We three stood cowled and waiting. The trees around us seemed to bow together as if to screen us from the eyes of the angels. In what little I could see of the sky above, there was no moon, no stars. Only the low scarlet glow of the coals illuminated the overhanging branches, and that with so hellish an illumination that there could be little question into whose care we had commended our spirits. The red branches stretched down towards us like grasping hands.

A damp, cold breeze was blowing. The woods groaned with it. The trees seemed to whisper one to another. No birds sang, and the chatter of night creatures was so low and consistent that it was only another kind of silence.

Annie stepped forth from the darkness of the forest. I felt my breath catch, and a fever spread through my blood like a stain. It was clear from the way she supported her burden, from the wordless tune she murmured to it, that even in her befuddled state an animal tenderness had been excited in her by the birth of her cub. On reflection, I do not think she truly understood what we were about to do.

She handed the baby to me. I did not have the courage to look down at it. I looked only at Annie as William took the bundle from my arms. The poor raggedy creature stood unprotesting while William spoke the portentous paynim incantations. The slackness of her face, the deadness of her eyes reflected, I felt, the slackness, the deadness that seemed now to have invaded my entire soul. I felt as if I were floating in a sea of space, with every sensation muffled, every thought as still as the woods around.

Chanting, William laid the infant down on the flat rock that was to be our altar.

The chanting went on—a long time. It rose slowly until it reached a climax, filled the quiet wood. Even as I averted my face, I saw in the corner of my eyes the gleam of the gold-handled knife as William lifted it above his head, as the blade caught the red light of the coals.

There was a single, inquiring syllable from the babe. A single noise from Annie—a dumb, despairing moan—as the knife came plunging down.

Then, Anselm was stepping forward with a silver chalice to catch the gushing blood.

I let my robes fall to the ground and stood naked in the night air. I stepped forward and submerged myself into the chilly bath.

There was silence. There was the wind. Anselm came towards me, bearing the chalice.