Time: Ten years ago

	It was the time between day and night, the moment when the world 
seemed lit by the fire of the dying sun and the life that stirred beneath 
was at a perfect peace.  In the heavy silence, one lonely nightingale 
began to weave its spell of music.  Its song was for no one but the sheer 
joy of singing; its magic was tangible, wrapping itself around all who 
came into its range, a comfortable blanket that warmed even the coldest 
of hearths.

	It was the most powerful magic in the world, the young woman 
thought, leaning farther out of her window.  Two black-as-sin braids 
slipped forward and dangled over the ledge, but she paid them no heed.  
Instead, she held out her arms, almost in a beseeching manner, towards 
the heavens, smiling in the glory of the pure notes that washed over her.

	At the moment when night vaniquishes the reluctant day, two of them 
came for her, silently.  She had been expecting them, so she gave herself up 
to their machinations, standing as a dressing doll, allowing her body to 
be stripped of its billowing nightgown and draped in a voluminous robe of 
the deepest red.  The blood of the earth.

	Titania Hestiani smiled as she ran her fingers over the rough 
fabric.  Although it was a misshapen drape of material, it was special to 
her.  She would be initiated in the old religion this evening.  It was 
forbidden in their village, although all of the women ignored the edict.  
The men never knew that while their women washed and cooked, they hummed 
the prayers and songs of the Earth Goddess.

	She and her two companions exited her chambers, moving through the 
deadened house as phantoms creeping back to their resting places.  Along 
the way, more women joined their group, all without uttering any words. 
The torches weren't lit until they had exited the village and were 
crossing the glades towards the mountains.  Then, she was walking in a 
circle of light, her eyes forward on the dark mass of the mountain, 
trying to see into the dark to make out the shape of the Mother, but 
failing.

	It did not depress her, this failure, since she was in no doubt 
that, after she had been initiated, she would not need her sight to aid 
her in finding the mountain and its secret womb.  She would know where it 
was, simply by smelling the fresh scent of flowers and feeling the 
shuddering of the earth beneath her feet.  The Mother was everywhere.

	The procession entered the mountain, still walking on whispering 
slippers and making no sounds.  Titania counted forty women, all from the 
village, all of whom she recognized.   They had helped her over the past 
years learn to find her way to the Mother and to respect her.  More 
especially, over the past two days, when she had forgone food, water and 
sleep in preparation for the initiation.

	Her excitement kept her tiring feet moving forward, deeper into 
the bowels of the mountain.  The cold, damp air that hung around her 
threatened to extinguish the torches from its mere weight and Titania 
found herself watching the torches, mesmerized, waiting for that event to 
occur.

	The lights danced before her eyes, changing, growing until with a 
snap that echoed too loudly, the light changed.  Titania alone gasped as 
the yellow-orange flames suddenly burned pure white, illuminating the 
cavern as if they carried the sun itself.  She saw paintings along the 
way, some of people, some of animals and others of spirits.  A holy 
place, she thought, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the rocky 
wall to see if it would breathe its life.
	
	The long journey ended in a room so large she could not see the 
ceiling, and so wide it easily fit the forty or so that filed into it.  
The head witch beckoned her forward and she alone moved through the 
crowd, which had parted and knelt on the floor.  Stepping inside a circle 
which had been drawn on the floor, Titania waited, her whole body alive 
with tension.

	"The Mother Goddess is with us." The head witch chanted.  Her 
silver-hair hung free against the red of her robe, twitching and swishing 
with each movment the woman made.

	"The Mother Goddess is with us." Came the reply.  Titania 
murmured the words, closing her eyes for a moment to send her private 
message to the Mother: let me be worthy.

	"On this, the eve of the solstice, we welcome an initiate.  She 
has proven herself dedicated and faithful.  The Mother Goddess accepts her."

	"Goddess be praised," the reply sang.

	 The head witch continued on her prayer, but Titania 
listened with only half an ear.  She was given a bowl to drink from, 
which she did, taking only a sip of poisonous substances inside.  It was 
cool and bitter.  Taken from her lips, it was passed around so each witch 
could drink a sip.

