S. Stirling - Dies The Fire

Then it was her own turn. Little Rudi had been quiet all through the rite, and he was now, as she took him from his sister's arms-still and wide-eyed even when she raised him to the Quarters, a small bundle of infinite possibilities.

She dipped her fingers into the chalice, and gently touched her son's forehead:

"We bless you with Water and Earth. I name you -"

Her tongue stumbled. Chuck looked at her curiously; that wasn't expected.

"- in the Craft, I name you Artos," she said very softly.

The High Priest's eyes widened, and so did the Maiden's-Judy was close enough to hear as well. Chuck passed the candle over her son.

"We bless you with Fire." He waved incense smoke towards the baby. "We bless you with Earth, Air, Fire and Water; Four do we give. The fifth is Spirit, and that lies in the gift of the Lady and the Lord."

The rite flowed on; she touched the infant's lips with a drop of the wine, a crumb from the plate; then she reached into the cauldron for the piece of jewelry. Normally she'd hand that to the parents; here she would pin it on his blanket herself.

Her foot turned on the damp earth as she reached across the wide top of the hewn boulder that made the altar. With a gasp she righted herself, but for an instant Rudi-Artos slid as she struggled for balance. Then she had him in both hands: : but not before his own had reached out in instinctive reflex. The perfectly formed pink fingers waved, then clamped down with the surprising grip-strength of newborns.

On the hilt of the ritual sword that rested across the altar in its rack; the long steel blade quivered and turned as the baby groped at the rawhide-wound grip.

Time stretched. There was a long-drawn aaaaah from those within the Circle, awe and a little fear and wonder, too.

Then she knew what she must do; or better, knew that she must step aside and let Another do through her. Of themselves, her hands rose, lifting Artos upward-presenting him not to the Quarters, but to the altar itself, and the Ones who presided over it. With that, she turned, her son still raised over her head, feet and arms making the double-V of power:

The voice that sounded out in tones as perfect as cut crystal was hers, but the words:

"Sad Winter's child, in this leafless shaw Yet be Son, and Lover, and Horned Lord!

Guardian of My sacred Wood, and Law His people's strength-and the Lady's sword!"