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I call to Allitio of the borderland,
lord of the skillful hand, lord of the cauldron
dark and deep, companion of the soldier and the smith;
you are as well acquainted with the forge
as with the battlefield, O god who knows the craftsman
and the tool, the weapon and the warrior,
O god who knows the killer and the kill and all
that follows, as the end follows the beginning,
as the leaf falls from the tree, inevitably.
Allitio, O friend of fate who guides us
to our final rest, who creates that which destroys,
I offer you my praise, I honor your calling.
Ialonus of the river swift and shining,
god of the meadow and the dale, of the glade
and the hidden glen, O holy god of the lands
on which we live, the lands we work and build upon,
I call to you. Yours are the rushing waters,
the briny plain, yours are the ice-carved caverns
and the reedy marsh; great-hearted Ialonus
of the beautiful country, the mild and sunny
days, friend of the artist and the artisan,
granter of wisdom and inspiration,
Ialonus, most sacred and sovereign god
who hallows our being, I praise and honor you.
I call to Contrebis of the deep green north,
O god of the stones upon the solid sod,
god of the crossing, the swift and safe road home.
Contrebis, yours is the city and the town,
the cottage small and snug, the well-tended garden,
the sow and the kine, all needful things for peace and plenty,
good fortune and good cheer. You are always with us,
Contrebis, as we live our lives, as we struggle
and toil in honest labor, as we laugh
and as we mourn. With us you welcome each new-born babe,
you share in our joy and our sorrow; ever heedful
ever here, Contrebis, I praise and honor you.
I call to Matunos, mighty and wise,
old bear of the mound and the roughened stone,
the headlands and the tributaries. Matunos,
strong of arm, firm of spirit, swift in battle,
holder of magics distant and deep, long ago
you were honored at altars of stone, cities
and fortresses bore your name. Kind and constant god,
you rest in the dark and the cold, lightly you sleep
within your lands, among your tribe, ever waiting,
ever ready, until the need that will bring
you back into the world. Great of heart,
great of strength, I honor you and praise your name.
I call to Alauda of the gentle hand,
goddess bountiful and good, great-hearted one
whose gift it is to bring together the spirits
of land and humanity; you know the art
of harmony, the craft of give and take. Yours
is the river long and lithe, the passage of years,
the course of many lives; yours is the voice
of understanding, the will to serve the good.
We know you in larksong, in fields of bright grain.
in the floodplain and the ford; goddess of concord,
whose grace and glory long sustained the faithful
and the needy. Alauda, I honor your might.
Arnemetia of the holy grove, feet firm
upon the soft green sod, in the rustling of leaves,
in rainfall and in birdsong, we hear your call.
Lady of the waters, the searing springs,
the healthful drink, among the trees you were honored,
O goddess, and in your shrine of wood and stone
the faithful prayed, at need and in thanks, they sung
of your might and your glory, offering gifts
in gratitude, bright coins and figures carved in clay,
pouring out libations in your name. Arnemetia
who blesses the ailing and the sound, who hallows
the ground on which we stand, I praise and honor you.
I offer praise to Alator, brave and bounteous,
great and good. Alatar of the old birch way,
of the home of the stag and doe, a land taken
time and again, where fortresses of stone were raised
and ruined, where rule was seized by force and lost
once more, yours are the broad chalk hills, the furrowed field,
yours is the place between right and desire,
between ambition and the commonweal.
Watchful Alator, constant guardian of your tribe,
receiver of fine offerings of silver and gold,
you once were honored, long ago, with words of prayer
and devotion; I honor and revere your might.
I call to the Cucullati, good spirits
and wise, cloaked and cowled and hidden in shadow,
ever watchful of the lives of men, ever careful
of our concerns, ever heedful of our affairs.
Spirits three who wander the land, companions
of the mothers, who are with us from our first breath
to our last, you grant to us what is good in life:
wisdom, kinship, comfort and cheer, rest for the weary,
solace for the sorrowing, food for the hungry,
guidance for the lost. From marshy fen to grassy mead,
wherever men and women make their homes, there we know
your mercy and your grace; I praise and honor you.
I call to Olloudius, great of glory,
wide of renown; yours are the fairest of lands,
the richest of blessings, the food in our larders,
the gold in our purse. Olloudius of many gifts,
bearer of the bowl and the fruitful horn,
granter of all good, for the health of our children,
the yield of our labor, the refuge of home and hearth,
we pray to you. O god of the honey-bright stone,
lord of the rolling hills, the fields of green and gold,
the ancient wood untouched by men, I honor you,
I praise your name. O friend of men and women,
I thank you for your bounty, your mercy, your care.
Wise Garmangabis, subtle and profound, your art
it is to know what is, to know what will become;
of word and deed you see the source, of worth
and mettle you see the substance. Garmangabis,
weaver of our worlds, witness of our ways,
gently you twine those threads worn thin, laying weft to weft
with skill and care. Goddess of the wandering ones,
the dwellers on the riverbank, the wide-strewn seed,
granter of blessings abundant and needful,
your goodness and grace endure, well-rooted
in the soil, well-cherished in the souls of men.
Garmangabis, honored one, I offer you my praise.
Fieldstones 