Viktor Krum knew his place in the universe. Generations of Krum men had Reid the path before him. Devotion to the old ways was bred into him. From his first memories, his father's stern visage and his mother's gentle hands had set him on the right path. A man of honor served his family, his land, and his people. Above all these, a man served at the will of the Goddess.
Victor stared at the altar before him. The roughly hewn stone of the original shrine had been refined by artisans and the passage of time. There were no spring flowers to adorn it yet, so it was stark against the bright glow of the snow on the ground. The stone was worn into shallow grooves where his knees fit. He knelt between the two statues of winged horses. The stone was cold beneath his knees. He kept himself still. The carvings around him seemed to breathe and move the longer he held the position. The runes his mother had marked in his own blood down his spine were aligned perfectly. They warmed as the sun lit across his shoulders and cast a long shadow across the stone floor. It appeared as if his shadow was lying prostrate before the goddess.
He wasn't ready for this. He hadn't planned for it or prepared for it. The first rites of manhood were meant for older boys. He wanted to play with the foals in the field and the other boys. He didn't want to start this journey. None of that mattered. His wants didn't matter. His place in the universe was here. He took deep steady breaths.
He had used his magic to save a neighbor this morning. The man had trusted the frozen ice too soon. The panic that has gripped him as he watched the man slip through the ice into the water had infused him with power. Pulling him from under the ice had left him winded and shaking, but it hadn't felled him. It was his first purposeful use of the gift. His father's pride had been all too evident.
Viktor took a deep breath. The older boys would not take this well. A seven year old should have been a mere spectator, but he was the one about to offer his magic to her service.
He raised his eyes to gaze on her. The Goddess stared back at him with her stone eyes. The acrid scent of burning incense teased his nose. The wild nimbus of her curling hair seemed to move for a moment. He held fast as the world changed around him.
A young girl was curled in a ball crying as other children taunted her. Some of them were throwing bits of dirt and grass at her. There was no way for him to stop them. He felt a burning urge to reach out to her, but the vision would not allow it. She was cradling a badly damaged hand against her pink shirt. He watched as she tossed back her hair and her eyes glowed like liquid amber. The others fled.
He examined her carefully. There was no doubt his future was tied to hers. He felt a burn along his spine, but he held strong. It was another test. He pushed through the pain. The girl in the vision mattered more than it did.
The burn intensified. He clenched his fists and drove his nails into his skin. The agony was trying to take him from her, but he would not allow it. He raised his bloody hands and grabbed the equine statues resting at his sides.
The sudden surge of his magic allowed him to move within the vision. He followed as she fled from the cruelty of the other children to a small she'd full of strange metal things. He saw rakes and gardening equipment carefully hung on one wall. At least, there was something he recognized. She turned toward him and through up a weak shield with her magic. Holding his hands out flat and empty was all he could do. The shield fell.. He cupped the young girl's cheek and tried to soothe her. She reached up with a trembling hand and clasped his other hand. Their blood mingled and a golden glow formed around their hands. She was powerful. He locked eyes with her. He wanted to remember this, to remember her.
Victor was yanked back from the vision and blinked as the goddess carved into stone took the place of the girl that had held his hand. He felt something pressed between his hand and the horse on his left.
He wanted to yank his hand down and see what it was, but he waited for the chanting to stop.
He slumped as the chanting ended, but kept his hands pressed to the statues. His father approached and whispered his name. The ritual was not complete. He had to rise on his own. He had to bow to the goddess. His legs trembled as he stood. He steadied himself and released the winged horses his hands rested on. The item stuck to his skin, held steady by his thickening blood. He cupped his hand and kept the item hidden in his palm. He didn't want to share it with the elders. He didn't want them to speculate and gossip. He bowed. Relief flared in him. He had managed it smoothly.
He stepped back and felt his father's hands through the fur lined cloak that was draped over his shoulders. He ignored the babble of excited voices and stared down at the odd pink bead in his hand. He looked up at the altar.
His fist closed around a bead made from a substance he didn't recognize. His future was with the girl from his vision. He had her pink flying horse bead to remind him through the years ahead. He bowed again.