Chapter Text
I was born in Vesuvia, in my Grandmother's house, in the late summertime, under a seed moon.
There weren't a lot of babies born in those days. According to my parents, for several years leading up to my birth, Vesuvian winters had been long and very harsh, and summers had been cool and dry. Crops were sparse, and trading ships came less frequently, carrying more expensive goods, and less of them. Being a port city, we were more fortunate than those who lived inland and had little access to imported goods. It was said that many inland towns perished during those years. The people lost livestock, there was hunger and poverty. Families grew smaller as the sick and elderly passed away, and fewer babies were born.
The year I was born, the world seemed to reawaken. The earth shrugged off her icy mantle and suddenly trees blossomed. It was the first warm spring in years, and at the perfect time. The rains came and crops grew. Lambs and calves were born. And on a blazing bright afternoon, so was I. My mother and father adored me, and so did various aunts, uncles, and friends of the family. They named me Alise, for one of my great grandmothers, and Avive, for the spring.
As soon as I could walk sturdily, my Mother and Aunt put me to work in my Aunt's shop, dusting and sweeping and doing small tasks. I stayed out of the way when customers came in, and learned to anticipate when Auntie would need a stepstool or an envelope or something. I'd work from early morning until lunchtime, and after lunch, my schooling began.
My mother made sure I was versed in the arts of sewing, cooking, and woodworking. She talked a lot about how different people have different gifts, and that everyone's gifts are valuable in some way. She taught me to garden, and how to forage in the nearby woods for berries and mushrooms and roots. She taught me which tree bark could ease aches and pains, which mosses would cleanse a bleeding wound, and which leaves could ease intestinal distress. She taught me to dry herbs, and she carefully instructed me on which were medicinal, and how powerful some could be. The older I grew, the more in-depth these lessons became, and by the time I'd grown as tall as Mother, I was a fair junior herbalist.
In the evenings, after dinner, it was my father's turn to give me lessons. He taught me everything he knew of geography, animals and nature, mechanics of boats and wagons and such, how to read and write and do basic numberings. Our favorite subject was history, both of Vesuvia and of other lands he had visited. He loved telling me stories and I loved listening to them.
My father spent all day at the docks, which were strictly off-limits to me as a child. Merchants and sailors were a rowdy bunch and my mother refused to let me anywhere near that world. There were rumours of pirates, of smuggling, even the occasional kidnapping or murder. As fascinating as the masquerade was, I found the mysterious docks irresistible. Whenever my father had a visitor, I was sent upstairs to bed right after dinner, so the adults could talk freely. I'd eavesdrop of course, not understanding much of their stories. Sometimes they spoke Neviv, sometimes they spoke other languages I didn't know. Always there were words that I know my mother wouldn't want me hearing. I reveled in the deep-throated laughter from the huge blustery men, marveling how at ease my father and mother were with them.