[2003] LOSS & PORPHYRY the novels  

9024 – LOSS Chapter 1 - MIDSUMMER IDYLL

Where am I? There was that desperate feeling of disorientation which occasionally assaults you on waking from the deepest of trance-like sleeps. You struggle, at first vainly, to put everything in its proper place. But still nothing makes sense and you fear for your sanity. Around you can be seen all the things which you instinctively know must be part of your every-day life. Yet you recognise none of them. Who am I? Panic grows in your gut, as you still fail to connect yourself to any of these alien things. What am I? The panic increases  to overwhelming proportions as you struggle, and fail, to get a grip on reality. You seem to be an alien, out of your time, in what should surely be a familiar environment.

Layered into this increasingly terrifying lack of identity, this vacuum of being, a question seemed to emerge from nowhere. "Is it the beginning or is it the end?" It made no sense, the beginning or end of what, but at least it offered some security in a world seemingly gone mad; and the panic started to subside. Like a veil torn from my eyes, I suddenly remembered who I was, and where I was, and when I was. But those puzzling, worrying words nagged at my subconscious as I slowly fought away the thick folds of sleep, to return to the morning-clear world of the living. They ran repetitively through my dream-tangled thoughts, even when I was fully awake. They remained, unsettling me, but I did not know why. Even though I now had an identity to clutch at, I worried that those words must surely have a meaning; but what meaning?

As I finally opened my eyes, and stretched luxuriously in the protectively familiar comfort of my bed, I reassured myself that there was simply no reason for any doubt. There couldn't be. It was midsummer, and surely the best midsummer we had ever experienced. Truly, it had been a good year. Indeed it had been a marvellous one, with bounty such as we had never before known; greater probably than the greatest triumphs which were recounted in the sagas.

Even now, with winter put behind us, most of the grain pits remained full; holding sufficient wheat and barley to last another three full years. The famines, which some of the sagas also told of, could surely never be repeated. The cattle were plentiful and fat. Our sheep  produced the most lustrous of wool; which our weavers turned into the rainbow hued cloth sought by every trader. The elegantly creative wares of the village's potters and carvers also went to the ends of the land. Our smiths proudly worked the best bronze in the west country, and made us the richest community in a rich valley.

My frantic attempts at regaining my confidence finally succeeded and a wave of satisfaction washed over me; displacing all the dark thoughts that had nagged so irrationally. It really was the best time we, or our ancestors, had ever known. What is more, the spirit clearly foretold of even better times ahead. The year to come would undoubtedly be bounteous. There could be no justification for any misgivings. The future was bright; the spirit promised as much. There could be no problems.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the first of the oil lamps lit from the smouldering embers of the sacred fire. As its yellow flame started to chase darkness from the hut, the softly flickering light threw ever changing shadows over the carvings that surrounded my bed. The deeds of a hundred generations of shamans, my illustrious ancestors, came to life with those flickering shadows; and the last vestiges of sleep fled my mind. I was once more at home with my people, and with my past. By habit, I leaned over and affectionately stroked the carved head of Solom, the greatest shaman of all and my own personal favourite.

Distracted by this contemplation of the past, I did not notice Melani slip into the bed alongside me; until I felt her deliciously cool nakedness embrace my back. Almost by reflex I rolled over to her, and our bodies clung close together; as they had done so often in recent weeks. I once more marvelled at the feel of her firm young breasts against my own tired skin. As I responded by holding her even tighter, bringing the smooth skin of her belly and thighs into contact with my own, I silently gave thanks for the many gifts we enjoyed; for the pleasures of our untroubled lives.

It was the giggles of the coven, standing at the side of the bed, which finally reminded me that this was not the time for such earthly pleasures. Melani laughed too, as she lay back in the bed relaxing and stretching - so much like a golden cat that I almost expected her lick her paws. It was also her joke; though for the moment she too had been carried away by those delightful sensations. They all knew that, at midsummer, the shaman should not, must not, indulge in any physical climax before the completion of the spiritual consummation. Even so, the proximity of Melani's body so intimately close to me had brought my senses tinglingly, and tantalisingly, to life

Fully awake now, I reluctantly stood up to receive my ceremonial robe from the two youngest virgins. I patiently let them fuss about me, until they felt that it had been draped just right. The younger virgins always took their role very seriously; and their studious concentration was clearly evident, as they painstakingly smoothed out every minute wrinkle. Once their artistic aspirations had been satisfied, the eldest member of the coven ceremonially presented the sacred mushroom. As I took it, I surreptitiously stole a sidelong glance; to compare its shape, that of a small breast, with that of my lover. It was a pale imitation, though, as comparison showed; for the firm symmetry of Melani's human loveliness was achingly real. I sighed with frustration, but I really would have to wait until later in the day for my consummation. For now the accustomed bitterness of the mushroom was drying my mouth, before it exploded into my mind. The drink which accompanied it, with its overpowering aroma of sacred herbs, served only to intensify the sensations. My senses grew and grew, ever more acute, until I had to desperately hold back screams of pain and joy; my whole body was on fire with the intensity of the feelings, and new senses grew where none had existed before. And, as always, their combined effect was first to make me intensely aware of my immediate surroundings.

Around me the structure of the fire-hut seemed to dissolve; though I was now aware of every piece of straw in its elaborately decorated roof, and every wisp of scented smoke that seeped through it. Beyond it, my extending senses already felt the dark cold of the cloudless sky. There, in the moments before dawn, only bats flew; searching for the last few insects to add to their over-full stomachs. Released by the powers of the mushroom, I now flew with them to a different world - where time meant nothing.

Janil moved to my side, gently taking my arm and mothering me with even more attention than usual. She was only some ten years younger than my forty years. But she hadn't shaken off her links with the coven and, despite now having her own growing family, I was all too aware that she worshipped me as some form of superhuman rather than as an elder. At the same time she envied me my almost casual contact with the spirit; when her own contacts, like those of the other villagers, were so few and far between. But, as a hearth mother, she had every justification for remaining close to the coven, and to me. Even so she should have mothered the virgins not me. It was, as she well knew, their duty to accompany me, not hers; but she also well knew that I could not deny her. The virgins loved her, for her unselfish dedication to the coven, and willingly gave up their rights to her. Thus it was that she was allowed to accompany me on this all important day.

Out of the hut, in the clear cool before dawn, the air was sweet and bracing; promising a perfect day. There I found the usual sense of occasion, the promise of the drama to come. Indeed, as usual, almost the whole community was gathered there; everyone carrying a flaming torch. It was an extravagant gesture; where a mere handful of torches would have just as successfully lit our well trod path. But the torches brought the village alive with a sea of dancing flames. Beyond the open space in front of us the flames vividly lit up the narrow alleyways between the rows of huts, in which most of the villagers lived. The bustle in these alleyways, as the last of the villagers hastened to join the ceremonies, sometimes verged on the chaotic.

But the flames were symbolic as much as real, and this dramatically heightened the participants natural anticipation of the mysteries to come. At last, the chaos having resolved itself into some form of order, the procession commenced; with the solemn formality that always seemed essential in such public events - and which just as often made me want to laugh for the pompous absurdity of it. But perhaps that was one of the side-effects of the mushroom I had just taken. With the damp springy turf underfoot to remind us of our links with the earth, but at last maintaining a suitable solemnity, we slowly wended our way out of the village; through the cornfields and up the hillside to the plateau above, where stood the sacred circle.