	As she stood there, the words became a drone in the background 
and she had to fight to keep her eyes open.  The world swam giddily, 
dancing around her, teasing her with its nearness and life.  The drums 
sounded, but she did not know when.  Her blood was racing, she could feel 
its burning spreading all over her body, testing her strength.

	She wanted so much to give in to the sensations that were 
beckoning, to dance and to be one with the Mother, but she knew she had 
to stay in the circle until permitted to leave.  

	At the head witch's gesture, Titania was divested of her robes to 
stand naked in the center of the room.  Her hair was unbound to fall 
freely to her hips, as black as the eternal dark outside of the light of 
their torches.  As the material fell away, Titania felt her spirit rising 
up, towards the heavens, no longer weighted down by clothing.  Her head 
was swimming and her vision dimming, even as she realized that she could 
feel every cell in her body.

	Forcing herself still, she closed her eyes, focusing on the 
sensation, moving from her head to her toes.  She could feel the birth 
and death of the cells, tracked the flow of the blood and experienced 
for the ovulation of one of her eggs.  It took her only a moment to 
catalogue her own body, so she reached out and began to explore the 
bodies of the women around her.

	It was so much! she thought, seeing, in her mind's eye, the women 
around her.  She could see all of the stages of the life cycle: from her 
instant of ovulation to the eight month child that lived on it his 
mother.  When she realized that she could feel the ground breathing and 
knew that the Mother had finally revealed herself, she was given 
permission to move.

	A wordless cry erupted from her lips as her arms and legs began 
to move in a rhythm older than time.  She did not know how she knew the 
steps to the dance, but she did and she kept up with the older women, 
feeling the pulsing power of the earth affecting her body and her mind to 
a nearly painful arousal.

	When, in the cacophony of sounds, the head witch stopped her, 
wielding a dagger that glittered dully in the cavern, she stopped and 
raised her chin.  At fifteen, Titania was tall, nearing six feet, and 
those who knew her knew that she would no doubt reach that marker and 
even surpass it.  It was her most embarrassing characteristic, being head 
and shoulders taller than any woman and most of the men, in the village.

	The dagger moved in, towards her neck, searching for a spot which 
would yield her blood without spilling too much.  Titania's green eyes 
locked with the strange eyes of the witch in front of her--silver, 
matching her hair--and she felt nothing but the rhythm of the dance, the 
power of the earth, and the presence of the Mother.

	Then, the world fell apart.

				************
	
	She awoke, three days later, in her own room, the details of that 
night hazy in her mind.  She'd been dehydrated, famished, exhausted and 
drugged so, when the men from the village had burst into the cavern, 
disrupting the ceremony, Titania hardly knew it.

	The head witch never blinked or looked away, despite the shrieks 
of the other witches who screamed in pain and anger as the men desecrated 
the most private of ceremonies.  Titania felt the prick of the dagger and 
the fat, warm drop of blood rolling down between her breasts.  The old 
witch swivled and produced a bowl which she brought up to catch the blood.

	Titania was yanked backwards, by her hair, away from the witch.  
She gave a cry of pain as tears sprung to her eyes.  Forced to spin, 
she turned and faced the wrathful face of the man who married her aunt, who 
snarled, "Faithless witch!"

	His fist rose...and she could recall nothing else.  When she had 
awakened in her room, she had been disoriented, confused.  The servants 
who came to bring her food would not speak to her, nor could she leave 
her room.  She was a prisoner.

	Glancing in the looking-glass, Titania saw a fading bruise on her 
cheek.  It was still a bright blue-purple which reminded her of the small 
tattoo she had on her upper thigh.  Rising her skirt, she inspected the 
small image of a dragon's head, belching fire.

	Unlike the events of the night of her initiation, she could 
recall every detail of the night when she had been Marked.  She and two 
other initiates had been taken, blindfolded, into the Mother where a 
raging fire had burned.  Forced to stand in a triangle around the fire, 
the initiates nervously met each other's eyes while the witches chanted 
all around them.

	Finally, with a cry, the head witch tossed some herbs into the 
fire, changing the smoke into a thick purple cloud which had shifted and 
swirled above their heads.  To the initiates' astonishment, it formed the 
image of a dove, her wings spread, rising upwards.  It swooped, suddenly, 
towards one of the initiates, who smiled.  

