25th day of the 7th month 610th year of the 8th era

Fire, smoke, heat. Tunio knelt on the grass. His home was in flames.

“Your father met his duty in the end.”

Tunio turned and she was there: the high priestess. She wore a necklace made of solid gold that cupped her bosom. In her hair she wore an ornate headdress of feathers of many colours. Her dark skin glowed in the light of the fire.

“How could you?” he asked.

“It was written,” she replied, looking at him, her green eyes shining in the firelight.

“Why?” he wailed, slamming a fist on the ground.

“Your father saved the dark elves from our horrible disfiguring curse. He married your mother and produced children. That was the way to break the curse. ‘A man from outside the dark elves must love a princess and produce children’.”

“Tunio,” a disembodied voice called out. A cool hand on his shoulder shook him.

He opened his eyes and looked up as Hiwot stood over him, shaking him awake.

“You were dreaming,” she said, stepping back.

Tunio rolled out of the hammock and stood on the floor, the cool wooden boards waking him. The room was simple but elegant; the floor was smooth and polished. The wall was decorated in a rendition of several warriors fighting a giant winged lizard. He noticed a sleeping hammock and a small stand with a pitcher of water in a large basin.

Hiwot walked to the door and opened it. She was dressed in a light undershirt that came down to her knees and left her arms free. Her hair was tied in a bun and wrapped in a silk cloth. The light from the hallway framed her body through the thin fabric of her night dress.

“Get dressed and meet me in my room,” she commanded and shut the door as she left.

Tunio rubbed his eyes and stepped up to the stand, poured water into the basin, and splashed some onto his face. He grabbed his trousers, pulled them on, and fastened the buttons down the front. He was lean and muscled, taking after his father, his skin a deep ruddy brown colour as much from his mother as from working long hours in the fields all his life. In the corner, leaning against a wall, was the only thing he had of his whole family: a falchion sword only his father could wield with one hand. It was wrapped in a leather scabbard. A leather strap hung from the scabbard. The trousers had been a gift from the commander of Fort Northern Wiles as she bundled him on the first boat out. The trousers still felt coarse on his legs as he opened the door and strode down the hallway towards the light flickering under the door.

He pushed on the finely wrought bronze handle and stepped into Hiwot’s room.

She sat at a table covered in charts and papers. A single candle provided light in the early morning gloom. A crimson single sofa sat in the corner of the room.

A serving girl wearing a grey skirt came through the door opposite Tunio’s door and placed a small plate with a couple of slices of roast beef and some roasted tubers on the desk near Hiwot. She looked up at Tunio. Her eyes widened, then she covered her chest with the silver tray and blushed a deep red. Then she darted back through the far door.

Hiwot laughed.

“Your father had a similar effect on her when he was here. We had some fun, your father and I,” Hiwot sighed.

“She looks to be about ten years older than I,” Tunio said.

“She was a new slave then,” Hiwot answered.

“Why was she wearing a grey skirt?”

“All slaves wear that skirt,” she shrugged. “It’s kind of like custom, and a badge of protection. If you damage a slave, you must pay compensation not to the slave but to the slave’s owner. A jealous owner could charge a lot for a favourite slave. I wanted to speak to you about where I shall drop you off.”

“I don’t know where I am to go,” Tunio confessed. “My father spoke very little about the world. It was my mother who taught me to read and write.”

Hiwot nodded. “My ship sails from the Fort to Peace Landing and then to Crece.”

“I have heard of those places, but I don’t know where any them are,” Tunio said. “They are just names, like Fraya the Tyrant Killer, and Zerx the Bloody, fables with no real meaning for me.”

Hiwot placed her quill on the table and looked up at him. “Hmmm, what do you want to do with yourself?” she asked as she stood. Tunio noticed that Hiwot had belted her nightdress at the waist. She walked across the room and sat on the couch, patting the space next to her.

Tunio gulped and sat next to her on the sofa.

“I am not sure,” Tunio answered, “I was raised on a farm, so I don’t really know much more than farming.”

“Do you want to continue farming?” Hiwot asked, crossing her legs, causing the thin fabric to ride up and stretch across her legs.

Tunio looked at her legs. They were a gentle brown, smooth and strong. He swallowed again as his body began to react. I have no idea what I want to do with myself. Those legs are beautiful; even better than Felicita’s. Felicita, so warm, so willing … focus on the question. He ripped his gaze from her legs and looked up at her eyes. She was leaning back against the sofa and had spread her arms wide over the back of the sofa, smiling at him.