Still guided by Janil, I increasingly came under the intoxicating influence of the sacred mushroom; my body now stumbled inelegantly onwards at the head of the column. Yet I was not simply intoxicated by its effects, I was on a very different plane, far removed from that of earthly existence. My senses, still aflame, gradually burgeoning under the effect of the drug, led me free; upwards, further than any of my flock, to join the timeless spirit itself. In the dark around me, beyond the flickering pools of light cast by the torches, I sensed a panic starting to grow amongst the watching wildlife. Birds stirred on their nests. Mice hid behind leaves. A fox warily looked on from the trees at the top of the hill; and on the far slope a young buck crashed through the undergrowth away from our untimely intrusion. In my state of enhanced awareness, I knew all of this and, distracting myself momentarily from the routine of spiritual preparation, I sent out calming thoughts to soothe the disturbed creatures; for they were as much part of the spirit as were the members of my human community. Quiet returned.

Having finally reached the sacred circle on the hill above the village, we all took up our familiar positions; and, as the torches were extinguished one by one, the dark silence returned to envelop us. The midsummer ceremony, which each of my hundred predecessors had celebrated with their own communities in exactly the same time-honoured form, was about to start its inexorable climb; to its inevitable climax.

Ranged immediately around me were the coven; comprising no less than twelve virgins - only just short of the magic number of thirteen, and more than was possessed by any other community in the valley.

I felt their strength, the pure fire of their innocence and that of the myriad of their predecessors, supporting me as if by invisible hands; as I floated towards the levels of higher consciousness, ever closer to my meeting with the spirit.

Around the coven were the young men, those still at learning; and as much, even now, at play. Beyond them, forming the great outer circle, were the adults; the men and women, husbands and wives, friends and lovers, who made up the rest of the community.

Janil, proud of her role in the ceremony which was so important to them all, slowly turned me to face the dolmen. Beyond it lay the peak of the sacred mountain itself, many leagues away. Silently, in the dark, the rest of the community turned towards me, at the focus of their various circles. An unearthly quiet had descended. Even the abundant wildlife in the woods around the outer circle seemed to hold its collective breath; and, in the pause before the dawn, the very air itself became still. The scene was set for the drama to unfold.

As the sky in the east slowly lightened behind the sacred mountain, the villagers prostrated themselves; I alone directly facing the dolmen, all others facing towards me. Only I could be the chosen path for the fire. Only I could capture it, and radiate it; to the community that, at least in this ceremony, depended totally on me.

At that moment, with my face resting on my arms close to the grass, I could still smell the earth's dampness. But above my earthly body, my spirit already soared. Higher again, in the still dark sky above, I could sense the first manifestations of fire of the true spirit starting to materialise; as yet a thin veil of gossamer, but already shot through with flashes containing the pure energy of time. Around me I could feel the spiritual strength of the whole community, focused by the intense purity of the virgins, pushing me ever higher - in order to initiate my contact with that truly timeless spirit. In return I fed back the fire, the agelessly pure energy of the true spirit, that was already beginning to envelope me. In this spiritual resonance, waves of power surged back and forth, building in intensity, until the fire finally became whole. There was no need for anyone to look, to know that on the far horizon the first rays of the sun had crested the sacred peak. In that ecstasy I no longer had any existence as an individual. The community no longer existed as a group. It members had become part of the true spirit, part of time itself, immersed in its renewing fire. As I struggled to focus the fire, drawing once more on the strength of the virgins to control this most ephemeral of forces, its earthly shape slowly emerged; an incandescent ball, seeming of fire, of pure energy, that cast the sun into the shadow. Having won the struggle, I relaxed and basked in its radiance, as now did the whole community.

Beyond that critical point I progressed with slow deliberation, by barely perceptible moves; for we all sought to absorb as much of the true spirit as we could. As lovers will hold back so that the pleasure of orgasm will last for an eternity, so did we try to stay the progress of time and hold the fire to ourselves for those few precious moments of eternity.

The spirit never had such an all encompassing intensity as it held at midsummer. For most of the community it was indeed their only, but once a year, magical experience of direct immersion. On the other days of the year they could only appreciate it vicariously through the reports of my own contacts. Accordingly, the midsummer fire was very precious to all.

As the spiritual climax grew, around me - in the ring of adults - lovers started their courtship; for individual physical congress was the ideal complement to the communal spirituality that was now permeating them. Their physical ardour added to the flame of the spiritual fire, and in turn the fire blew on their delicious exertions. Their every nerve was awake, soaking up the joy of their union with each other and with the spirit. It was also the favoured time for conception, for the child born of the fire had an inner strength that was unbreakable. I myself had been conceived of such a congress forty long years before.

The pleasuring, and sharing continued unabated; as new partners were found and joined under the joyously burning sensations of the spirit. For the time was blessed for sharing with friends as much as with family; and the presence of the fire gave almost superhuman endurance. It was said that Alwyn the hunter served a different ten women each midsummer, and this ensured his prowess on the hunting fields in the year to come. The whole community merged, physically and spiritually, to become one; and to share this timeless joy together.

But, no matter how reluctantly, I was bound to move on - through the boundaries of time itself - to bring the refreshing power of the fire to all parts of my community - to its crops and herds, to its tools and workshops, to its homes and hearths. I also needed to start weaving the stories of the future. By now the fire burned with an insatiable intensity, and I felt myself floating at its focus; in the air high above, higher even than the strongest eagles soared. As I looked down, I could see the whole village; with its fields spread out below me, much as the small plots in the herb garden looked to the cultivator. Immediately below were the decorated straw cones, the thatched roofs of the living huts, at the heart of the village itself. Scattered amongst them were the smaller workshops and storehouses; and all were safely held within protective earth banks. Around lay the patchwork of fields. The pens and fields nearest to the village had their own complement of byres and sheds. Further away, some were scattered with the white shapes of sheep, some with the brown ones of cattle. Yet other fields were still green with the steadily ripening grain crops; while a few displayed the lighter colour of hay almost ready to harvest, before the cattle were let loose on them to fatten for winter. Around, and to the far distance beyond the river, stretched the sheltering woods; dappled with subtly differing shades of green.

But time moved on and, diving like an eagle stooping at its prey, I pulled the fire of the spirit down to bless that precious land. Like the hot wind of highest summer I blew through the woods and across the fields embracing every budding ear of corn. I chased the cattle and sheep, caressing their coats. I dived below the river, swimming through the fish traps. Not a leaf escaped my attention; until I finally came to the village. There I passed lingeringly from hut to hut, visiting every workshop equally as every dwelling, leaving tendrils of the fire at each hearth. Having blessed all that made our life so rich, finally I entered the fire hut itself and slowly brought that great ball of incandescence, which the true spirit had become, to rest in the hearth. Then, squeezing it with all the strength which the virgins could supply, I forced it to dwindle to nothing more than a blazing point of light, as it quietly disappeared below that sacred hearth. There it would lie, to be the our timeless reservoir of spiritual power for the whole of the next year.

It was only when these acts had been completed that I began the song of the future;

"A golden cornfield on a hill, surmounted by a proud oak. A lamb, a fat lamb, runs to a cairn by the oak tree. It is joined by two other lambs, just as fat and healthy; and together they gambol their way to the oak tree, circling it. Lightning strikes the oak tree..."

