of old. And it begins in this village of Bosventor. Here we will draw the people back to the old ways, and our power will spread. The prophecy says the sacred groves on Inis Môn will be regrown, and within fourteen years we will again rule all of the Britons. From the fens in the east to my western land of Lyhonesse, we will be revered, and from the northern island brochs down to the southern sea, we will reign.”
Everyone started talking at once, and a few arguments broke out.
A broad-shouldered druid in a gray, woolen robe stepped forward and scoffed. “Hah! How can a rock do all that? A stone cannot push this Christus back.”
Many voices murmured agreement.
“Be … quiet,” Trothek said in a wheezy rasp.
The broad-shouldered druid faced Mórganthu and crossed his massive arms. “I will not be quiet! You’ve brought us across land and sea to show us a rock? Pah. We can perform all our rituals with the old central stone. Where is it?”
Mórganthu stared darkly at the man. “I have thrown it in the eastern wood. If you like, remove the new and put back the old.”
The druid examined the new Stone, clearly suspecting some trap.
Mórganthu arched an eyebrow. “You are strong. Throw the new Stone away. If you dare.”
“I will.” He strode forward, and with his scar-tattooed arms, he seized one end of the dark Stone. “Curse you and your stupid Stone.”
He pushed it up, planted a hand on the other side … and howled as a blue fire simmered from the surface of the Stone.
The Stone fell back into place with a thud.
He held up his hands, and the palms were red, possibly blistered, but Garth couldn’t tell at his distance.
“Water! Water on ‘em,” the man yelled.
Trothek fumbled for a water skin at his belt and poured the liquid onto the man’s hands. They were shaking so badly that most of the water fell to the ground, useless. So Trothek steadied them with his free hand, and as he touched the man’s fingers, he exclaimed, “Your hands are cold. How is it they’re … burned?”
Others brought water as well, and the man bit his lip until a red line of blood poured down his chin.
“Who now dares move the Stone?” Mórganthu shouted. “Who dares question its power? Let him step forward.”
No one stirred.
Garth studied the rock. What secrets did it hide? Soon he couldn’t look away, nor did he want to. As he gazed, a new and delightful feeling welled up within him. A vision filled his eyes — of himself, older and stronger, dancing in celebration with thousands of revelers before Mórganthu, who sat on a golden throne. Tables and tables of smoked and roasted meats lay piled up on all sides, and Garth ate until his stomach was near to bursting.
Glory!
The pain in his stomach completely eased at last.
He longed to bow down and worship the Stone.
In his glee, Garth forgot to breathe, and dizziness made him lurch. He grabbed the side of the standing stone beside him and closed his eyes. The ache in his stomach returned, and he realized he was neglecting Mórganthu’s speech.
“… and so, as instructed by our great god Belornos,” Mórganthu continued, “we will celebrate Bel’s High Day of Fire in less than two weeks. For with fire is life and death, protection and power. Then our complete authority on the moor will be sealed as we make a sacrifice in the old way.”
Whispers of discontent rippled through the crowd. Garth didn’t understand what they grumbled about, but many of the druidow seemed to have a complaint against these last words.
Mórganthu strutted around the Stone, ignoring them. “On Beltayne night we will see who pleases Belornos to be his servant in the underworld.”
Trothek limped forward and faced Mórganthu. “S-stop! I have supported you … my arch druid, but now … you go too far. Would you strip away all our … laws of the last two hundred years?”
“What? What is this?” Mórganthu asked, his neck snaking around to peer at Trothek.
“I said … stop.” Trothek pointed his staff at Mórganthu, but his speech grew even more breathless. “Our law no longer allows … the old way of sacrificing … and … we will not … do it.”
“You question the power of the Stone?”
Trothek glanced at the powerful rock, a blue fire emanating from inside. “Not the Stone … rather your authority, your power … to command such a rite.” He spoke louder. “You lead the …