Eltanin in Weligian

The town was hungry. Famine had reached its shores, and its people were in desperate need of nourishment. The moon shone down upon the muddy streets, casting shadows on the ground from the few dried crops that remained. The corn was the last to survive, leaving only landscapes of parched stalks in its wake. Weligian was desperate for relief.

Wise women danced under the light of the moon to summon the energy of the cycles. Others read the entrails of their slain. Others still sought their wisdom in the heavens, setting their sights upon the star-studded skies. Their movements portended births, deaths, warfare. One could only hope they held the answers to besting their current battle. Carling certainly did. Her belly was full of new life, and her waters were becoming more turbulent by the day. But the occasional kicks in Carling’s stomach were fine. It was them stopping she feared the most. She would soon have two mouths to feed, but was barely able to quiet the pangs in her own self.

Despite her advanced pregnancy and short supply of food, she still gathered the strength to reach the hill where she would meet her coven. Each knotted stump a challenge to her quest, but her determination found her diligently placing one swollen ankle in front of the other. She must reach the top, for she knew it held the secrets of her ancestors.

Upon her arrival, she met Rowena, clothed in long white robes billowing in the night breeze. Her ashen locks met the nape of her neck before falling in waves down her back.

Her face traced wrinkles from the corners of her mouth which had clearly known many smiles. Though Carling would have thought most would have no reason to smile these days, Rowena firmly disagreed. The evidence was quite clearly written on her face.

The nights were drawing closer where Carling would soon meet her new blood. Waxing gibbous turned to waning, and she found herself under the blanket of the night sky, ushering in the next generation.

Rowena’s wizened lips opened to speak.

“The time has come, my child, for this maiden to become the mother, ‘ere the mother becomes the crone.”

It seemed too soon, but Carling knew the wisdom was in the silence, the language of which this witch was fluent.

Gusts tore through the branches of the trees on the hill, whipping twig and leaves as they danced in the air, electric with energy. The winds howled in unison, as if to empathize with Carling’s oncoming contractions.

She sat splayed upon the grass, legs wide, and face towards the sky. The feature was kind, offering a dazzling display of lights for her eyes to feast upon. It may not have been solid food, but it would sustain her with enough fortitude to carry out her destiny.

She caught a glimmer of the stars, shapes jagged like the wings of a dragon, just before letting out a wail that would wake the birds from their slumber. With one monumental push, Eltanin was born.

His cries echoed the pain of the land, hungry for sustenance. To his fortune, his mother had found herself a steady diet on the dregs of ale makings, helping to boost her milk supply.

Carling brought young Eltanin to her breast, allowing him to suckle on what nourishment she could provide, knowing that his true nourishment would come with time, should he be lucky enough to find it.

She shifted her position to angle herself towards the Rowena, the moonlight at her back. A modest bunch of twigs lay at her side, no doubt loosened from the howls of the wind.

Three small eggs lay nestled in a bunch, but unmatched by any of the birds she knew in the area. The markings on the shell were foreign, with large protrusions around the perimeter bulging at the sides.

No sooner had she noticed the pockmarks did they begin to burst into cracks before her eyes. Rowena and Carling sat stunned, while Eltanin remain suckling quietly.

A ridged eye met their gaze, between two halves of a cracked egg. This was no ordinary bird. It was the majestic dragon, a return of hope to their land. The prophecy was beginning to take shape, but the women know they must bide their time.

Rowena ripped a long strip from her robe before swaddling the young child with the tatters. The warmth of the dragon's breath would soon suffice, but for now she knew she must wait, hoping that the meager banquet of yeast and cornflour would suffice in the coming months. Eltanin would surely outgrow his swaddling cloth, but would grow into his path in parallel.

* * *

The moon knew its many phases, as the faces on the local townspeople became more weary by the day. In those moments where water was as scarce as food, the shadows seemed to cast more slowly on the ground. But Rowena knew she must wait until the Earth made at least two cycles around the Sun before carrying out the task that been written in the stars.

She waited patiently until the day arose, confident in the power of divine timing. As the sun rose on the 24th month after Eltanin's birth, she made her way back towards the hilltop. Weligian would know abundance once more, but would require a sacrifice in its stead.

Carling had fought Rowena at every turn. To ask her to abandon her firstborn child was unfair. She knew in her gut that it was the only option, but resented the fact that she had to be the one to carry out the task nonetheless. She deftly laid the child on the top from whence he came two short years ago, knowing the dragons would come soon after.

The eggs which laid on the soil only just cracked had left their crumbled remains still tucked in crevices near the untouched land. With no crops to harvest, the Earth was rarely trodden by the townspeople, and with no food to forage from, the animals where few and far between. The dragon eggs from years before left their traces, but their bodies had quickly outgrown their housing.

Once a young one himself, the now mature dragon gazed down upon the child, seeing the future of the land down below. He would need training, but Eltanin would be a suitable acolyte. Weligian's future lay in his hands.