There was an island on the edge of a highly populated continent. Elysium was the name of the little island. It was seemingly unpopulated, uninteresting and rather useless. Save for two rather large Seahorse statues carved from shell. These statues sat for many years, many wars and in many kinds of weather. They refused to be beat down though, their shapes held, though the shell form had lost its luster. Perhaps that is why amongst the plant life and dirt and salt collect from the sea, they weren’t recognizable unless one was looking for them. So they sat their. Doing their duty, guarding the entrance to what lies beneath the sea. That is till she showed up.

She arrived in a rowboat, draped in gold. Much like the island she, was seemingly uninteresting. Plain face, plain clothing. She was however, draped in gold. Necklaces, multiple crowns, rings and bracelets and earrings dripped from her body. She jingled as she moved awkwardly towards the seahorse, shielding her eyes from the sun as she gazed at them.

"Hi." She said to them. They said nothing.

"How’s guard duty going for you?" She tried again. And again she was met with nothing.

She sighed and cleared her throat, "Quod est pulchra esse periculosum." This stirred the statues. They bent towards her, their movements croaked and groaned with the shifting earth on their forms, trees snapped, moss slide off their bodies revealing the shing mother-o-pearl under the grime of the years. 

One came within inches of the girl’s face, she took a step back, it’s dark, round eyes watching her. In a loud, deep whisper it spoke. Its voice sounding like a large, aged trumpet, "What seeks you, Noble of Chemin?" 

"I’m not a noble." The girl replied bluntly. 

The sea statues glanced at each other, and the second one spoke in a softer, flute like tone, "Your dress... it implies otherwise."

She glanced at her adornments, "Oh... I’m a servant of the Royal family in Chemin... All this... was..." She paused knitting her brow together before replying, "A gift."

"You know the Motto of Chemin’s royal bloodline," Said the first seahorse.

"I work there." She replied again. 

"State your business with us, servant." the second fluted in an annoyed tone.

"I have fish princess that need returning." The girl nodded to her boat, where the two seahorse could glimpse a leg sticking.

"How did you...." The first seahorse frowned. Which was a strange sight, his elongated snout pinched up in confusion, his brow furrowed, causing a bush formerly on the top of his head to shift slightly giving the appearance of having a bulbous horn.

"Long story." Replied the girl, "Look can you do whatever it is you do with your magic and let me return her to her home without drowning."

"Perhaps you should explain to us how you came into possession of this mergirl." The second seahorse replied, slightly uneasily. 

The servant draped in gold took a seat and sighed, "Its a long story."

And she began.

Chapter One

In Which the Servant Girl Has Yet to be a Servant

"When I was six-"

"Must we start so far back in the story?" The first seahorse groaned.

The servant girl frowned, "I can see plain as day you don’t trust me. But the world is changing and I need you to understand I’m part of something. And the only way for you understand why, and what is happening in the world is for me to start at the beginning."

"So far back?" inquired the second seahorse.

"So far back," replied the servant girl. And she began again.

When I was six the group of summer merchants arrived in my village. It was one of the few things that happened in my home village of Avant, that changed the humdrum of everyday life. Avant was endless farming, even in the winter months it was just cold enough for the trees to shed their leaves and the occasional frost, and days were spent harvesting nuts and syrups. The merchants were the only sign that things beside farming existed.

And goodness, did they exist. Even from the field my family lived on, on the edge of our village, I could see the tops of the caravan’s the set up. Within minutes of arriving, deep purple flags waved in the air from the top of their tents. And soon as I spotted them my six year old legs were running down the dirt trail between the plots of farmland making my way towards the ceremonial grounds in the center of Avant. Soon I was close enough make out the details of the flag, how it was edged in magenta, and it bore an emblem similar to an upside down, cerulean G, with intricate swirls embroidering it.  The emblem of some country outside my own. With people unlike my own. I loved them for that.

As far as I knew, my country of Chemin was the same as my village. People farmed and raised cattle, worked from sunrise to sunset.Then they gathered at the nearest place that served stiff drink for idle gossip. Even at six I was tired of the repetitive nature of life. But looking at that flag that gave way to the top of a seafoam green and bright lilac tent, the break from ordinary was enough to make my small heart race. I reached the grounds, where a circle of tents covered the clearing and hordes of people chatting around wagons and tables.

And the people! Oh the people, each sporting bright colors that was so different from the dull tones and dirt color clothing that my people wore. Feathers and gemstones, and glass bead hung from golden bracelets and necklaces and earrings.  A woman with skin so dark it rivaled the richness of good planting soil after the rain, spotted me standing on the edge of the clearing. She moved towards me, her silky dress billowed as she moved, and I could almost make out the shape of her long legs as she moved. If that wasn’t scandalous enough, her arms and shoulders were bare. The fabric of her dress seemed to be wound around several gold choker necklaces before it wrapped tightly around her body.