She knows what she is doing with that thin fabric. “I don’t think I want to be a farmer,” Tunio answered. “My parents lived a quiet life; I don’t want that for myself. I would like to do something exciting.”

“That’s good but doesn’t give me an idea as to where to drop you off. Peace Landing and Crece are both good places to start for adventurers looking for work.”

“I’m sorry,” Tunio muttered.

The door opened and a tall, old man wearing a grey skirt stepped into the room. He was thin with broad shoulders. Bending over, he leant on the door.

“Mistress, Second Lieutenant Aquillia would like a word with you,” he muttered, “should I take the gentleman out?”

“That’s not needed,” Hiwot answered. “Show her in.”

Aquillia stepped in, dressed in a uniform—tight black pants, and a white shirt open at the front and held in place by a single button. Aquillia’s skin was light green. Her pointed ears told of her elven heritage.

“Good morning, ma’am,” Aquillia saluted. “Last watch of the night was uneventful, and we made good progress. We should reach Peace Landing in a couple of days.”

“The first watch has taken over?”

“Yes, ma’am. Gazali has taken the watch.”

“Very good, Aquillia. Have you met our passenger from the Fort?” Hiwot said, standing.

Tunio stood and extended his hand. “Tunio Rosethorn, nice to meet you.”

Aquillia took his hand, her eyes widening in surprise, “You must be Akuchi’s son.”

“Yes,” Tunio said, pumping Aquillia’s hand. “Did you know my father?”

“Tunio is the only survivor of his uncle’s attack on his father’s farm,” Hiwot explained to Aquillia.

“I am sorry for your loss. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Aquillia said. “If you need anything let me know my door is always open. I am sorry about the death of your family; we saw the burning as we approached.”

Aquillia turned about and walked out the door.

“You still have some time before we arrive at Peace Landing,” Hiwot said. “Let me know if you want to leave the ship.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Hiwot walked to the second door, opened it, and stepped through, leaving Tunio alone with his thoughts.

Tunio got up and walked slowly back to his room. Where should I go? Dad did mention that he grew up near Rolf. But I don’t know how to get there. I don’t even know where Rolf is. If my father was a farmer, then his family would also be farmers. I don’t want to be a farmer.

“I was visiting a friend,” echoed down the hallway. A young woman yelled.

“Until the early morning?” Aquillia yelled back.

Tunio followed the sound and came upon an open door.

“Why do you baby me so much?” came the first voice.

“You are still a baby,” Aquillia replied at a more normal volume.

Tunio looked around the door frame and saw Aquillia and another woman. Aquillia had taken off her uniform shirt, both only wore dress pants. Aquillia’s lean and muscled body, light green skin and brown hair, stood facing the other woman who was similar in build but with softer definition. The second woman’s skin was pale, almost vibrant, her hair was also brown, but her ears were not as sharp as Aquillia's.

Tunio reached up and felt his own ears, a slight pointedness to them. She is a half breed like me.

“I am not a baby anymore, Mother,” wailed the second woman.

“All I know is that you are to me, Metilia,” replied Aquillia.

Metilia folded her arms across her chest and scrunched her face.

“I know that as far as the humans are concerned you are a grown-up,” explained Aquillia. “I was not considered an adult until I was much older than you.”

“Do you know if she will even live as long as you?” Tunio asked.

They turned to face him, both blushing brightly.

Metilia smiled and looked at the floor while raising her hand to her cheek.

Aquillia’s face clouded and she marched on Tunio. “This conversation is private,” she said, “you are not welcome here.” She placed a hand on Tunio’s chest and shoved him.

Tunio fell back and slammed into the far wall. “You said the door is always open.”

Aquillia’s face softened, “This is a family matter.” She shut the door firmly.

Tunio arose and rubbed the back of his head and went back to his cabin.

***

Tunio stood at the prow of the ship, the sea spray splashing his chest and the wind cooling his head and chest in the early morning. The sea and sky met at the horizon, an endless wonder stretching out before him. He heard a gentle cough and turned to find Metilia standing behind him. She was dressed in black pants and a loose-fitting white shirt that did nothing to hide her soft body underneath.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, “I was wondering about your comment earlier in the cabin.”

“Sorry?” Tunio replied hastily.

A sailor landed a few feet behind her and Tunio paused, watching him. The sailor soon hurried off towards the middle deck.

“What made you ask about my life span?” she continued, oblivious.

“Do you want to talk here?” he asked, turning fully and facing her, “we could go somewhere more private.”

She nodded as she folded her arms across her chest.

His trousers became uncomfortable. Now is not the time, she is obviously distraught.

