the one who grew to manhood as the crops grow, only to be cut down as the crops are cut down, while the Mother remains eternal. It was the ancient and gentle myth of the seasons. But the celebration anywhere and at any time was hardly ever gentle.
"For the Divine Mother was also Death, the earth that swallows the remains of that young lover, the earth that swallows all of us. And in consonance with this ancient truth -- old as the sowing of seed itself -- there came a thousand bloody rituals.
"The goddess was worshiped under the name of Cybele in Rome, and I had seen her mad priests castrating themselves in the midst of their devoted frenzy. And the gods of myth met their ends even more violently -- Attis gelded, Dionysus rent limb from limb, the old Egyptian Osiris dismembered before the Great Mother Isis restored him.
"And now I was to be that God of Growing Things -- the vine god, the corn god, the god of the tree, and I knew that whatever happened it was going to be something appalling.
"And what was there to do but get drunk and murmur these anthems with Mael, whose eyes would cloud with tears from time to time as he looked at me.
"`Get me out of here, you wretch,' I said once in pure exasperation. `Why the hell don't you become the God of the Tree? Why am I so honored?'
"`I have told you, the god confided to me his wishes. I wasn't chosen.'
" `And would you do it, if you were chosen?' I demanded.
"I was sick of hearing of these old rites by which any man threatened by illness or misfortune must serve up a human sacrifice to the god if he wished to be spared, and all the other sacrosanct beliefs that had to them the same childlike barbarity.
" `I would fear but I would accept,' he whispered. `But do you know what is so terrible about your fate? It is that your soul will be locked in your body forever. It will have no chance in natural death to pass into another body or another lifetime. No, all through time your soul will be the soul of the god. The cycle of death and rebirth will be closed in you.'
"In spite of myself and my general contempt for his belief in reincarnation, this silenced me. I felt the eerie weight of his conviction, I felt his sadness.
"My hair grew longer and fuller. And the hot summer melted into the cooler days of fall, and we were nearing the great annual feast of Samhain. '
"Yet I wouldn't let up on the questions.
"`How many have you brought to be gods in this manner? What was it in me that caused you to choose me?'
"`I have never brought a man to be a god,' he said. `But the god is old; he is robbed of his magic. A terrible calamity has befallen him, and I can't speak of these things. He has chosen his successor.' He looked frightened. He was saying too much. Something was stirring the deepest fears in him.
" `And how do you know he will want me? Have you sixty other candidates stashed in this fortress?'
"He shook his head and in a moment of uncharacteristic rawness, he said:
"'Marius, if you fail to Drink the Blood, if you do not become the father of a new race of gods, what will become of us?'
" `I wish I could care, my friend'" I said.
" `Ah, calamity,' he whispered. And there followed a long
subdued observation of the rise of Rome, the terrible invasions of Caesar, the decline of a people who had lived in these mountains and forests since the beginning of time, scorning the cities of the Greek and the Etruscan and the Roman for the honorable strongholds of powerful tribal leaders.
"`Civilizations rise and fall, my friend,' I said. `Old gods give way to new ones.'
"`You don't understand, Marius,' he said. `Our god was not defeated by your idols and those who tell their frivolous and lascivious stories. Our god was as beautiful as if the moon itself had fashioned him with her light, and he spoke with a voice that was as pure as the light, and he guided us in that great oneness with all things that is the only cessation of despair and loneliness. But he was stricken with terrible calamity, and all through the north country other gods have perished completely. It was the