The Keeper of Stories

The Fires of Beltane

No backing out.

No backing out.

Over the course of the next 20 minutes I will cease to be the Princess Enat of Oengas, sister Enat of the green mountain or even the priestess and trainee druid of the old religion instead I will become the May Queen – the incarnate of the goddess here on earth – with the power to bring fertility to the isles, to the kindred and all our kindreds.

A shiver wracks my body as I stand there and I'm no longer contemplating my fate or thinking of the advice either my married sister or my holy sister have offered me over the past day.

Instead, my training is taking over. I am a warrior and this is my battle. I take deep cleansing breaths reciting the ancient words only known to the holiest but never written, committing myself, my safety and my future to the goddess.

As I chant the war band spread behind us in a semi-circle while above more and more holy men and women form around the holy stones. They are too far away to make out faces and are more dark shadows than anything else now as the sun sinks quickly away from us.

I am a warrior and this is my battle.

To the sides of the stones are two giant piles of wood which will be lit as I progress up through the grove to the front of the altar.

The Altar.

An altar used as little more than a table during the coronation of my brother just a few weeks earlier but which will be a central part of tonight's ceremony.

I shiver again in anticipation and it causes me to look up to that altar

And I see him.

I see him.

I see the Oak King.

My Oak King.

As the sun starts to sink in earnest into the ocean he appears.

I had been scanning the crowd for Tam, Dom or any familiar faces but most are hooded and from this distance, in fading light, it is near impossible to pick them out.

But not him.

No not him.

I see a figure appear from the semi-circle of standing stones behind him and I know with complete clarity it is him, despite the fact he is still in his robes.

He is flanked by two other men in similar garb but he stands out, he is tall and strong and upon his head, he wears a crown of deer antlers. Even if I was close there would be no telling who he was in the human realm with a mask of bark and leaves obscuring his face but it doesn't matter because at this point he is losing his humanity. Even now he feels more like diety than man.

And then as it throws up its last gasp for the day, his two companions help him up on to the stone plinth.

I shiver as he is silhouetted against the red spring sky.

He is awe inspiring.

Tall, regal, powerful.

I shiver again and feel something strong rush through my blood and bones.

One of his companions climbs on to the altar beside him as the two holy men charged with lighting the huge fires we will dance around in the coming hours move into place.

Both fires must be lit from scratch – rubbing wood together – no flint – and so the Oak King stands there waiting, legs parted in the stance of a powerful warrior looking left and right and then down through the grove to where our party has stopped.

I step forward, dropping part of my veil to uncover my heavily flowered crown.

Annis and Eilidh hand me bouquets of spring flowers as I move into the centre of the bottom clearing – taking my place for the start of the ritual.