Then there was nothing. I was even more lost than I had been earlier, as I fell into a bottomless pit. There were no sensations, no community, no coven, nothing, nothing... The nothingness went on for eternity, and I instinctively knew that it stretched in every direction to infinity. I was the only, minute, point of matter; and I too was being squeezed to nothing....

Just as abruptly, the song returned. But before it did I fleetingly sensed a pair of dark brown eyes looking directly at me, and in their depths I could see reflected the eternity I had just experienced.

"Now I see a wild boar, a spear transfixes him and a black raven flies down to alight on the handle. Behind, a stag watches. The scene is replaced by the rising sun. The fire spirit has joined us."

As ever, the images were vivid, splashed with unreal colours and drifting between unknown dimensions and unimaginable times; their effect heightened by the darkness that descended at the end. They were shared, albeit less vividly, by the coven and the rest of the community. But, also as ever, they were cryptic.

All the participants were now drained of physical energy; but the coven and I were drained of both physical and emotional energy. On the other hand, all our power had been successfully channelled into the hearth. It would be a very good year.

It took all of my remaining strength just to roll over, and rest in the warmth of the rising sun. Whilst the others reluctantly drifted back to the village, to carry on with their day's work, I and the coven lay under the clear blue sky; slowly recovering our strength, and savouring the experience which had been the magical climax of our spiritual year.

Once we were able to concentrate, I started to analyse what the song had said. If we were to use these predictions effectively, the meaning had to teased out of each of the cryptic images. This analysis continued as we slowly made their way down the hill, returning once more to the fire hut. Around me the virgins chattered brightly. For three of them it had been their first midsummer and their excitement, in anticipation of the night's revelries to come, swept infectiously over all of the party. But I, for the first time, was uneasy; despite the generally good news they had brought.

Indeed, I knew that most of the song had followed a predictable course, and it would not be too difficult to interpret the patterns. The cornfield on the hill was unmistakable. It would be a good year for the harvest. The weather would be good enough to allow us to plant the high fields, clearly the hillside in the vision. They were the most fertile; but most exposed to storms, so the village only dared plant them in very good years. They had now lain fallow for four years, and as a result would be so fertile that their use would nearly double the coming year's grain harvest. The gatherers would be especially pleased because their rich loam was easy to plough. The two lambs meant that they could plant their seed a full two weeks in advance of the normal date; again giving better yields. That the lambs were so fat meant that the flocks and herds would prosper too, and that they would have a calm and prosperous year. The lamb's  presence so close to the cairn indicated that the flocks would be able to run on the hills for most of the year; again foretelling of the particularly good weather, for which all gatherers pray. The lightning stricken oak showed that this coming year we should fell and burn the oak woods; even though that meant the community's swine would have to forage further afield for their winter acorns. The community had grown rapidly in numbers; and would soon be needing those new fields. That was also good, because a new field, recently burnt, was the richest of all. It really would be a very productive year, and I gave thanks for our very real blessings.

But the second half of the vision was more problematic. The hunted boar could simply mean that we would have good hunting this winter, and that was indeed the most likely meaning. I had occasionally experienced similar visions in my twenty long years of divination. But the raven, the messenger, hinted that this was a much more symbolic message. And what was the importance of the stag?

Most intriguing, and possibly most worrying of all, was what happened after the lightning strike.

Back in the fire hut, I eventually quietened the virgins, who were still preoccupied with pleasant thoughts of the feast to come. As usual my first interpretation was brief, so the earth mothers could tell the rest of the village the good news immediately. It was, of course, a solemn tradition that I formally announced the news at the feast. But it was just as much a tradition that the gossiping of the earth mothers conveyed the news as soon as possible to those most affected; so by this traditional breach of tradition nobody was kept unbearably in suspense!

I usually did not give long explanations. The virgins did not need to know, and I was usually made very well aware that their only desire was to start their elaborate preparations for the celebrations to come.

It was a matter of some regret, but as yet I had no apprentice to assume the mantle of shaman. So there was really no point in long sessions of teaching about the spirit. It was the one gap in my plan for a bright future for the community. A whole generation had gone by without any youths being found who had even a glimmer of prescience. There were, to be sure, hunters whose exploits surpassed almost anything in the sagas, and gatherers who made even the stones deliver harvest; but there were no dreamers of dreams. Maybe the need was not great enough. In the time of the sagas it was the shaman who kept the community alive; his predictions gave the villagers a very necessary edge over blind chance, an edge that often just kept them from starvation. Now there was plenty, and nobody starved. My predictions simply added to the community's existing wealth. They had become almost a luxury, not a necessity. Perhaps, I mused, our own full bellies had stopped the emergence of a new shaman; perhaps mine was a dying science.

For once, though, I still felt I needed to discuss the dream with the earth mothers. So, letting the exuberant virgins get on with their seemingly endless tasks of self adornment, I sat down with the four earth mothers; to try and discern if there could be more subtle patterns hidden in these puzzling runes. As much for my own benefit as theirs, I ran through the basic pattern once more.

"It will be a marvellous year" Janil cooed maternally, to be joined in a happy outburst by the others. She knew she was right; she had been a hearth mother long enough to read the runes almost as well as any apprentice.

"But what about the boar and the raven?" From the corner of the excited group came one of the questions I was really looking for; from Lal, again as I had expected. As a hearth mother she usually chose to remain in the background, letting Janil pretend the coven was all her own flock. But Lal was an independent spirit, no matter how quiet. She was intelligent, and could make the incisive comment; and, as I had expected, she just had.

The rest of the group continued to chatter, agreeing with Janil that it was all marvellous. So I could have avoided Lal's implicit challenge. But I wanted to know the answer, even more than did Lal; and I hadn't any idea what the deeper might mean. Lal had only seen the anomaly, and merely wanted to scratch the intellectual itch that this caused. I, on the other hand, was deeply worried by the new development. The spirit was normally reassuringly predictable, if very cryptic; but now it had taken me by surprise. It was as if one of the herders had found his cattle had suddenly grown two heads.

Then there was that infinite abyss, into which I had plunged; most disconcertingly of all.

"Did anyone notice what happened after the lightning struck?" I finally asked of the whole group, though deliberately not stressing the importance.

"Well I noticed you falter" ventured Lal, once more, after pausing for some time; nobody, least of all she, ever wanted to suggest that their shaman might be fallible. That would be too terrible to contemplate.

"When I faltered, did you feel anything else?" I pursued. A long silence ensued. But so desperate was I for an explanation that, against all tradition, I took an even more direct line. "Lal, did you feel anything, any sudden shock, just as I came to the lightning striking the oak tree".

There was puzzlement all around, and Lal shook her head. "No, only that you seemed to falter for the briefest moment". There was a chorus from the others: "We didn't notice anything at all".

They were starting to get nervous. A shaman doesn't ask questions of his audience; they ask questions of him. So I quickly closed down that line of investigation, and deliberately finished the meeting on a very optimistic note. There was no need to worry them. My own doubts were probably totally unjustified. After all, the main message of the spirit was clear; it was going to be a marvellous, and exciting, year.