She smiled at me, her elongated canines protruded from her lips. The glimmered white against her berry colored lips. She bent down, towards me. Here eyelashes, like everything about her people, were colorful, though her navy ones were subtle compared to the yellows, pinks, and greens I’d seen floating around.

“Do you like our wares, lil’ one?” She said. I tore my eyes away from a man with eyelashes that were not only mint green, but extended about four inches past his cheek and ended in a curl. I nodded slowly, willing myself to look past her eyelashes and into her deep, black eyes. Her smile widened and more of her pointy teeth exposed themselves.

“Then how about you buy a feather?” She produced a sac from belt tied at her waist and opened it. Inside there were of course feather. each one a multitude of bright colors, “Each one’s only a copper coin.”

My fingers brushed the soft plumaged of a skyblue one, and found myself reaching for the pouch around my neck where several coins lay safe from the last family holiday. when there was a startling shout from behind me.

“Isabelle!” My mother stormed up the path behind me. Her deep red brown hair similar to my own, was sticking to her forehead with sweat and dirt. her sun tanned skin wrinkled on her brow as she glared at me, “What do you think you’re doing running off like that? You’re suppose to be watering the pumpkin patch, it hasn’t rained in days!”

“But momma!” I cried “The merchants are here and I wanted to buy a feather!” She glanced from me to the woman and shook her head.

“What would you even do with that?” She sighed, “It’s such a delicate thing, you’d break it within minutes!”

“Let the girl have her fun with her own money, Leal.”

My mother paled, and pursed her lips together, her normally thin lips grew thinner and white. From behind me, an arm wrapped around my waist and I was lifted into the air with a giant squeeze.

“Uncle Marvel!” I cried, holding tight to a man who came from my land but turned out so very different from it. His hair still held the reddish brown tint, and his skin still contained bits of sun damage on his nose and brow. Like my mother and I, he had a round eyes. But his were bright and joyful blue, instead of the olive green that ran in our blood. Uncle Marvel stood dressed in purple and blue striped pants, with a light blue blazer over his bare chest. Golden earrings hung from his ear, pink, green, and black gemstones covered them. However all that wasn’t what made him stand out compared to the adults around me.

All the adults in my life spent each day worrying about making their harvesting quotas. At night, they’d bury the stress in the drink, then fall asleep, repeating the  process the next day. They walked with hunched shoulders, hands calloused from years of work and little rest. Marvel stood tall, and bright. He smiled more than anyone I knew, Being around him was like breathing fresh air after spending hours on end mucking out animal stalls.

My mother however narrowed her eye, face tight at the sudden appearance of my uncle, “Marvel, she really doesn’t need to waste her money on something so frivolous.” 

The woman pushing the feathers frowned, “Frivolous? They make her smile, that’s worth plenty more then a copper.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” my uncle smiled and produced the copper from his pocket, placing it in the woman’s palm. He quickly plucked a gold and blue feather from the sac and placed it in my hair, behind my ear. “Here you go, Izzy, the colors of our country.”

The merchant woman smiled her dark eyes twinkled as her fangs glimmered mischievous, “Many thanks Marvel. Though I know you’d be expecting to win it back tonight at tonight card game."

"You know me so well, Cherie." He winked at the merchant and she wandered off to push more of her wares.

My mother frown deepened , “Of all the people you could have turned up with Marvel. Of course their a greedy bunch.”

“Greedy isn’t the right word dear sister,” Uncle smiled, “Toltecatl is very different than here. People focus on their individual needs. Here in Chemin, people are each part of a whole. You tend not to focus on the parts rather than the sum”

“You must like living there,” Mother remarked, “you were never interested in doing what was necessary to support life here. Always more interested in being different. It must be so dull for you. I’m surprised you can bare to return.”

“I just wanted something new for a change,” He said with a wink, “be careful, I feel the same spirit in your daughter.”

Her eyes widened for a brief moment and she glanced at me quickly uttered, “Isabelle, go home!”

“But momma!” I whined, “I wanted to look at all the merchants tables! I’ve barely seen anything yet!”

“I said go!” I glanced at her, frowning walking down the dirt path towards our house. as I passed a second field, I glanced back. My mother’s face reddened and though she was out of earshot, I knew she was yelling.  Uncle Marvel reminded smiling. With a small roll of the eyes and a sigh, he embraced his little sister with a hug.

Leave it to him to always take the worst situations with a smile and love. As I continued on the path, I removed the feather from my hair and wrapped it gently in a handkerchief before tucking it away in the pocket of my apron. Despite what my mother thought, I wouldn’t let it get ruined. It was my proof of live beyond Chemin. And I wanted to remember it.

