A Voice in the Wind by Francine Rivers Read Free Book Online Page A

gathered men. Atretes took a humble position, half in hopes that leadership would fall to Rud or Holt rather than him. They were able men, older.
    Gundrid, the priest, took the images from the hollow trunk of the sacred oak and placed them on the lower branches. Murmuring incantations and prayers, he unwrapped and held high the golden horns, which were adorned with graven symbols.
    When he lowered this holy element, Atretes remained motionless. The priest’s pale blue eyes moved slowly from one man to the next and came to rest on him. Atretes’ heart began to pound. The priest came toward him and he felt the sweat breaking out on his skin. Only the priests and the chieftain were allowed to touch the sacred images and great horns. When the priest held them out to him, Atretes saw that on one horn were the images of a three-headed man holding an ax, and a snake nursing her young. On the other was a horned man holding a sickle and leading a goat. Atretes knew if he touched the sacred horns he would be declaring himself the new high chieftain. The men were already cheering and raising their spears in confirmation.
    Steadying his nerves, he placed his framea on the ground beside him and held out his hands, thankful that they were steady. As the priest relinquished the holy idol into his keeping, Atretes rose, holding the great horns high. The men cheered louder and shook their spears in acclamation. Atretes cried out to Tiwaz, his deep voice carrying through the woods.
    The priest lit the incense lanterns as Atretes carried the horns to the altar. When he placed the horns there, he knelt for the high priest’s blessing. Gundrid called upon Tiwaz to guide the clan’s new high chieftain, to give him wisdom and to give his fighting arm strength. Atretes felt his face and body go hot when the priest prayed that a wife would be found for him and that their union would be fruitful.
    When Gundrid finished, Atretes rose and took the dagger that was offered to him. With a swift stroke, he opened a vein in his wrist. In the silence, he held his arm out and spilled his own blood over the sacred horns as an offering.
    Gundrid gave him a white cloth to stanch the flow. Atretes wrapped it tightly, then untied the thin leather strap which held a small pouch against his loins. His mother had prepared it for him as an offering to the gods. As the priest poured the contents into the incense lantern, a small flame hissed and exploded in brilliant reds and blues, drawing a frightened gasp from the men.
    Gundrid swayed and moaned as the air filled with a sweet, heady scent. He threw his hands in the air, worshiping ecstatically, the language he spoke unrecognizable except to Tiwaz and the forest deities. The other priests laid their hands on Atretes, guiding him again to the altar. He knelt and kissed the horns as they cut themselves with sacred knives and spilled their blood over him in blessing.
    His heart beat faster and faster; his breath came rapidly. The sweet odor of the incense made his head swim with visions of winged beasts and writhing bronzed bodies locked in mortal combat within the holy flames. Throwing back his head, he cried out savagely, the excitement building within him until he thought he would explode. His deep voice rang again and again through the dark forest.
    Gundrid came to him, and when he placed his hands on Atretes they were like fire. Atretes tipped his head back and let the mark be drawn on his forehead. “Drink,” Gundrid said and placed a silver goblet to his lips. Atretes drained it, his heart slowing its thunderous beat as he tasted the mixture of strong mead and blood.
    It was done. He was the new chieftain.
    Rising, he took the place of honor and grimly faced his first task: executing one of his oldest friends.
    Wagast was dragged before the council and thrown down before Atretes. The young clansman’s face poured sweat; his mouth jerked nervously. As Atretes regarded him, he remembered that Wagast had