By myself, though, I still wondered. Had I been mistaken? Had it never occurred? The sacred mushroom could sometimes have unpredictable effects. It was not always pure, leading to bad dreams, and the spirit itself was occasionally difficult to understand. Maybe it had been just a momentary aberration on my part, a momentary lapse of concentration. But, still, I could have sworn that in that moment I saw through the very fabric of the fire, to the cold depths of infinity and beyond to eternity. Perhaps my strengths were growing; so that I could explore beyond the first level of the spirit. Perhaps... perhaps...perhaps. The truth was that I had no idea what it truly meant, and that was what really worried me. A seer has to be confident, above all, of his own predictions

*****

It was probably to stop myself thinking of these unanswered questions that I threw myself so enthusiastically into my day's work. By tradition, the shaman had just the one formal role. He was required to dedicate his life exclusively to divination; understandably so - where the accuracy of his predictions could, in the time of the sagas, have meant the difference between life and death for the whole community. To minimise any distractions from this all important task, he was allowed no family; except that the whole community was his family. That was a price which, at least until recently, I had been very willing to pay. For I knew my role was the most fulfilling in the whole community. In some ways, certainly in ceremonies like today's, I became the whole community.

In common with the rest of the village, though, I helped with every task. At some times of the year the work at hand simply could not have been completed in time without everyone joining in; including even those who created the community's wealth in the workshops. The harvest could not have been reaped in such plenty without the whole village being involved as one team.

In any case, everybody enjoyed sharing the work. Each individual was proud of his special skills, but still enjoyed the refreshing change that the communal work brought. For most of the year, however, each was able to dedicate his time to the work he most enjoyed. Our basic needs were met by work that took perhaps no more than two to three days a week, when spread across the year. Of course, we all worked from dawn to dusk, for seven days a week, at times like planting and harvest.  At other times villagers were able to spend endless enjoyable days perfecting their own special skills, and in the process created great wealth for their community. The potters and carvers followed their chosen crafts for no other reason than that they needed to have a creative outlet for their art; but the buyers paid high prices for the artistry that came from that intellectual urge.

I, as the shaman, was the one generalist. I took my function as teacher to the young, and indeed to the whole community, very seriously indeed. It was, after all, potentially a matter of life and death, or at least of the community's future wealth, that we successfully transferred the skills from generation to generation.

On feast days, like today however, I liked to indulge myself and visit all parts of my flock; almost as if to revisit all that had just been touched by the spirit - and today it had become even more necessary, this time to reassure myself that our world really did represent the perfection that I had seen during the ceremony.

Even so, I followed my usual routine, first making my way down to the river. I had always found it soothing to sit with Doal and watch the river gently eddy around the fish-traps; and always, after the intense experience of the spirit, above all I simply needed to relax and restore my normal perspectives. The river was an ideal antidote, for how many times had I, as a child, spent long hours watching my fishing line lying alongside Doal's, with not a word said; even as we fought to land the strongest fish that ran in the river. By habit I now sat down on the bank alongside the fisherman, in the lee of the boats drawn up on the bank. As I wordlessly gazed over the river, I felt my inner turbulence ebb away. It was a beautiful setting, something I had increasingly appreciated since I had become an adult. But then the community always chose its work-places as much for their beauty as for their efficiency. Clearly there were limitations; there would have been little point in placing the fish traps on top of a hill, no matter how beautiful the view, or building our workshops on the riverbank, where they might be flooded. But, within those limitations, most activities could be moved the few yards or so to where the surroundings by themselves made work a pleasure.

Doal's traps were set in just such an idyllic setting. Behind them, the meadows, dotted with fat ewes suckling their lambs, swept up to the brow beyond which the village nestled. On the other side of the river the forest grew right down to the bank, covering the rolling hills into the far distance and providing a secure haven for every form of wild life. Where the river languidly disappeared around a bend, I could just see the posts marking the ford which was the real reason for the location of the village. On the far side of that ford was the beginning of the great trail that led up the valley and thence to the west country, many days distant; where the recently discovered tin mines were now generating wealth for the whole land. Today, however, I would see no caravans crossing; all respected the needs of the spirit at midsummer. We normally entertained at least two caravans a month throughout the year; and the hilarious haggling over the goods they chose to barter provided us with great entertainment - as well as access to the products of communities across the country.

Thus, I mused silently, wordless alongside Doal; but then I didn't need to talk. I had known the fisherman all his life, as had almost every villager. The bend of the river was a favourite point at which almost all of us chose, from time to time, to come and relax; undisturbed by conversation. Doal's life was a quiet one, but hardly a lonely one.

I had rarely felt the need to pass even a single word with him. But for once I wanted to be sure of his views: "Are we really happy as a complete community? You must see most of the villagers, and at a time when they have difficulties or troubles to work out." I well knew Doal was indeed an informal confessor - shadowing my more formal role - for the whole community: "Do they have serious problems, or just small ones? Is our loving family holding together, or splitting in some way that I just can't see?"

 Doal was clearly startled at the flood of my words. Even though I had been somewhat relaxed by the tranquillity of the river the urgency born of my recent anxiety had still showed.

I could feel him thinking for an answer; searching for a meaning in the unexpected questions as much as for the truthful reply. Doal was not a quick thinker, but in his own very quiet way he was a deep one. I had now posed the problem, so I was able to relax again and immerse myself in the beauty of the surroundings. I could feel Doal responding to my own gradual relaxation, as he gave his reply: "I do believe that almost everyone is truly happy. Indeed, I don't know of anyone who is really unhappy." Picking up my earlier thoughts, he continued: "Indeed, everyone can choose to do what they are best at, and what they really want to do. Nobody presses me to be anything other than a fisherman. Oh yes, I take my turn with the harvest, and am very willing and proud to do so; but I know my fish-traps are always here to return to." He drew a breath, and paused a moment as he too surveyed the calm scene "They're here for the others as well. To get away from the bustle of the village, and  return close to the nature from which they came. To have the peace and quiet which is impossible when you have nearly a hundred other minds clamouring around you. On the other hand I don't think they are unhappy with their lot, or even with their companions. It's just that the rush gets on top of them occasionally; and they need to come down here and let the fresh air blow their confusions away. I think most of them just want to let the tension flow out of them and into the river; to be washed away to the sea. One thing I am certain of is that they always look happy when they start back to the village."

It was the longest speech I had ever heard Doal make. It had almost tumbled out; triggered by my own unease. Yet the fisherman was clearly happy. More important, he was confident that the others were just as content, and he was in the best position to know.

I said nothing, but silently gave thanks to the spirit that my unease had been unjustified. There was no need to say anything to Doal, who could sense my relief. Again we stared over the river; as, for once, Doal too needed to release his own tensions, brought on by that uncharacteristically long speech. So, in silence, the two of us just let the calm beauty of the surroundings wash over our senses.

After a while Doal silently waded out to the traps and emptied the catch into his basket. This was one job I didn't even attempt to help with. In my youth I had tried, but had proved too clumsy and either lost the slippery fish from my grasp, or held them so tightly that they bruised. I knew how proud was Doal of his contribution to the midsummer celebrations and I didn't want to cause him to lose any of the catch, to deplete his gift to that feast. So I sat and watched, and marvelled at the speed with which the fisherman transferred the glistening fish from the depths of the traps to his baskets.

By the time Doal had finished collecting his harvest, and had waded to drop them into the holding pond, his apprentice returned. The latter was not long since out of youth; and like the other youngsters of the community was barely suppressing his excitement at the festivities to come. Indeed, it was obvious that he had been visiting the village to plot with his cronies; planning for the excitements of the evening to come. But, even so, under the bubbling surface of the moment there could still be detected the underlying tranquillity that also marked Doal.