Two weeks later, and four visits from uncle Marvel the merchants packed up and left. My parents purchased a watering can. One of my brother bought a knife he hid from our parents, the other an arm full of books. And I however bought nothing, I was content with just them being around.

The day they left I stood in the empty dirt circle that was our ceremonial grounds. It seemed so empty and purposeless now.  A traces of fabric were left over, trampled into the ground along with a few empty crates, and a many empty bottles of spiced wine. Several kids my age were trodding around the ground poking for treasure that may have been left behind.

A month from now, people would begin setting up for the fall harvest festival, and despite the many shades of orange and yellows and reds, nothing would compare to the beauty that the merchants brought to the land. I stood there in the dirt, soaking in the last of the ease of and freedom that the merchants of Toltecatl brought with them because the minute I left, I’d have to return to the mundane life in Avant.

My eldest brother Sy came to fetch me at sundown that day, “Come on Iz, mom and dad will be furious if you stay the night here. ‘sides, the wolves will come out and getcha.”

I frowned slowly turning my back on the grounds, “There are no wolves here.”

Sy grinned, “That you know of. You’re always tucked away safe in bed before they come out.” I pouted but that only made him laugh. Sy, unlike mother, Verrill- my other brother, and myself, had hair the color of a chestnuts. He was the spitting image of our father, with thick brows, and a thin, upturned nose. Verrill was the spitting image of our mother with round eyes and thin brows, with a broad nose.. And I was some sort of mix in between. I touched my nose. Where Sy’s was delicate made him handsome and Verrill’s was bold and it made him seems sensible, mine was thin with a broad tip. It looked like an upside down thumb of my face. Even at age six, I felt so self concious about it.

“What’s on your mind, Iz?” Sy flicked the back of my head and I glared at him once more, “Are you sad the merchants are gone because now you have go back to weeding instead of playing with the Toltecatl children all day?”

“You spent time with them too,” I snapped.

He poked my sides, “I still managed to get all my chores done. Welcome back to the real world, kid. Might as well forget about the merchants till next year.”

We approached the field where I lived. It was a small plot, we grew several things in though only corn stretched the length of our land. Sy started up past the pen where we kept our several sheep. Beyond Sy, I could see our little home, bathed in the soft glow of candle light. Uncle Marvel brought us a lantern powered by some crystal gem. Father considered hanging it up, however mother didn’t think it would be the best. She wasn’t fond of things made outside of Chemin. So we stuck with the candles that had to be replaced every few months.

As I approached, a warm breeze blew, making the flames on the porch flicker. The light wavered on the squash bird feeders, the pile of dirty shoes stacked alongside the house, and even the would pile. The light made everything gentle, accept the look on my mother’s face. My heart thudded. My chores had slacked the entire week. I hadn’t bothered to take care of the animals at all, and had just tossed a bucket of water on the garden where we grew our food instead of bothering to properly water them. Any of those would get me a paddling.. I squinted into the darkness. The flame of the candle hanging above front door cast a soft glow on my mother’s face. She was beyond livid.

I gulped, had she found where I had hidden our laundry down by the washing stream? Or noticed the canned jam I stole to eat as a snack? I have even neglected the pages of school work that had been assigned for the past few weeks. Those deserved a punishment beyond paddling. would she make me sleep in the chicken coup where they’d peck me awake every few hours and I’d get covered in filth?

“Isabelle.” My mother whispered, her tone was laced with danger. I approached slowly feeling her stare pulling me apart.

“Yes, momma?” I asked when was in range of the porch light. I hovered on the edge of its light, my back still shrouded in the darkness of night.

Instead of yelling at me, or pulling out a paddling stick, she pointed to a crate resting on porch against the edge of our house, “Your uncle left that for you.”

“Oh.” I sighed feeling a sense of relief flooding through me. I wasn’t in trouble-but… wait! I scrambled over to the crate, “Uncle Marvel left a gift for me!?” I glanced at her, but she continued staring angrily out into the darkness, so I turned my focus back on to the little crate. There was a latch up top of it. Carefully I undid it, when a squeal rang out of it. I gasped and fell back staring at the crate in disbelieve.

A small piglet wiggled out from the top of the box. A pink ribbon was tied around its waist with a fat bow up top, and a note hanging off its side.The piglet squealed again. It had gotten stuck climbing out- while its front hooves had reached the ground its back legs remained on the lip of the crate. As the poor thing tried to walk forward, the crate followed, which made the little one nervous.I scooped him into my arms, he wiggled at first but seemed to calm down as his floppy little ear pressed gently against my heart. He was listening to my heartbeat. He already knew that it was beating for him. I already loved him.