He strode past her and headed back towards officer country. She followed him past the main mast and up onto the quarterdeck and then in through ornately worked doors. Tunio walked down the corridor and into his room.

Metilia came in behind him and closed the door.

Tunio leant against the far wall.

Metilia stood in the middle of the room. “What did you mean by me not living as long as Mother?”

“I noticed your ears,” Tunio began.

“What is wrong with my ears?” Metilia demanded, grabbing her ears.

“Nothing is wrong,” Tunio soothed, standing and placing gentle hands on her elbows. “They are not the same as your mother’s.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” demanded Metilia, lowering her hands and holding Tunio’s hands.

“I only know because my brothers, sisters, and I have the same type of ears.”

Metilia’s hand went to Tunio’s ear and gave it a gentle caress, “You have the same ears as I do, how is that possible?”

“I am not certain; my mother was a dark elf and my father a human.”

“My mother is an elf; that means my father was a human!” exclaimed Metilia. “What has this got to do with my age?”

“The thing is that dark elves, and by extension I believe elves also, can live for thousands of years. Humans, on the other hand, can only live for maybe one hundred if they are blessed by the gods, or cursed, depending on the way you look at it.”

“Which means I could either live for thousands of years or barely a century.”

“Yes,” agreed Tunio. A lump formed in Tunio’s throat. He pushed back thoughts of his mother and father; they would want him to help her if he could. He blinked back tears and focused on Metilia.

Metilia stood back and began to pace the room. “What does that mean? I know my mother loves me, and I know she is doing the best she can, which means drawing from her own experience to guide me.”

Tunio watched as Metilia paced the room, processing. The light coming through the small hatch he had opened caught in her clothes. The sun also caught in her brown hair, casting golden light across the room.

“What should I do?” Metilia asked, stopping and turning to face Tunio.

“I don’t know,” Tunio shrugged, “my mother didn’t force us to be kids. Maybe the elves and dark elves have a different sense of what growing up means.”

“Thank you for your help,” Metilia said. She closed the gap between them and gave Tunio a peck on the check, then she breezed out of the room. The door closed softly behind her.

Damn she is something else. I wonder how my mother would have dealt with her.

Metilia opened the door opened again and stuck her head around the door jamb.

“You will be joining the captain and the officers for dinner tonight I presume?” Metilia asked.

“Sure,” affirmed Tunio.

Metilia grinned and then pulled her head out and left the room again.

***

At dinner time, Tunio walked down the corridor towards the captain’s quarters. He knocked on the door and it was opened by the same slave he had seen that morning.

The female slave blushed and bowed to him and ushered him into the room. The desk was still covered with papers held down by ink pots and compasses. She motioned for him to sit on the sofa in the corner and then ducked into the adjacent room. A few minutes later she came out with a pair of black pressed trousers and a clean white shirt draped over her arm. She handed them to him.

Tunio took them, glancing at his own working clothes. He placed the fresh garments on the sofa and then stood back up. He undid the button that held up his trousers and slipped them off. As he stepped into the black pressed trousers, they caressed his skin, a welcome relief from his rough trousers. Then he pushed his arms through the shirt.

The slave woman stepped up and began to fasten the buttons on the shirt, her hands brushing his skin, as she dutifully affixed the buttons. She undid the button on the trousers and began tucking in his shirt. The button refixed, she stepped back looked him up and down and opened the door into the next room and waved him in.

Tunio stepped into a room that was luxurious by any standard. In the corner to his left was a pale blue curtain that blocked out the corner. Along the wall was a painting of intricate design depicting angelic beings building the world. He had heard the story of 'the creation' but had not seen a picture. The colours jumped out at him and danced with the reflected light from the crystal chandelier hanging from the roof. The room was covered in a detailed painting of the host of heaven lounging around a table eating. One deity dressed in full armour held a golden sword above his head; in the next space, that same deity was shown giving the sword and armour to people. Along the far wall stood a room divider that depicted a lake and surrounding monastery gardens. In the centre of the room, under the chandelier, sat a table made of dark work carved intricately with wild beasts on the legs. Sitting around the table, on high backed matching chairs, was Hiwot at the head; another man, that looked very much like the captain, sat to her left. His features were smooth and chiselled. Next to him sat Metilia, and across the room sat Aquillia.

Hiwot stood, revealing her dress; an exquisite blue silk that shimmered in light and featured a deep, plunging neckline. Her black hair was tied up into a bun with a few stray bangs framing her face.

