They stared, amazed at the notion of dance as worship— but this jury-rigged ceremony was so alien from anything they knew as religion that they began to move their feet as he had shown them, in time to the slow urging of the pipes.
“Move around the circle as you dance!” the druid cried, and indicated the direction of turning with a finger. “From west to east, so that you may move time back to the days when the Old Gods held sway!”
The people swayed indeed, and the whole circle began to rotate slowly, opposite to the sun’s path—but Matt knew that direction as widdershins, and its associations with evil magic. The bottles passed from hand to hand, too, also widdershins, faster than the people danced. The piper began to play faster and faster, and the circle accelerated with the music. The druid danced with them, smiling and nodding. Then he gestured to the piper, and the tune ended. The circle stopped, the people murmuring, confused.
The druid held up his hands. “O People of Toutatis! Let not your cares mask the joy of life that rises within you! Sing and dance, caress and kiss! Know that life should be pleasure, and pleasure lively!”
Murmurs of incredulity ran through the people, and beneath it, concern.
“I know, I know, you are troubled by the thought that children might be born of your pleasure, and bring shame upon you!” the druid cried. “But for the Old Gods there can be no shame in a child coming into the world, for the more people there are, the more worshipers they have! Dance, drink, laugh, and love, for this pleases Toutatis, pleases Belenos, pleases all the gods of the Gaels!”
The people exclaimed in wonder, and the druid gestured to the piper, who began to play again. The people joined hands and began to dance again, faster and faster and wilder and wilder. Men gave women lascivious glances, and the women blushed and lowered their gazes, then looked up, their eyes huge. Women batted their eyelashes at men, glancing at them sidelong with inviting smiles, and the men grinned and moved closer in the dance. The circle broke up into smaller circles, with here and there a couple dancing alone. More and more couples stepped aside to dance, their movements becoming more and more erotic, while here and there a pair slipped away among the leaves.
Matt realized that this was one cult that was sure to catch on. Give people what they wanted—a sense of belonging mixed with booze and free sex, plus an excuse not to feel guilty about any of it—and they would join in droves. How the women would feel about it nine months later was another matter. Besides, Matt had a suspicion that where the letting of human blood was involved, no matter how voluntary, sooner or later human sacrifice would follow, and the victims wouldn’t be all that willing.
He couldn’t let things go that far. Stepping away into the bushes, he stripped off his doublet. Then he yanked down a vine from the nearest oak, hoping it wasn’t poison ivy— and saw with delight that it was mistletoe! He twisted one end into a crown, set it on his head, wrapped it to frame his face, then looped the rest of the vine around his arms and torso. A good beginning, he decided, but not impressive enough. He looked about him, found a firefly, and tracked it with cupped hands until he clapped them shut around it. Then, peering through the aperture between his thumbs, he chanted, “Little fly of fairy light, Lend your glow to me this night! Tinge me with your photon essence! Make me shine with phosphoresence!”
His hands began to glow, and as he watched, the shining spread up his arms and all over his body. Somewhat shaken, he let his diminutive captive go with a muttered word of thanks, then turned to confront Banalix on his own territory.
Exactly on his own territory, as it turned out—his edging around the clearing had brought Matt up behind the grandfather oak. Using it to shield him from the dancing, chanting crowd, he sprinted first to its huge trunk, then edged around and dashed to the broad old stump that Banalix had used for a speaker’s platform. Matt climbed up on it, then slowly raised his arms, chanting to himself,
Then he raised his voice and cried, “Now I call HALT!” His words reverberated through the clearing, loud as a thunderclap, and the people stopped and stared in sudden fear. Even the piper stopped his droning, and Banalix looked up and froze, wide-eyed.
“People of Morrigan and Lugh, give heed!” Matt called. “I, who love the trees and dwell in and by them, tell you to cease this blasphemy! You desecrate the spirit of the forest!”
A low moan began among the crowd. It jolted Banalix out of his stupor. His face contorted in anger. “Desecrate! It is you who desecrate our ceremony! Who are you who dares interfere!”
Matt’s brain shifted into high gear, searching for a name and finding one. “I am he who stands for Oak, Ash, and Thorn! I am he who knows the heart of the woodlands! I am he who knows how the true druids worshiped—and knows what a mockery you have made of their services!”
“Liar!” Banalix screamed. He didn’t use dramatic gestures this time, only pulled the naphtha ball from his sleeve, yanked the lid off the coal-box, and lit it as he shouted, “No one living can remember the ceremonies of the Old Ones! Deceiver you may be, but you cannot lie your way out of this! The ball burst into flame. Banalix hurled it, and he had a good arm—but Matt was already reciting,
The fireball shrank in on itself as it cooled, men flickered and went out. No one else could see the dark little ball that bounced off Mart’s chest. A murmur of awe passed through the crowd.
“Charlatan!” Banalix bellowed. “Taste true magic now!” He gestured, reciting something that sounded like Gaelic, and Matt realized, with a chill, that he was pantomiming the tying of a noose. Matt remembered that one of the druids’ forms of human sacrifice had been hanging, then throwing the body into a peat bog. Quickly, he chanted,
Something seemed to brush bis neck, tried to tighten, then was gone.
Banalix stared, fear shadowing his eyes.
“Cease your cowardly attacks!” Matt boomed. “They avail you naught!”
Banalix’s eyes narrowed. He blustered to hide his fear. “Coward yourself, coward and trickster! By what magic you opposed my spells I know not, but taste this assault!”
His lips poured out a torrent of words as he pantomimed tossing, stiff-fingered, left hand, right hand, left hand, on and on.
Matt didn’t know what he thought he was throwing, but he did think it was a good idea to turn aside anything he couldn’t see.
He didn’t even feel the impacts. All anyone saw was a sudden burst of lights in front of Matt as unseen missiles flared against his shield and burned out.
The crowd murmured in fear and pressed away from Banalix. The false druid stood panting, staring at Matt, suddenly haggard.