It was still early morning when folk from the clans began to gather at the foot of the Hill. Some of them had been traveling half the night to reach the Hill in time. Others, who were more lucky, had shared the hospitality of relatives having steads near the Hill - those were the Martehiording and the Stirlgon clans.

People ascended the Hill. The different clans took various positions on the slopes. Closest to the top were the most prominent members - the Chieftains, members of the rings, etc. But also some appointed youngsters, good carls, and stickpickers. Two tricksters sauntered among the men and women.

From the south the Storm Voices and their Storm Servants reached the top of the Hill. The Storm Voices blessed the six standing stones, carved in the likeness of Orlanth, which surrounded the flat summit. This they did by smearing some strange blue paste on the stones. All the Storm Voices were wearing large, decorated, rune-inscribed masks, so it was hard for me to tell them apart. But I understood that the man taking his position in the center must be Lightning-Lartemal, the High Storm Voice, whom I knew had fastened for several days to be able to interpret the hidden messages Orlanth undoubtedly would present during the Holy Day. Lightning-Lartemal stood beside the Law Rock. At his feet were the great Rune-carved logs of the Sacred Fire. Two Storm Servants stood nearby with a white-painted cow who was visibly shaking.

Now the Wind Lords entered the stone ring from the North, ready to defend the ritual from otherworldly, and other, enemies. They had blue-painted faces in some sort of swirling pattern.

The ceremony was about to begin. Yelm hadn't risen. A few clouds could be seen in the sky.

Ligtning-Lartemal called out: "I call upon you, Lord of the six directions! I call upon the Lord. I call upon Lord Orlanth to receive our prayers and bless our center. We know that you are the god of our blood. You are the breather of Life! You are the Ever-changer and the Wind! We know that our weapon is the Wind, and the strength of the wind is that it ever changes. This is a rune-truth! Listen and understand! The wind is never the same…."

The Storm Voice clad in the Orlanth-Lawspeaker mask hit the ground three times with a magic Law Staff and tossed it in the air above the Law Rock were it stayed suspended in the air. Suddenly, faint, almost unreadable runes appeared on the Law Rock's surface. Although I recognized many familiar ones, still more were unknown to me.

At the same time the congregation began humming in a low drone. Three staves in Stormspeech were repeated again and again in steadily increasing cycles. Two Storm Servants and two initiates began a slow beat on drums (The Opening Beat - slow, steady). Others were lighting fires beyond the standing stones.

Now Yelm could be seen on the horizon. His rays piercing the few clouds in the sky. But the fires burned with great smoke, now. And the smoke reached for the heavens. High in the air they were caught and spread by the breezes who the Storm Voices were calling forth with mighty gestures and magic Runes emerging from their lungs:

("North Wind?"(said the Caller)). "I am coming, cold and dark and deadly", said the North Voice Mask.
("Mountain Wind?") "I am here, adventurous and bold", said Quivin Voice Mask.
("Beast Wind?") "I am coming, raw and wild and scouring", said Thunderbringer Voice Mask.
("Earth Wind?") "I am here, warm and gentle from the south", said Barleybringer Voice Mask.
("Upper Wind?") "I am not here yet."
("Lower Wind?") "I am not here yet."

The monotonous song of the massed crowd of initiates were rising. (Drums: The Gathering Beat - irregular passes.) The sky was beginning to cloud over. It was hard to tell clouds apart from the firesmoke.

Now, on the flat top of the Hill, between the standing Orlanth-stones, were a slight depression in the ground were no grass grew. It took the form of a chalk-filled, inward spiraling Air-rune. It ended at the Law Rock and the still unlit Sacred Fire. Some Storm Servants brought forth four sheeps to the place were the chalkpattern started. First they carved their own hands with sharp, long, knives. Then they slit the throats of the sheeps and held them up for the whole congregation to see. "Receive our gift, oh Lord. Receive our sacrifice oh Orlanth." Many clan-members now shifted position and broke out in cries in Stormspeech. Undoubtedly they were half-way into the Other Side.

The carcasses of the sheeps were dragged along the chalk-rune on the ground. The white chalk turned absolutely dark after they'd passed. (Drums now going Thunder beat - a low rumble with sudden crackling explosions.) When they reached the center they piled the sheeps around the perimeter of the Sacred Fire. Then they held their palms up to the Law Rock. Everybody could see that the scars were mighty Runes of Movement, Air and Mastery. The same runes began pulsating among the hundreds now visible on the surface of the Rock.

By this time I could hear a distant rumble - the thunder was still far away. But the further the ceremony progressed the harder it became for me to tell thunder and drumbeats apart. There were thunder in the drums and drums among the clouds. A most scary sensation!

In the ever-increasing din of the drums I saw the Storm Servants take hold of the White-painted cow. It was sweating and trembling with fear but had no chance of escape. Lightning-Lartemal raised an ancient Flint knife and brought it down again with a great force. A gout of blood leaped from the sacrificial animal into the Sacred Fire and suddenly a flame sprang forth. The Sacred Fire was lit and lightningbolts crackled across the now completely over-cast sky. I could see Rastoron Smoothtounge and someone from the Jotoring clan put great, magic-wrought horns of bronze to their lips. They were blown seven times and the world stood still. Everyone there could see the spirit of the cow rise in the air towards the Sky-stead of Orlanth. Many onlookers were dark in the eyes with fear and respect, but also brimming with other-worldly energy.