"The ox is roasting a treat" the youth confided quietly, though both I and Doal both sensed that the youngster's barely suppressed excitement derived from a different hunger, one that would also be assuaged that night! But the ox roast was, indeed, one of the most obvious features of the feast, and one that was impossible to hide. Its aroma had been floating over the village for some time.

In turn, I made the suitably reassuring reply "It will be an excellent year". It was an answer that, following Doal's reassuring comments, I now felt even happier with.

The social niceties over, I picked myself up and continued on my journey of self discovery. Climbing the hill towards the woods, I occasionally looked back; to see the two fishermen calmly, and happily, just sitting together on the riverbank.

As I climbed over the hurdle into the dappled shade of the oak wood, I couldn't help feeling a little sad. The oak trees that surrounded me were so majestic, so noble. They had been growing here through long generations of my ancestors; slowly reaching towards the sky, resisting the wild storms of winter, and absorbing the gentle warmth of summer. They had been my own friends ever since childhood. Even now, around me, I could hear the happy sounds of children at play. The woods had always been a delightfully exciting playground. There were trees of every size to climb; and nooks and crannies in profusion where the children could hide.

Memories poured back as I rubbed past one of smaller trees near the edge of the woods. The polish of its low branches showed where generations of young children, myself included, had somewhat fearfully started to learn the challenging skills of climbing. Ahead lay the giants, which in my later childhood I had just as proudly scaled, to lie in the treetops hidden in my own secret world.

As I walked through the shifting patterns of sunlight, I could sense the majesty, and once more the calm, of these great oaks. I still regretted their fate, but the land was needed for the growing community; and the future could not be denied.

At the far end of the wood I came to the coppice. In the distance he could hear the regular thump of flint axes on wood as the foresters, Wilm and Benj, harvested the crop of hazel. The community was an insatiable consumer of this material. Some was needed weave into hurdles, to fence in the growing number of small fields. Some was required to repair the fabric of their the huts and build new ones; supporting the weight of the straw thatch between the main timbers. But most was needed to fuel the charcoal clamps. Even now, I could savour the unmistakable smell of charcoal making; coming from the tightly packed mound of wood slowly burning in the clamp under its thick cover of turf and earth. Wilm and Benj would not be far away from that; ever watchful for the need to add another turf to stop the fire escaping and ruining the whole batch.

They were, as I had expected, coppicing the area close by the charcoal clamps; and as I approached they put down their tools and moved over to the camp, motioning me to join them. It was inevitable that Wilm, married as he was to Janil, would already know the fate of the oaks. So I was not surprised when, almost before he was seated, the forester commented: "So we will have new stocks of timber then, and not before time". He had been concerned for some time that the stocks of seasoned timber were running low; and had several times already tried to persuade the council to agree to the cutting down of some of the prize specimens, to lay away for the future. Now he no longer had such worries. He was just as sure that the wood to be had from the oak forest would provide for at least two generations; for it contained the whole range of trees the village used, including those needed for the most decorative of carvings.

I smiled "Your contact with the fire must be very close"; gently  preserving the fiction that Janil had not chattered, even though I had well known she would. "How long would it take you to clear that stand of oak?"

Wilm looked at Benj, and the two of them started to draw plans in the dust; exchanging technical comments about the individual giants for which they would need to lay special plans. Eventually it was Benj who replied "I reckon we should allow two full years; but if we work up the hill, away from the village, the gatherers will be able to plant at least a third next spring."

"What if we all work on it through the two months of mid-winter." I was determined to find a way of moving the project rather faster, so that we could obtain the benefit of the new fields as soon as possible.

"Well perhaps we could complete half in time for spring sowing." It was Wilm who conceded: "And we would only need half the village to work at a time, so the winter carving needn't really suffer". The forester was, as ever, pragmatic; and I recognised that it was a good solution. So we sealed the decision with a draught for cool ale, from the larder under the bivouac.

I left the two of them happily planning how they would start their gargantuan task, and made my way to the large field just behind the village. As I knew it would be, it was dotted with members of the village. All the gatherers were there, of course; but so also were most of the hunters and some of the craftsmen. Weeding the emerging wheat crop was back-breaking work, but it was necessary. Every weed left produced a hundred others. On the other hand, the fields were already amongst the cleanest, the most weed-free, in the whole valley. The seedcorn they produced was, indeed, much in demand by other communities; who wanted to create their own weed-free crops. Using our clean seed could save them as much as five years of backbreaking work.

Perhaps up to half the village's total crop was now traded as such seed. The three years of food reserves which we still held, against the increasingly unlikely event of a crop failure, was only taken from the second grade and was kept well preserved and safely dry; in the clay-capped storage pits, dug in the chalk on which our village was built.

Striding through the field I could now see a large part of my extended family; and my pride, and love, for the whole community welled up so that I almost wept with the joy of the occasion.

Back at the village the roar of the furnaces, and the acrid smell of their smoke, told me that the smithy was still in full production. As I entered the turf roofed hut, dense smoke swirled around the dim figures. Two of the bowl-shaped furnaces in the floor were roaring; shining brilliant red with the heat, as the bellows forced air though their charcoal beds. The smiths were casting some bronze that had already been smelted. In one furnace the bronze in the clay crucible had already melted, nearly ready to cast. In the other the pieces were only just starting to glow red.

For the first time that day I was able to indulge in some hard physical labour; a pleasure that was so often denied me because of my role. I cheerfully took over the bellows that were blowing air through the charcoal under the second melt. The smiths, who were proud of their craft, reasoned that even I could be trusted with that menial task; since the bronze in it was not near the critical point where their own professional judgement would be needed. At the same time, I watched in fascination as the they themselves carefully worked the liquid bronze in the other furnace. Only when they were satisfied that the melt had reached precisely the correct temperature did they, with practiced skill, use their tongs to pluck the pot of precious metal from the fire.

In a line on the floor were the dried clay moulds, to which the village's most renowned carvers had recently switched their talents. With great care, but even then spilling red-glowing rivulets that would have to be returned to a later melt, the smiths very precisely  filled the line of moulds with that incandescent substance.

There was no talk of the spirit here. There was even little talk about the feast. These were hard men who took their work very seriously. They would take their pleasure just as seriously, but they would do that later.

The talk was of their trade, however: "The brooches we have produced have been very much in demand." Rog was inordinately proud of his craft: "We've now learnt how to avoid almost all the imperfections. What are the brooches now sold for?".

I was happy to tell him that they were now trading at almost twice their own weight in tin; providing a steady income for the community, as all their new technology always did. Rog was suitably impressed; by his own new worth, as much as by the riches coming to the community.

"When will Isac return then," was the smith's next question. Isac was our most successful trader. He made the longest journeys, and found the best new ideas; the clay mould process that I had just witnessed being just one. Isac was also married to Melani, which was why she recently had been able to find so much time for me. Once again I silently wished that her attention might not diminish when Isac returned; but I already knew in his heart that I would scarcely see her until Isac left on his next journey.

"He is already a month late, but he nearly always is. He can't bear to miss any new development." My answer was not an excuse; it was the truth. Isac was nearly always late; often a month or more. If the trader heard a rumour of a new invention, or a new source of material, he would relentlessly pursue it; tracking the rumour up and down the valleys until he located the source. And he rarely returned without at least one new idea; as well as overflowing panniers on his pack-horses.

