“What have you found, son?” asked Elphin as he knelt down beside Taliesin.

“A pendant. And look!” He pointed to the thin wrist bone. “And a bracelet as well.”

The bracelet was gold, inscribed with the same spiral and whorl designs as the standing stone around a blood-red car-nelian in the center. The bloodstone itself was carved with a figure, which could not be made out until Elphin gently freed it from the arm of the man who had worn it for so long. He rubbed the soil from the tiny grooved incisions and held it for Taliesin to see.

“The Forest Lord!” he exclaimed. He took the ornament into his hands and traced with his finger the outline of a man’s head with antlers.

Between the skeleton’s knees were shards of pottery where a vessel of some kind had broken. Beside one shoulder blade was a long flint spearhead, and just above the skull a bronze dagger, the blade corroded almost beyond recognition. The jet handle, though lined with a network of minute fractures, was still in good condition.

Taliesin stooped to retrieve the dagger and held it in his hand. He stood slowly and gazed at the stone, but it had changed: its corners were square and the designs on its face were sharp and freshly cut. The ditch forming the ring was sharp too, and deeper. A palisade of timber had been erected around the outer edge of the ditch and on every fourth stake the decaying head of a sacrificial victim, animal and human. Most of the heads were weathered, the flesh blackened and revealing white bone beneath. He could smell the death stench in the air.

He turned toward the gap in the ring and saw two pillar stones standing on either side of the gap which was the entrance into the ring. The stones were carved with niches, and in each niche reposed a human skull which had been daubed with a bold blue spiral.

As Taliesin watched, there appeared between the stone pillars a man dressed in a deerskin jerkin which reached to his knees. There were rabbitskins bound to his legs and deerskin boots on his feet. His face was a painted blue mask, and his hair was clipped very short except for a long braid which was folded and bound at the back of his head so that it stuck up like a horse’s tail. He wore a small rawhide cap with antlers attached to its crown. In one hand he carried a small blue-stained earthenware pot, in the other a skin drum.

The boy stood transfixed as the shaman stepped to the standing stone and lifted a much-frayed stick which he had dipped into the pot of woad. With this crude brush he began to paint the symbols etched into the standing stone. As he finished, another shaman, dressed and painted like die first, entered the ring, carrying a stone-tipped spear. Behind him came two others in rough skins and between them a third, whose wrists were bound with a wide strap of braided leather. The bound man was naked but for the leather mask over his head and tied about his neck. The mask bore a whorled maze like the marks on the stone.

The bound man walked stiffly and was brought to stand before the stone, where the man with the horned cap waited with his twig brush. The captive stood passively while the horned man painted his chest with blue spirals and then was made to stand with his back to the stone. A rope of braided leather was passed between his wrists and then thrown over the top of the stone. One of the men pulled the rope, jerking the bound man’s arms over his head.

The horned one picked up his drum and began beating it with a striker of carven bone-slowly at first and rhythmically but with ever-increasing speed. He chanted in a wild voice and the captive man began to writhe. The drum beat faster, the chant grew wilder. The second shaman stood close by and suddenly, as if pricked into motion, whirled around once, twice, bringing the flint-tipped spear up over his head where it posed for an instant before plunging it into the side of the victim.

Blood spurted from the wound and the man jerked away from the spear point, only to have it thrust again, deeper and held while he twitched in agony. When he stopped moving, the rope was released; his arms fell slack. He sagged against the stone as his lifeblood gushed out upon the ground.

“No!” screamed Taliesin, horrified.

The dying man took a faltering step and then another. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees, doubled over his wound and toppled onto his side, where he thrashed feebly for a moment-all of this under the intense, rapturous gaze of the homed shaman.

The victim struggled to rise once more and then lay still, his blood already thickening as it oozed from the hideous gash in his side. No sooner was the man dead than the second horned figure leaped upon the body, tearing off the leather mask. With his bronze dagger he carved off the man’s head and placed it upon the standing stone where its wide, staring eyes gazed blankly skyward.

The two horned men conferred briefly while the others lifted the corpse and laid it lengthwise before the stone. When this was done, the first horned man gathered up his drum and pot and strode from the circle.

“Taliesin!” The boy heard someone call his name and felt his arm being shaken. “Taliesin!”

He turned and looked at his father. Elphin’s worried face came slowly into focus, and the strange men, their hapless victim, and lastly the wooden palisade faded, dissolving into the air.

“What is it, son? You have gone gray as death.” Elphin gripped the boy’s shoulders hard.

Taliesin raised a hand to his head. “Put it back,” he murmured and then started, staring at his father with wild-eyed fear. “Put it back! Put the stone back!”

“Very well,” said Elphin slowly. “We will put it back.” He straightened and gazed back at the yellow bones in the uncovered grave. “Not everything that is found should stay found; some things are better lost and forgotten.”

They worked at lowering the stone, which was only slightly less difficult than lifting it had been. All the while, Taliesin felt the oppressive atmosphere of the place as a stubborn force that resisted their efforts. But they wrestled and worked and the stone slowly gave way, sighing as it toppled back to its resting-place.

Only when the stone was once again put down did Taliesin breathe easier. “It was not the stone,” explained Taliesin. “The Horned One wanted me to renew the sacrifices to him.” He shuddered and glanced fearfully at his father. “That would be wrong.”

Elphin nodded and took a last look around. “This is an unhappy place. I feel it too and have had enough. Let us go from here.”

They returned through the woods the way they had come and eventually reached the stream. Their horses stood drowsing in the late afternoon light, and the dogs were curled at their feet, heads on paws. The hounds jumped up and began barking excitedly when they saw Elphin and Taliesin splashing across the stream.

“We must ride hard to reach the caer before dusk,” observed Elphin as he climbed into the saddle. “We were in that circle far longer than it seemed. Ready?”

“Ready,” answered Taliesin, resisting the powerful urge to take a last backward glance toward the forest. They snapped their reins and galloped away.