The Ritual

you think? Eh?
We worship the devil? You don’t know anything! We use the devil only because we hate the Christians. It is Odin who lives in us. It was Odin all along.’
    He clenched both hands into fists. Closed his eyes. Gritted his teeth into a snarl. ‘See how Christians poison us! We can only call things by their names. It is Odin, great Wotan, who
mutters in our blood. What Christians say is evil is our religion. We are warriors. Wild, you know! We are open to nature. We feel no pity!’
    ‘Sure. OK.’ Luke did not know what else to say. His entire body tensed. He looked about for the wooden spoon.
    And then Fenris gave it to him, speaking so quickly that Luke only seemed to hear bits of what the drunken youth jabbered at him. It would have all sounded ridiculous, had three of his friends
not been killed in the forest. ‘We have no pity for your friends. They were weak, they died. End of the story. Old Gods require blood sacrifice! They are, how you say?’ He paused,
sneering, for a few seconds to choose the word. ‘Ruthless! Yes, they are ruthless!’
    Luke slowly moved off the bed. Fenris was unstable, becoming hysterical, a maniac drunk; his whole body was trembling.
    The youth turned his body and followed Luke with his cold blue eyes in that horribly painted face. ‘We ride with Odin. He our guide. He lead us. He lead us through our blood. You cannot
believe what is here. What lives here. You cannot believe it.’
    ‘You’d be surprised what I now believe. But chill, yeah?’
    Fenris was not to be calmed. ‘Our blood whispers to burn the church, we burn it. Our blood says kill a faggot . . . a, a, a immigrant . . . a drug dealer. We kill them! Our blood says,
come home. You are ready for the old one of the forest. God of . . . of . . . of your people. You come home. You are ready, because you have proven yourself to be true Oskerai! Who ride wild
’til Ragnarok comes. It is not some fucking devil! Some Christian shit! It is older Gods who speak to us.’ Fenris clutched the knife handle at his belt.
    Luke raised both hands, palm first. ‘Sure. I get it. But I’m tired. I hurt. Please. Just calm the fuck down. Please.’
    But the youth continued to sway towards him, blue eyes bulging in the cracked white face. ‘We are Vikings. And now we rise. Through our blood, and through the soil of the forest, he speaks
to us. Same with the Nazis. Wotan came back to them. Even Jung prove this.’ Wild of face, delirious with adolescent passion for his idiot theory, he drew the knife from his belt. Luke’s
legs felt like they’d vanished. He shuffled his naked feet so he knew where they were.
    ‘We do something no one else has done. Ever in the history!’
    With the curved blade steely black, brandished and held aloft, Fenris snarled and jabbed it in the direction of the small window of the room. ‘We shit on the Christian altars. No problem.
Then we kill faggots like you! No problem. But it’s not new. It’s very much fun I can tell you, to be this evil. But it is not . . . not . . . Fuck it! The words, the words! Original!
It is not original. But we will be the first leaders of black metal to summon a real God of old. Something you maybe have seen with your own eyes. And will see again, soon. We have prepared
ourselves to meet a God. You better do the same, my friend.’
    Luke edged away from the swaying figure, but the corner of the cabinet was soon pressing at his spine.
    Fenris struggled to focus his eyes. ‘In these woods is a real God! Not some Christian shit. Or some fucking devil. This place is sacred. Here there is real resurrection. It is Blood Frenzy
who make music of Gods.’
    When the tip of the knife was within a foot of his eyes, Luke swung the jug from behind his head, in an arc, and so quickly he surprised himself. And delivered its heavy wooden base upon the
side of Fenris’s skull.
    There was a moment of surprise on the young man’s face. And a terrible hollow-coconut sound echoed inside the room. The figure dropped the knife, took two steps backwards. His eyes closed.
He suddenly looked like a child about to cry.
    Luke swung the jug against the side of the man’s head again. It did not break. But thudded, bounced off his skull. Fenris fell sideways, onto his knees. Luke raised the jug a third
time.
    But before he could strike again, something heavy and naked moved quickly into the room. He turned his head a fraction. Sucked in his breath.
    The insane face of