Tofi sat at the computer, staring at the screen where his realm sprawled across a scatter of islands scored by sheer fjords. There was little arable land, the forests were scant, and mineral seams were few. He'd been forced into another survival strategy: fishing villages, trade posts, and… piracy. All of it, of course, existed only inside the virtual world of Chronicles of Sonata. Like many teenagers, he was addicted to the game—yet unlike most, he was a young elf living in another world called Midgard, "on the far side of the sun," as people said. A sophisticated network let them connect—legally or not—to this world, known to them as Utgard.
The elf youth, Tofías Orantek, lived—as Travis had glimpsed on his profile photo—in a mountain-ringed settlement called Leedzen, one of the districts of the Principality of Carpatos. There his family—his mother Laulak and his uncle Wolfram Orantek—kept a tavern called:
"The Highland Ghost."
The tavern stood on the outskirts of town, a gathering place for villagers and travelers bound for the passes, as well as for adventurers—and other, less reputable sorts who, in any society on either side of the sun, Utgard or Midgard, would be called outcasts and subversives. Many of them shared the political and philosophical leanings of Tofi's uncle Wolfram.
Tofi was a boy with ash-blond hair and the pointed ears typical of his people, his bright blue eyes quick to kindle at the thought of new friends online—despite every local warning that a teenager should never do such a thing. He was obsessed with that mysterious world of the Utgards, from which so many stories and legends drifted over. He sat cross-legged on the floor in a corner of the cellar storeroom, having just finished a message on his contraband Utgard-made laptop. He had proposed an alliance to a player in Chronicles of Sonata, but the boy had declined. Tofi—ever diplomatic—was about to type a courteous reply when he saw the player had already gone offline. He narrowed his eyes and turned back to his realm's ledgers when the door at the top of the stairs opened and a thin figure's silhouette appeared.
"Tofi… are you down here?" came a woman's voice.
He snapped the laptop shut and slid it under a stack of barrels.
"I'm here, Mother. What is it?"
"Plague take you," his mother said gently but firmly. "I need your help finishing the night's work."
He sprang up, tied on a white apron, and hurried to meet her at the head of the stairs. Laulak Orantek was an elf with ash-blond hair cut in a bob, very much the fashion in Aternum, echoing the 1920s of the other side. Her steely eyes looked larger behind bottle-thick spectacles. She wore a drop-waist dress to mid-calf and a white apron.
"We have to close. Everything must be ready for morning—and by all the gods, Juy can't get old Momta to leave."
Tofi grinned and stepped into the taproom: a timber ceiling crossed with stout painted beams resting on rustic posts; ironwork lamps hung from the rafters, casting a honeyed light that invited talk, conspiracy—and inordinate amounts of beer. A stone fireplace blazed at the center, warming the whole hall. Rough-hewn tables and wooden chairs filled the room; a pair of snug boxes with paneled walls held worn leather settees. Carved wood paneling lined the walls, hung with watercolour landscapes—his uncle Wolfram's work; art was one of his passions. Two or three flat screens were mounted in strategic spots—over the bar, above the hearth, at the back—usually showing the latest matches of Kush, a game like football on this side but rather more brutal; tonight they played a music video: Bette Davis Eyes by Kim Carnes. (Utgard music—especially from the '80s—was beloved in Midgard.)
Tofi hurried to where a heavyset elf, blind drunk, slumped beside a scrawny figure—a golem, one of the enslaved creatures used in Aternum. Juy was trying to coax the elf to go home, but Momta insisted on one more tankard. Tofi joined Juy and together they hauled the big man to his feet as he mumbled:
"Come now… just a little longer… and that's my song… She's got Bette Davis eyes… And she'll tease you, she'll unease you…"
"I think you've had enough, Master Momta. Time to sleep," said Juy.
"That's right—we'd all like to sleep," Tofi added.
Laulak swept in to collect the tankard and plates sticky with sauce. She noticed Momta had left his cap. She hurried to where Juy and Tofi were lugging him along.
"Your cap, Master Momta," she said, offering it.
Momta blinked at her through drink and smiled.
"Bless you, Laulak," he slurred. "You… all of you—even this skinny old golem…" He jabbed a pudgy finger at Juy, wobbling and making his bearers grunt. "You're all good folk—fine and decent. Consider this elf—" he thumped his chest—"your faithful friend… your greatest admirer. Bless Wolfram Orantek, who will bring Balakan back to us… Balakan!" he cried, raising a hand to the rafters.
Laulak cleared her throat and nodded for Juy and Tofi to hurry him along.
"Thank you, Momta. You're very kind—but it's time to go home," she said softly. "Juy, you may have to see him to his door."
Juy glanced at Laulak, anxious, but the drunk raised both hands.
"Shh—shh—shh. Momta is drunk, not stupid. He'll find his way."
They bundled the tippler out onto the porch. Tofi set the cap on his bald pate, and Momta staggered off, humming Bette Davis Eyes as he zigzagged down the gravel path to the road.
"Well, we can finish up now," Laulak said. "Back to it."
They returned to the bar. Laulak gathered glasses; the golem carried out bags of rubbish; Tofi moved to help behind the counter.
"Tofi, be a dear and take supper up to your uncle Wolfram. Then mop the floor and fetch the mugs left at the back," Laulak said, loading a rack for the dishwasher.