The thought of Melani had reminded me of the frustrating loss of the morning's promised pleasures. So I quietly slipped away to indulge myself by visiting my favourite place. The herb garden was indeed the favourite of all. Its many medicines were essential for the community's health, and its variety of herbs added great subtlety to our food. Indeed, the village's cooks had the reputation of being the best in the valley.

I stopped dead in my thoughts for a moment. Was I becoming too smug, was that what the spirit was trying to tell me? Almost everything I had seen today had evidenced that we did have the best in the valley. We belonged to a rich and fortunate community, in a rich and fortunate valley, at a rich and fortunate time. Was I, though, tempting fate- offending the spirit - by being so smug? But we simply were the best, and recognition of truth was surely not overweening pride.

By then I was in the middle of the herb garden. Its terraces rose up the hill behind the village. It was a great luxury. It was at least ten times as large as needed. Yet it was a place of great beauty. Indeed the immaculately tended beds were laid out for visual effect rather than for productivity; the cooks were always complaining that their herbs were too far from the huts. The garden was almost unbelievably beautiful.

I took my tunic off and lay down on my favourite grassy bank, closing my eyes to revel in my other, now inundated, senses. As I lay there, soaking up the warmth of the sun, the scents of dozens of herbs and flowers assaulted my nostrils, and the humming of the hundreds of bees returning to the village's hives, which seemed even to drown out the birdsong, had an almost hypnotic effect. As ever, I found it almost as refreshing as communion with the spirit.

After a while I slowly became aware of a delicious sensation. The softest of lips were gently kissing the tips of my toes. I didn't need to open his eyes to know that Melani had found my hiding place.

But I did open my eyes, because her beauty always ravished my senses. Her sensuously soft brown skin was perfectly set off by her mane of golden hair and a pair of the deepest blue eyes; her long legs, with the half hidden promise of pleasures to come held between those rounded thighs, were topped by firm young breasts that flaunted the pinkest of nipples. Seeing her perfect nakedness at my feet I once more yearned for her with a passion that hurt.

Resisting the urgency of my passion, however, I slowly drew her to me; savouring the lingering pleasure as the smooth softness of her young body came into contact with my own nakedness; and our lips gently, but hungrily, met. 

Her skin was so smooth to the touch that I felt it was almost obscene to place my rough hand against it. But I loved to explore the delights of her body, as much as she did to be thus caressed. At last her breast, with its nipple so provocatively erect against my own chest, attracted my attention. As I gently kissed it, Melani moaned softly and, when I finally started to stroke the tenderest area between her thighs, her moaning increased even further in intensity. I felt the delicious folds of her flesh become moist under my fingers, and by now her fingers had found my phallus; so that it was now my turn to gasp with pleasure.

I was intoxicated by the sensations which swept over my body. As always, I found our foreplay almost as pleasurable as the climax itself, and it lasted far longer. Sometimes, as today, the fire of the experience made my every nerve scream in unison with the pleasure. It seemed to go on for ever; and indeed I wanted it never to stop.

Eventually, though, I could stand the exquisite pleasure no longer. My own waves of delight had merged with those coming from her; to create a hurricane of passion. I could no longer hold back, but had to enter her. The deliberately slow moment of penetration as her vagina first clasped my phallus, was almost unbearable in its joined pleasure. As her legs wrapped around my back, we just lay still; both enjoying the sheer joy of my member, buried deep in her young body. Then the rhythm slowly started and our bodies seemed to merge together in that growing crescendo of pleasure. Our joined minds shared everything; moving inexorably towards the pure fire of the indescribable climax. Even the climax itself seemed to last for ever, and felt as if it drained my whole body; pulse after pulse emptying body and mind into her. Her sobbing coupled with the overwhelming waves of her passion flooding my senses told me that Melani was finding it just as rewarding an experience.

As I slowly came out of her, and our sweat soaked bodies relaxed onto the grassy bank, I reflected that it was undoubtedly the best such experience that I had ever enjoyed. Melani too reflected on the sheer intensity of the sensations. "That was wonderful, truly marvellous, it was almost as intense as my best experiences with Isac." For a moment I was deflated by the comparison, but I quickly recognised it was the highest compliment she could pay me.

Thus, for both of them, it was a good time. It was a marvellous time. It was a perfect time. There could be no doubt as to the future.

******

When the great horn blew to announce the start of the feast, I was already with the cooks clustered around the largest of the cooking pits; above which the roasting ox was slowly turning. Buried in the glowing embers were many more delicacies; Doal's cherished fish, now coated with herbs and clay, amongst them.

The midsummer feast was the only one held in the herb garden. But this was a glorious setting for it, with banks of fragrant flowers on every side. As it was traditional that the shaman took the first slice of the ox, I quickly accepted a platter with a steaming morsel of rump laid on it; the cooks knew, from long experience, my favourite cut. Around me the merry throng poured into the garden, and it was soon filled with the sound of a multitude of happy voices.

As was also my duty, I made a stately progress from group to group; and tasted each of the delicacies on offer. At this early stage of the evening I knew it would be wrong, blatantly unfair, for a shaman to appear to favour any one group over any other. For all of them it was a time of sharing; of reaffirming their bonds with the whole community. Private celebrations would wait until later. But even for me, with the whole community to greet, it was a genuinely pleasurable duty to perform. The joy of each group I joined warmed me as much as had the embers of the cooking pits. And the various delicacies thrust upon me were truly delicious, melting  on my tongue. The whole event was a spiritual binding together, and the waves of pleasure from each group were amplified by the groups around them; to make the whole atmosphere resonate with an energy that was akin to the sexual power which had surrounded Melani and me earlier in the day.

As sunset flamed overhead, setting the whole sky ablaze, the whole community excitedly made its way to the amphitheatre which lay just above the village. Lit, as darkness slowly fell, by two huge bonfires it acquired an air of drama that hushed the assembling participants.

I was at heart an actor, who loved playing to audiences; and nearly always took some, albeit minor, role in the many masques that enlivened the winter evenings. So I doubly enjoyed my triumphal entrance. The sounding horns and pounding drums that built up to it, heightened by the flaring light from the dried leaves that were thrown onto the fires, made for a sense of the highest drama. It was all hokum, of course, and even though it might have fooled audiences in earlier times everyone now knew it was pure theatre. But still they all loved its massively exaggerated splendour, and it never failed to focus the thoughts of the community gathered there. Waves of emotion crashed against me as I slowly made my progress to the centre of the stage; milking every ounce of applause. The intense feelings of the event always moved me; so much so that tears of joy rolled down my cheeks. As usual, I could see my audience was just as affected; as they hugged and embraced all those around them. It was a joy to be alive, and to be a member of such a wondrous family.

Booming in my best oratorial voice I declaimed the prophecies. In truth I doubted that there was a single spectator, not the youngest child, who didn't already know every detail of them. Yet the audience cheered loudly, and genuinely, as every glad tiding was delivered to them. The ceremony represented the most powerful commitment, by everyone present, to the shared future of their precious community.

It took some time for the hubbub to die down, and in this interval I saw Rard and his family discretely setting up their carved panels as a backdrop to the stage. Rard was one of the few who could never join the spirit. His mind simply did not have the facility for communicating with it; and in this most important of senses he was totally crippled. He was also one of the community's least quick-witted members. But he was painstakingly efficient as a gatherer; and was genuinely loved by everyone for his honesty and generosity.

