds keeping the livestock calm before the flames. The orderly procession filed past, going towards the groaning tables, laden with food for the Beltane feast. When the feast was finished, the matrons would herd the children back to their houses for their bedtimes and sleep from such an exhausting day.

David was nervous, shifting from foot-to-foot, hoping he would not fail. His was the greatest responsibility this year; his failure could mean failure for the community. He continued to fidget.

Siobhan was equally nervous, although hers manifested in only her hands, one moment wringing her hands, the next the fingers of one hand drumming on the palm of the other. She glanced over at her mother who was watching her. Moira reached out and held her daughter’s hand. “It is all right, love,” she said. “All girls give to the goddesses at this time of year.”

“I know, Mother,” she answered. “And I’m glad that it’s David going with me, but I’m affrighted, Mother. What if the goddesses do not like my sacrifice? If Danu or Brigid are not pleased, then the people will not have a good harvest and we might all starve!”