	The second image was of a turtle, who poked his head from his 
shell towards the second, almost appearing to swallow her head in his 
mouth.  The witches continued to chant and appeal to the Mother to reveal 
Titania's animal spirit.

	The smoke changed until it was the deepest blue, almost 
impossible to see in the dark cave.  It swirled, making no image for what 
seemed and eternity to Titania, then, it had formed the head of a 
fearsome dragon.

	The chants broke off abruptly, followed by hushed chatter.  
Titania could hear "--to be Joined--" and "--the first in centuries--" 
again and again but she could not look away from the image which had 
turned to face her.  The mouth opened and spewed out flames of smoke, 
which curled around her.  She found herself reaching out for the dragon, 
and she felt its smooth scales.

	Although the witches told her that was impossible, Titania knew 
in her private heart that she had felt them...and had felt safe and 
comforted by them.

	That night, the three initiates had been tattooed with their 
spirits: a dove, a turtle and a dragon.  It was dangerous, men could talk 
about the strange markings on the women, but if need be, they simply 
disguised it with markings to make it appear as a discoloration...an 
imperfection which men usually ignored, considering its proximity to 
other regions.

	Titania, since the night, had held close to the dream of one day 
visiting a dragon warren to find one to join with, but as she dropped her 
skirt and ran her fingers lightly over her cheek, she knew that dream had 
been dissolved.  Garlin, her uncle, would never let her go.

	"Miss?" A maid peeked her head in.  "The master wants to see you 
in his study."

	"I'll be right down," Titania answered, waiting until the woman 
had shut the door to quickly open the chest at the foot of her bed. A 
secret panel in the top revealed a dagger which she seathed in her 
pocket.  She sent a lingering glance at the array of bows that hung upon 
her wall but knew that she would never be allowed to walk into his study 
armed that obviously. The bows ranged from the child's bow she'd learned 
on, to the current long bow, a man's weapon, at which she excelled.

	"It's gone!" She gasped, staring at the slot upon which her long 
bow should have rested.  The time to investigate was not now, Titania, 
she told herself, making a mental note to do so at the first 
opportunity.  For now, her uncle.

	She was escorted by two of his 'men', ie, his soliders, who he 
had hired to enforce his power in the village.  Titania did not speak to 
them, nor did they speak to her as they deposited her outside of her 
uncle's study.

	Stepping inside, Titania's nose wrinkled at the overwhelming 
stench of unwashed bodies.  Galvin bathed twice a year, claiming it 
wasn't necessary to do so more often.  Her stomach flipped and she was 
hard pressed to not vomit when he beckoned her forward.

	"You are being sent to Frial tomorrow where you will marry Lord 
Artington's youngest son."

	Titania gaped at him, unable to comprehend for a moment what she 
had just been told.  She felt as if he had hit her again and she raised a 
hand to her cheek as if he really had.

	"He is the youngest so will not come into the title, but, since 
you are not a noble, it shouldn't signify.  He's been married before, 
twice, and both died in childbirth.  His father assures me that he's a 
heavy hand and will be more than able to discipline you and control you.  
No more of this damned religion--which, I assure you, we've seen the last 
of." 

	"Control me?" Finding her voice, Titania spat out the words.  "I 
am no man's to control."

	"You are my ward and soon to be his wife.  The law of the land 
says that you must obey me until such time as you will obey him."

	"The law of the land is wrong," she said.  "And, I will not go."
	
	"You dare to defy me, girl?"

	He took a step closer, a menacing step, but she only raised her 
chin.  She knew that it infuriated him to have her looking him straight 
in the eye, as they were the same height.  

	"I could break this rebellious streak." He threatened, his words 
whisper-soft. 

	"You could break my body."

	Silence stretched out, then, he smiled a cold empty smile that 
sent shivers down her spine.

	"No, I know that.  I could break your bones and you'd never 
bend.  But, how about your aunt?"

	Her eyes widened, but she said nothing.

	"Would you go to protect Eleanor?  You know, if you stay here, 
she might hae an accident...rolling down the stairs and breaking her 
neck, for example."

	"You bastard," Titania hissed.  "Leave Eleanor alone."