This was to be his moment of personal triumph, towards which he had been working for the past several months. I had spent many evenings rehearsing him in the saga he was to present. Of course, the whole village knew the outlines of the sagas. They had been exposed to them from childhood. But only the owner was allowed to learn every precious word of this verbal heirloom. In this way it came fresh to each reincarnation. The ownership of the sagas was a prized possession, carefully handed from generation to generation; with the council earnestly deciding who the new owner should be. Rard had wept when he was given the privilege of the creation saga; and the whole village had shared his joy, and wept along with him.

Handed down with each saga were also the marvellous carved screens that told of it. A few dated back many generations and Rard's panels, which now formed the backdrop to the stage, were some of the oldest of all. They were so precious that in the dim past at least one owner had himself perished while rescuing them from a fire.

It was impossible to see the fine detail of the carvings from the back of the amphitheatre. But that mattered little, for they were always proudly on display around his living space; and all the community well knew their contents, having been introduced to them as part of their schooling. Even so, there were gasps as he and his family finally moved away from the panels. As their guardian he could not change the panels, which were his responsibility as well as his pleasure, but he could cherish them; and the gasps form the audience were for the stabs of light coming from the main carvings. Rard had covered them with a layer of gold leaf. I knew that he had sacrificed almost a year's earnings to acquire that gold; yet his joy in the ownership of the panels was such that it was a sacrifice he had delighted in making - and the pleasure that the audience clearly gained from the addition now redoubled this satisfaction.

As he slowly started to declaim his saga, I found I was almost as nervous as he was. At first, as he tripped over his words, I willed him to success with every separate utterance. Then buoyed by the waves of sympathy and love that flowed from the audience to him, the saga-teller at last became confident; and the words I knew so well began to flow with a fluency that was almost miraculous.

"In the beginning was there darkness over the whole land. Jav and his people lived on their hands and knees, as did the lowliest of animals, finding only what sustenance their coarse fingers might brush against. They lived cold, fruitless lives; and they mourned their lot. Above them the spirit drifted, unregarded and unnoticed, pale and unused, a shroud for their future. Yet Jav would not submit to despair as did his fellows. For, as he painfully concentrated his thoughts on those of his closest neighbours, he found the stirrings of an awakening beneath even their profound despair. The task was long and hard, but he finally penetrated their minds; and persuaded these other desperate beings to join him in an attempt to bring light and life to their dismal world. Some would soon have abandoned their labours; but Jav was untiring and drove them to ever more desperate heights. Above them they could at last dimly sense the thin veil of the spirit. But it was as cold and dank as were they. Yet Jav again forced them to persevere. Finally small portion of that spirit, so small as to be scarcely noticeable, began to come together; to form, even so, only the most unpromising of globes. But, as it condensed, it started to suck in thin strands of energy from ever further afield. With hope rising in his breast, Jav could feel that distant mass growing, and beginning at long last to warm of its own volition; to build its own energy from that at first brought to it by their minds alone. Under their gaze it grew and grew, even though they became weaker and weaker; but miraculously, as they finally collapsed with the effort, it did not stop growing. It had developed a power of its own. As they looked on, now as much in fear for what might happen, it started to glow. At first like the palest of moons shining though a cloud filled night, but then ever more brightly until it emerged burning as brightly as man now knows. Jav and his people lay exhausted, but joyous for the first time; as the sun, for that is what they had created from the spirit, warmed their bodies and their minds. As the rays of light banished the dank darkness, they could at last see. And as they saw they realised the beauty of the land in which they lived; a beauty that had so long been denied them. That first day they feasted, and then simply lay on the warm earth absorbing the life giving rays of that sun. But then, as that day came to its end, even the spirit no longer had the power to keep the sun alight; and had to hide it below the edge of the world, so that it might regenerate its energy. And Jav's people were more frightened than ever, fearing that it might never reappear; even though they knew, from the spirit with which they were now in communion, that it must return brighter than ever. In the returned dark, Jav again forced them to concentrate; and this time the spirit responded immediately. A great sheet of lightning leapt down to earth; striking an oak tree near them. As the tree burnt fiercely, its flames once more lit up their world. Jav had his people rush and collect wood, and put the flames to it. Thus was made the sacred fire that has burned in our hearth ever since. And the people rejoiced greatly. There would never again be all encompassing darkness. Light would always be at hand for their bodies and their minds."

Breathless, Rard finished the saga; and the broadest of smiles broke out on his face. The roars of cheering were almost deafening; as much for him, and his bravery in this most difficulty of tests. Indeed, the first row of the audience ran forward to embrace him, and then carried him shoulder high around the amphitheatre. His great day had been a triumph; for the community as well as for him.

As much relieved as Rard, I sank back to savour the beaker of ale in my hand. Until then the tension had made it almost tasteless. Now the blackberry syrup that gave it its special flavour burst in full torrent upon my tongue. Now I, too, could begin to fully enjoy the informal part of the festivities.

As the orchestra moved to take up their places by the fires, around me the younger women were taking off their tunics to reveal the pictures that had been so carefully, and skilfully, painted on their bodies. In the firelight, the blue woad dye looked almost black; and as their bodies moved, and the fires flickered, the pictures almost seemed to come alive. With a fatherly concern, he checked that all his virgins displayed the crescent moon, painted across their lower bellies. Nobody would break such a taboo, no matter how much their senses were at the mercy of drink. The full sun, displayed by other women, had a more complex meaning. It showed that the bearer of this sign was in her fertile period. To lie with her, therefore, required both her permission and that of her husband.

As Melani approached, I marvelled at the wildcat that prowled, almost alive, over her belly. I recognised the handiwork of Vilf, our greatest artist; and made a mental note to make certain it was recreated as a carving. I was also reassured to see that she didn't wear the sun sign; though I knew she would never let her emotions carry her away to the extent of conceiving without Isac's consent.

As the horns and drums of the orchestra launched into a favourite dance, I stood to my feet and faced Melani. As our bodies swayed to the rhythm, we wrapped the warmth of the spirit around each other.

Much later, my muscles tired by the constant dancing, and not a little by the festival ale I had consumed, I moved with Melani to the shadows of the herb garden. There we were joined by Janil and Lal, who were also recovering from their exertions of the evening. Unlike Melani they still wore their tunics; but these were of such sheer wool that there were times when their bodies too showed clearly through. Rather to my surprise I realised that, perhaps buoyed up by the ale, I now lusted after them almost as much as Melani. I had never made love to either of them; even though I saw them almost every day. The spirit had not chosen, at least not until now, to suggest that form of contact. But I now realised that this was no chance meeting. I could sense, even in the gloom, Melani's wicked smile; for, with a childlike glee, she revelled in arranging such surprises. But by then I could equally sense the anticipation of Lal, and particularly of Janil; who was almost alight with it.

Melani broke the growing tension with a full throated laugh, which prepared the way for the pleasures that were now so clearly to come. It was such a delicious sound that it infected the other two women as well; so that all three women started to giggle almost insanely.

In the gloom, I sensed rather than saw their tunics cast aside; and felt Melani pull my own from me. For a brief moment I felt the cool night air on my skin. But it was replaced immediately by a veritable blanket of warm, fragrant, still-giggling flesh. As I too became a victim of this infectious laughter, we all toppled onto the grassy bank, a tangle of intertwined limbs. Melani, with some effort, held herself back; but both Lal and Janil were almost fighting to hold me close to them. It was clearly moving beyond my control, so I determined to relax and enjoy every moment of it. The subsequent sensations that swamped all my senses confirmed much that I already knew. Lal was slender, indeed thin with a lithe body in many ways more like that of a young boy than that of a mature woman. Janil was almost the exact opposite; voluptuous, with ripe breasts that were not yet quite pendulous.