The Law Rock was now shining with an inner light. Thunder and lightning could be heard and seen everywhere across the heaven, as the Storm Voices released their Runes. The winds were roaring across the landscape. It ripped and tugged the clothes of everyone. But you could still hear the droning of the clans, the relentless drumming and the sound of the bronze horns. (An old woman standing beside me: "…born with great noise, deafening, disabling, like thunder in a cavern, like living in a horn. His visage Rolled over the earth with anger, rumbled across the sky with greed, filled the space with his gray brows and thunder…") The horizons became very hazy. The air itself could be _seen_ swirling. There I saw mighty cloudhorses blinking in and out of existence. The Flint Slingers were leaping and doing a humming sound nearby. But still, no rain.

One of the Storm Voices began an invocation for the retelling of the Orlanth-and-Aroka-saga: "I call upon the Guardians of the Six Directions to awaken, to hold this space between us for our tale. I call upon the Talking God to fill me with his power…" Even though many onlookers were a great distance from the Voice everybody could hear his words as if they were standing next to him. (Drums: Story beat - slow and steady) Bellowing smoke from the fires were carried by the winds among the standing stones so sometimes you couldn't see the Storm Voice as he recited the story of how Orlanth fought against Aroka the Blue Dragon and returned with Heler the Rain god…"This is the way that Orlanth brought rain to the land." I'm not sure, but I think I heard many other voices fall into line with the trancelike voice of the reciter and one of them was mighty and incomprehensible. It sent a shiver down my spine to see the faces carved in the likeness of Orlanth on the six standing stones, with their open hollow mouth and eyes, begin to stir and move their mouths! Maybe the god was speaking to his worshipers in a secret way only understandable by the initiated. But I can swear I heard those statues utter the word "I" among the mumbling Stormspeech, or whatever it was.

As the tale was told the Wind Lords brought forth four gigantic sacks, which they shook and shook. The wind increased. The sky was now completely overcast and the air ripe with magic energies. It hummed. Many people were now doing strange movements and dances striking out at invisible foes around them. Some men and women had fainted and were brought down the hill by their crying relatives. A twisted wine was set fire to. It must have scorched the hands of the Wind Lord who held it.

(The Caller: "Upper Wind?") "I am here now, secret, steady and calm-dry", said the Sylphfather Voice Mask.

I heard words whispered by my side at the same moment; it must have been the old woman: "Look out. There is strangeness moving among us now. Someone will be given a choice between kin and courage today. And it will not be a godi."

The roaring of the winds, the drums, the smoke, the Stormtounge - my mind was slipping me. What a terror to feel the power of the Storm King Orlanth! And now they were burying a leather rope in a hole in the ground which suddenly had appeared. An Ernalda priestess blessed the proceedings at the same time as tears were rolling down her face. She must have known what was coming.

("Lower Wind?") "I am here now, secret, hidden and brave and bold", said Thawing Voice Mask.

I saw Lightning-Lartemal urge a Wind Lord into action. The Wind Lord drew his Iron sword. But there must have been some misunderstanding, because suddenly a figure broke free from the thronging masses of clan-members and crossed the blood-soaked chalk-spiral. It was an ordinary-looking man, maybe a farmer or a woodsman, but he had a sword, which he drew as he sprinted forward towards some unseen foe. The Wind Lord tried to intercept him, but was too late. The man thrust his sword and in the same moment he was lifted from the ground by some invisible force and ripped asunder. Blood and mead and water splashed over the sanctified area. "I am - Orlanth" echoed across the land. It came from both standing stones, the man, and the Wind Lord - simultaneously. For a moment an image of a gigantic, awesome, dark shape could be seen. Maybe I discerned Iron-bone horns, wicked teeth, maybe some endless dark flood of water, and maybe some evil-looking, bottomless eye, but of that I must not think. The Wind Lord lashed out and a crackling sound was heard. I fell to the ground - blinded.

I felt it before I could see it. The rain. It splashed us in the face. The thunder was more distant again. The drums were softer and married harmoniously with the sound of the bronze horns. (Drums: Celebration beat.) When my sight returned I could see some housecarls carrying the corpse of the man down the hill. The Storm Voices were leading a song of praise and thanks. Everybody drank the rain. The tricksters were throwing beer on the ground. I don't know were the kegs came from. "The wind is in our blood. Hail Orlanth! Hail our Lord! The bringer of rain! The land was cracked. We are in seven pieces. But Orlanth brings us rain. Friend of things, the giftbringer! Hail Orlanth! Hail Orlanth Rex, Bringer of Fire and Rain, Keeper of Laws, Lord of the Seven Winds, Judge of the World, King of the Gods. Hail Orlanth!"

The Law Rock was humming and shining with magic. The clans lined up to receive the blessings of the Storm Voices. Ashes from the Fire and Rain upon their faces. I was later told that those who have the gift of magic and has learnt the secret of the Runes are able to sing Runes from the Law Rock so they can call upon the power of Orlanth during the forthcoming Season.

It was evening now. The rain still fell. After the Law Staff descends from the Rock, the ritual is over and everyone congregates to share a sacred meal of meat from the sacrificed animals together with Minlister's holy mead. At the feast I was told that the man who had been ripped apart was Hrungyrl Rootcrawler of the Jotoring clan. The Chalana High Healer had failed to resurrect him, and this was taken as a sign that he had been taken into the Hall of Orlanth. His household would receive help from all the tribe's clans henceforth. Everyone said he had "died Aroka" but never explained if this meant that he had killed Aroka, been killed by Aroka, or been Aroka. A great Stone would be raised in his memory on the slopes of the Hill. "The Wind is never the same", never had those words sounded more true to me than after the Holy day among the Culbreans in the fifteenth year after the fall of Boldhome.