	"She's my wife and as such...BITCH!" He roared, his hand flying 
to his cheek.  As he had spoken, Titania had whipped out her dagger and 
slashed at his cheek, her fury overriding her judgement.  He backhanded 
her, sending her sprawling to the floor.

	Without giving her any time to move, he threw himself on top of 
her and began to beat her.  The last thing she saw of her home before she 
lost consciousness was his face, the wrinkles of his cheeks etched in 
comic shadows by his own blood, his eyes burning with hatred and the 
mottled rage that colored his skin.

	It was a visage that seared her mind and would haunt her for the 
rest of her life.

			************

	When she finally regained all of her wits, she was so hot and 
uncomfortable that she wished she could simply go back into 
unconsciousness.  Realizing after a long while that that was hardly about 
to happen, she raised her head.

	"Oh, Goddess..." she murmured, struggling up.

	She was laying in the shade of a very shallow dug-out in the face 
of rock.  Stretched out before her, lit by an unforgiving sun, was the 
barren Wastelands.

	She knew what her punishment was.

	To die a slow, lingering death in the desert of the Wastelands, 
with no one to keep her company and no food or water, alone and 
forgotten.  And, uninitiated.
	
	Titania sank to her knees, sobbing into her hands.  The witch 
hadn't caught her blood; she hadn't been initiated.  Before her 
banishment, she'd be certain that she would still be in the village for 
the next solstice, when she could again be initiated.  But, now, she knew 
it would never be, for she would die out here, and she would never be a 
witch. 

	When she had at last cried out all of her self-pitying tears, she 
sniffled, rising her face to stare again at the harsh land before her.  
For the first time, she noticed a bag at her feet and with astonishment, 
she recognized her long bow and a quiver of arrows.

	Hurridly pulling it open, she spied food and two waterskins, her 
dagger and some flint for fire-making.  A small folded piece of paper at 
the very bottom had her crying again, this time, for the small woman who 
had sent it.

	"Dearest Anya,

	I pray that this gets to you, I don't know if I can trust this 
	old man to not steal this, my last gift.
	
	I could not convince him to change your sentence, but, as he 
	stood over you in his study, clutching his bloody face, I found 
	myself looking into the eyes of Death, himself.

	My darling girl, how I wish I could have gone in your place, but he
	knows that this is better; you will die alone in the Wastelands, and
	I will never know for certain what became of you.

	Please, for my sake, survive, Anya.  If anyone could find a way, 
	it is you.  Remember that the Goddess is with you.

					Eleanor."

			****************

	She waited in the shade of her rock for three days until she 
spied what she was looking for: a flock of birds.

	Then, she stood and raced after them, the bag slung over her 
shoulder, her quivers and bow strapped to her back.  Dangling from the 
bag was a gutted rodent of some sort.  The size of a rabbit, its meat had 
been unsurprising and she'd merely had to test her patience by waiting 
for them to hop by.  The Wastelands may have been hard for humans, but it 
was home to countless others.

	Her first night had been terrifying in its loneliness.  Huddled 
in her scooped out home, she'd tried to listen for the song of a bird, 
but heard nothing but the cries of predators and the screams of its prey.
She'd been struck to her very core, however, a few hours later.  The 
dawn in the Wastelands had been so beautiful that she understood for the 
first time how such an empty, ugly land could be allowed to exist with 
the rest of the Mother's creation.

	So, she was now tracking a flock of birds.  It took her most of 
the day, but, she found the commodity which made her far richer than 
she'd ever been.  Water.

	It was a small spring, sheltered in the bottom of a steep 
valley.  A bath was her first impulse, which she instantly reviewed.  
This spring was probably very important to the life of the Wastelands and 
she didn't want to upset it too greatly.  The Mother wanted all of her 
children to live in harmony and she would not be a good follower if she 
sacrificed that harmony for something so selfish.

	Titania spent the rest of the day scouting the land, looking for 
shelter.  She found it, stowed her gear and sat down to make herself a 
home away from home.

			*******************

	On her tenth day of banishment--at least, she believed it was the 
tenth, she had no idea how long she was unconscious--Titania began to 
explore the Wastelands.  She didn't plan on spending the rest of her life 
here, so she used the spring as a homebase, filling her waterbags, 
picking a direction and traveling for a few days, noticing landmarks and 
terrain.