The man turned to look at Tunio. He was dressed in a white shirt with his uniform rank emblazoned on the shoulders. His features were like Hiwot’s; the same piercing eyes and quick smile marked him as her son. His soft nose and firm, chiselled jaw gave him a strong, mysterious look.

Metilia was dressed in a close-fitting dress of green that shifted colours as she moved. Her brown hair was tied up with a band behind her head and came down between her shoulder blades. She had the same chin and soft nose as the man next to her, but her eyes were all her mother's. That is odd, they look similar. Could it be that they are related?

Aquillia wore only a brown skirt. She had the same soft green eyes as Metilia but her chin was smaller. She looked younger than her daughter across the table from her. Her pointed ears held back her short brown hair.

“Welcome, Tunio,” Hiwot smiled. “Please sit down and join us for dinner.”

Tunio moved round to the table and sat between Hiwot and Aquillia.

“You know everyone except my son,” Hiwot said. “Tunio, this is my son Gazali.”

Gazali stuck out his hand across the table.

Tunio took in and gave it a quick firm shake before his hand was released. A sense of familiarity washed over him. What is it about Gazali and Metilia? Something is off.

“Pleasure meeting you,” he said. Gazali turned his head and started to talk in small whispers to Metilia, who leaned in to talk back to him.

“Please excuse the children, they often talk amongst themselves,” Aquillia apologised.

“We are still a day or two out from Peace Landing,” said Hiwot, “have you given much thought about where I can leave you?”

“Want to get rid of me already?”

“He has you there, sir,” Aquillia laughed as she took a sip from her nearly empty glass.

Hiwot threw her a nasty look and then smiled back at Tunio.

“No,” Tunio soothed, “I was hoping you could help me work that out.”

“How can we help you with that?” Hiwot asked.

“Well, I don’t know much about why my father went to the Fort in the first place,” explained Tunio. “I know that he was well respected by the Fort commander and the soldiers at the Fort, but nothing as to why.”

“He didn’t tell you?” asked Hiwot.

“No,” Tunio replied.

“Well, when I first met your father he was heading to the Fort to earn money to buy land,” Hiwot informed.

“Why was he doing that?” Tunio asked.

“He said something about his family’s farm being too crowded.”

“So, he did have family.”

“Yes, but I don’t think they could take you in,” chimed in Aquillia.

“Why?” asked Tunio.

The door opened and two slaves in grey skirts walked in carrying plates on their hands. A woman slave brushed past Tunio’s shoulder and placed a plate on the table in front of him.

Tunio looked up into her brown eyes and said, “Thank you.”

She blushed and ducked her head at him. The slave placed another plate in front of Aquillia and, still blushing, followed her colleague out the door.

Hiwot started laughing.

“You are so much like your father,” she said when she calmed down.

“The son takes after the father,” Gazali commented.

“He does indeed,” agreed Hiwot.

Tunio blushed and turned his attention to the food in front of him. His plate was covered in an assortment of vegetables with a large slab of meat in the centre. It was covered with a thick gravy. He cut off a slice and ate it. The rich juicy meat reminded him of feast days on his father’s farm. The meat was succulent and tender. A mix of herbs and spices danced in his mouth with each movement of his jaw. When he swallowed, the meat glided down his throat in a riot of flavour from the herbs.

He sat back and leant against the back of his chair. “That was amazing,” he murmured.

“I will tell the chef you liked it.” Aquillia placed a loaded fork into her mouth and began to chew.

“If my family can’t take me in, perhaps it might be better if I strike out on my own,” Tunio said.

“Did you want to do that in your home country or in Peace Landing?” Hiwot asked.

“There is nothing for me back at the farm, apart from death and flame. I think it might be better for me to start in Peace Landing,” answered Tunio. A tear streaked down his face. “What is it like?”

“The city covers the whole island and is the only city that is run by a council of nobles,” said Hiwot. “The king deals with outside politics and leaves the city's affairs in their hands.”

“That does sound enlightened,” Tunio observed.

“Sometimes it can be,” Aquillia muttered as she sipped on her wine.

“What is wrong with it?” Tunio said, taking a sip of his own wine. The wine was heavy and fruity, not like the bitter drink he was used to. He placed it back on the table with a grimace.

“Sometimes it can take a while to get anything done,” answered Hiwot. “They are not very accepting of new ideas.”

“I can actually find something to do there?” Tunio asked.

“Finding work is not a problem,” Hiwot said. “The city is large enough and has enough trade … it is actually the centre of trade for the whole eastern sea. From there you can get practically anything and go nearly anywhere. The gnomes run the city and are crazy about only two things: gold and their image.”