After a few moments of near chaos, they sorted themselves out; and I found Janil lying on top of me, with Lal alongside. Janil's demanding lips very quickly sought out my own; and I learnt, if I hadn't known already, how urgent was her need. Coming at last to terms with the unexpected situation, my one hand found Janil's ample breast while my other, after rather more exploration, found that of Lal; much smaller, and firmer, but to my surprise, and to her pleasure, with just as sensuously erect a nipple. I must admit that I was still somewhat astounded at this turn of events; indeed overwhelmed by the experience. It would not be true to state that I had never lain with two, or even three, women; for in common with all youths I had once explored to the very limits of my new found sexual abilities. But never had I met such a comparison of differing maturities, almost of extremes; each delectable in its own way.

Almost as soon as I started my gentle exploration of their proud breasts, I felt the bodies of both Lal and Janil stiffen; as pleasure lead them far ahead of me. But it was not an experience that I intended to hurry; even though my own member, now fully erected against Janil's belly, amply demonstrated my own excitement and ultimate intentions.

Releasing both their breasts, I concentrated first on Janil. My hand began to explore her body; as hers did mine. After much delicious roving, both sets of hands came to rest on respective bottoms; pulling and kneading, drawing our thighs into delicious pressure against each other. I found that the globes of her bottom had a delightfully natural, robustly sensuous, quality; with the feel of warm dough risen with the yeast, and I suspected that I would never again be able to view bread-making with the same detachment. At last I gently rolled her over, away from Lal who must already have been suffering tortures of frustration. As I slid down to start kissing Janil's nipples, her moans increased; and they increased even more as my hand finally started to investigate the area between her thighs. This was already soaked from her excitement, and her ample lower lips were distended under my fingers. As I leisurely explored these vaginal lips, she rose into a violent orgasm, her whole body shaking with the pleasure of it; so that I had some difficulty, but a great deal of pleasure, in continuing the massage of her erotic areas. The waves of her joy that washed over me were almost unbearable in their intensity; I marvelled that she could stand such exquisite torture, But she was oblivious to anything save the fire of the moment. I, rather than she, had eventually to collapse; and rest to regain my strength.

By the time I had fully recovered, it was the feather-light body of Lal that covered me. This time my exploring hands didn't rest until eventually my fingers pleasured her too. Her response was no less dramatic than Janil's, and her joyous writhing on top of me served to stimulate me almost as much. Her own orgasm was awesome to behold, and once more it was my muscles that tired before did her body.

But Lal was made of sterner stuff. Despite the sweat already streaming off her, to mingle with mine, she lifted herself. As she did so my phallus sprang free. Lal stared at it for just a moment, before she slid down onto it with slow deliberation; until its full length was buried deep inside her slim body. Thus did my phallus, unbelievably to me and delectably for her, still seem to grow inside her. Indeed we both surely felt it must grow to fill her whole body.

As she started to move rhythmically up and down, I was just as startled to discover the control she had over her muscles; as she massaged my phallus deep inside her to the same rhythm. Almost immediately she returned to an even higher, now uncontrollably vocal, climax. Despite my self-control, I too rapidly climbed to as excited a state. My phallus became my whole body, and every nerve in my body was pleasured to a searing intensity; as those shared pressures rippled up and down. Yet at the same time I was aware of her balletic lightness, and the feel of the bone of her pelvis rhythmically contacting my thighs. It was almost as magically disorienting to me as a taste of the sacred mushroom. I felt as if I was being pulled upwards by my massively engorged phallus, which was screaming with pleasure as it vainly sought to explode.

Yet I knew I must hold back, for I must not disappoint Janil; whose need was surely the greatest. I silently thanked the ale that I had consumed, for dampening my responses. Was it possible that these were dulled senses! So my will-power was finally just able to hold me back from the brink; and retain that ultimate experience for Janil. But, even so, I wanted so much to soar to the climax there and then. I ached for relief; but wanted even more the insane pleasure of it to last for ever - and it seemed as if it did.

Suddenly Lal bounded off me, like a cat releasing its mouse. But the experience had not finished, for I found myself bodily lifted and carried, by her and Melani, to Janil; who now awaited, arms and legs held wide in greeting. As I finally entered that temple of joy, the four of us cried as one with the all-consuming pleasure of it. I would have sworn that Lal and Melani cried as loud as Janil and myself; for by now all their waves of passion were so shared, so amplified by each other's experiences, that they had even engulfed Melani who had experienced no physical stimulation whatsoever.

I found the change of sensation was dramatic, and yet even more stimulating. Gone was Lal's tightness; to be replaced by a cavernous emptiness. Janil fully showed her history of giving birth to two children. I was gently supported on her thighs as if on feather pillows. I did not know where I eventually found the strength, but I began the rhythmic dance; to the rhythm of the celebratory drums in the distance. Backwards and forwards I swayed, with the circle of pleasure sweeping up and down on my swollen phallus. In, out, ever deeper until I felt I was penetrating her whole body too. At each plunging stroke I came to rest on her breasts, in the process rubbing her erect nipples, and this extra stimulation drove her and her two companions to even greater passions; as she rocked in violent sympathy with my own rhythm.

By now we were all sobbing and crying, carried totally away by the waves of pure pleasure that flowed out from each of us; to rebound, magnified, from the others. It became a veritable hurricane of emotion, in which every nerve in all four bodies vibrated in ecstatic unison.

Our shared orgasm climbed higher, ever higher, for what seemed like an unimaginable eternity of pleasure. Until at last I could hold back no longer, and the contents of my phallus exploded into Janil's waiting vagina. We four lovers screamed once more in unison, as riding on the wave of that burst dam we seemed almost to drown together in the torrent of pleasure that ensued. The flood seemed to last for ever and we felt as if it enveloped every part of our bodies.

All four of us lay exhausted, once more in an unmoving tangle of limbs, satisfyingly tired as we had never before been.

What seemed like aeons later we did manage to stagger to our feet. I drew on my tunic, and we slowly made our way back to the village. Lal and Janil, though, did not replace their tunics; but linking arms with Melani they dragged their tunics behind. As they entered the amphitheatre again, I  saw them, from what reserve of strength I knew not, put a spring into their step; as they proudly made their way, three inseparable friends, between the whirling dancers.

As the three, with Janil sheltered in the centre, approached the fires I marvelled at the radiance that shone out from their faces. It was almost enough to outshine the fires themselves. Just before they reached the darkness that led to the village I now also registered, with a blinding flash of understanding, the sun sign clearly emblazoned on Janil's belly. It was her proudest badge.

I ran to catch them, and pulled Janil to me, kissing her tenderly and whispering just: "Thank you". She had given me a gift as great as that which, I now realise, she had wanted from me. It was Melani and Lal, who with true friendship had arranged for her to receive it, but, as the darkness swallowed her, I dimly caught sight of Wilm just as proudly greeting her with outstretched arms.
 

Lying in my bed, once more alone with Melani, I savoured the rich moments of the day, above all the innocent celebration of pleasures. This last midsummer as my ancestors knew it was for me the most perfect of all. I would swear that it was also thus for the whole of our blessed community.

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