	She returned to the spot where she'd been left and inspected the 
dirt for tracks from the conveyance which had brought her to the 
Wastelands.  She found a faint impression of a wagon in the thin layer of 
dust which covered the endless rocks, but, that was all.  She couldn't 
even tell which direction it had come from.

	Meanwhile, her spring, she'd learned, was the life source of the 
area.  During the hottest part of the day, nothing stirred in the 
Wastelands.  Even the air seemed to still, saving its energy for cooler 
times.  Towards evening, larger animals came out, predators, searching 
for the smaller animals who foraged for insects and for the scarce 
foliage.  Most, if not all, paid wary visits to the spring to drink.  

	At dawn, Titania would pay homage to the Mother, thanking her for 
the privledge of seeing this untamed land for its life and beauty that so 
few others ever witnessed.  She could have so easily died, choking on the 
poison of the land, but the Mother had given her the eyes with which to 
see under the false exterior.  At every meal, she offered the choice 
pieces out of respect, leaving them the spring so that the creatures of 
the earth could prosper from the bounty.

	It was a cycle of her days, days which she counted by leaving 
marks on the wall of the cave she'd found.   Up at dawn for her prayers, 
her morning wash--she had broken down two days after finding the spring 
and bathed--and then, the hunt.  

	She had twenty arrows, and she'd quickly discovered that she 
would need to make new heads for them.  Hitting the prey wasn't a 
problem, she was an excellent shot.  However, occassionally, the arrow 
would glance off of a bone or strike a rock and it would break or chip.  
However, since rock was in abundance, she'd had no trouble finding 
material.  

	She would hunt, usually successful, sometimes not, and would 
bring the gutted animal home, skinning it and keeping the hide if it were 
useful, and them, roast it over a spit she'd constructed out of two piles 
of rocks and the femur of some animal long-since dead.  Predators tasted 
gamey while herbavores had a more pleasant taste.  Still, Titania wished 
for herbs and spices.

	There was always work to do in the cave, which is how she spent 
the hot midday hours.  The evening was spent doing whatever she hadn't 
done earlier...usually observing the land and animals so she could better 
understand her life as it was so when she finally figured out how to 
leave, she'd make it alive.

	She had been in the Wastelands for six months when, on one of her 
longer journeys away from the spring to scout around, she came upon a 
mountain.

	But, not just any mountain.  It was a mountain that had sheer 
walls, erupting from the ground in sublime arrogance, reaching for the 
stars in a manner which told Titania that it never expected to fall short 
of its goal.  She grinned to herself, shading her eyes with her hands and 
with a shrug, started climbing.

	The tall gangly girl was gone, replaced by a woman who had 
learned how to live the hard way.  Her height had only increased two 
inches, leaving her at an even six feet, although she had no way of 
knowing it.  The childish lines of her body had finally completely gone 
away--having become more rounded since she was thirteen, but finally 
vanishing now, after her sixteenth birthday.  

	Her hair, the heavy curtain of black which had been the envy of 
several girls back home, was gone.  She'd chopped it off after a few days 
of wiping ineffectually at the sweat pouring down her neck.  It was 
bobbed now, to her chin although she still got a good chuckle when she 
thought of how she must look: brown as a berry, freckles galore, dirty 
and with a very crooked and obviously self-done hair cut.

	"Ugly as sin, to match the hair," Titania said, aloud, just as 
she pulled herself to the summit.  She stood in awe, absorbing the view, 
searching the horizon for signs of something other than Wasteland.  

	That was how she caught her first glimpse of the dragon.

			***************

Titania Hestiani
Whiteriver Warren

NRPG:

This post, as stated in the beginning, occurs ten years in the past.  
Titania and the dragon will eventually reach Whiteriver...



|Gwendolyn Brophy       http://www.pitt.edu/~gmbst15    gmbst15+@pitt.edu|
|------------------------------------------------------------------------|
|"No day, no night, no moment can hold me back from trying. One flag, one|
| fall, one falter, I'll find my day may be far and away."  --Enya       |