Verrill came outside to see what was making all the noise. He tilted his head to the side and pushed his glasses up his nose slightly, “Is that what uncle Marvel got you? Its blue!”

“Yes, he is.” I said holding the piglet tight reading the letter attached to his neck, “And his name is Amie.”

Amie grew fast. The little piglet was the size of a full grown pig in a matter of weeks. And he was always by my side. He was my break from the normal, not because of his unique color or the fact he was my best friend, but because I now had someone to share my days with. If I got bored he could feel that, and he always found a way to cheer me up. He was sweet.

One morning, after I had collected all the chicken eggs and ate breakfast, I walked down to the washing river, a basket of clothing under my arm and another filled with strapped to Amie’s back. It was late into summer, almost fall, but the sun never relented, constantly beating down heat waves. I could feel sweat drip down my neck, and my bangs stuck to my forehead. All of the sudden I didn’t mind doing the wash. My family only owned about four items of clothing each, but working on the farm we tended get dirty fast, and clean clothing was always needed. Sy once got a huge rash ranging from the top of his knee to the bottom of his neck from wearing the same clothing for a week straight. The doctor insisted we always at least have clean under clothing on.

Amie let out a soft snort as we approached the stream. He was feeling the affects of the heat too and quickly wiggled out of the straps, his basket fell to the side. The water splashed everywhere as he climbed into the steam. The other women and men doing their wash let out several remarks of annoyance but as soon as he settled in the water, they returned to their work. Placed down my basket and pulled out a rope and tied it to two available trees before finding a free spot to begin my wash.

Amie waddled to my spot, half in, half out of the water, watching me sorting out stained clothing from the pile. A few birds chirped in the trees above, their melodies becoming intermingled with various washers chatter, and the sound of insects flittering about . A few flies landed on Amie, and he wiggled in the water to remove them.

“Isabelle!” An old woman who lived on the next plot of land with her children pointed her scrub brush at me, “Mind your pet or I will have to have a word with your father about letting him roam free.”

“Sorry Ma’am.” I muttered, filling an empty bucket with water. The old woman gave a grunt and returned to gossiping with the old crone next to her. I pursed my lips and added a scoop of cleaning mixture to the water in my bucket and looked for a free space to start scrubbing stains out. Amie gave a snort as I left the shore, but instead of a following me he submerged himself deeper in the water. A spot on the scrubbing table opened up, few adults stood around, and as I worked at the stain with a damp brush and stain soap I listened to snippets of the gossip going around the village.

A young man stood two tables away face red, hand waving wildly,“They’re raising taxes again this year!” I wrinkled my nose, that was boring.

My brows knit together and looked at the women scrubbing at my own table, hoping to listen to something more titillating, “The fall will be here shortly. When do you think the children will return to school? I can’t wait till one of my kids can read and do arithmetic! I am so tired of keeping track of my crops.”

Blech. That was boring. Instead I scanned the crowd. There was a table of woman crowded close together, whispering and giggling. Carefully pileling  the stained clothing into my bucket of soapy water to soak and slowly walked towards them, my ears perked, trying to hear snippets of their conversation.

A woman with thick, rimmed glasses and a narrow face whispered quietly to the women next to her. She was one of the women who came to the stream to gossip rather than do any washing. This was evident by the fact her husband was standing behind her, working a mixture of lemon, vinegar, and a fine powder of ash into their bedsheets. I slowed my pace as I approached her, pretending to look for an area on the show to rinse the sheets out.

The glassed wearing woman leaned in close, making sure those around her were hanging on her every word, “So the princess insisted on traveling all the way to this remote village insisting on meeting a boy!”

As the glassed woman wanted, her fellow washers gasped, one adding, “Is the young princess having an affair!”

The lead gossiper laughed, “Of course not! She’s seven. I believe they chalk it up to her searching for someone worthy of being her personal servant.”

Another woman snorted, “Only that! Why would she go so far? And wanting a male servant! How bold.”

Another added, “I heard that she’s blind. And that because of that she has a second sight. Maybe she foresaw the young man as her servant?”

The first woman frowned, “Don’t be stupid Elodie! That princess is blind but I highly doubt that The Three Sisters would allow for such… such… heathenism to occur in the royal family!” There was chorus of gasps and protests at the accusation, but a few giggles as well, pressing the conversation forward.

“The Royal Family has a blind daughter! Isn’t that enough to believe that there is a reason to suspect heathenism?”

“Maybe The Three Sisters knew she was going to have the gift of second sight, so they cursed her blindness!”

I pursed my lips, and walked down to where Amie was resting in the stream. Religion was such a dull topic. Like everyone else in Chemin, my household held an altar for our nations Goddesses, Heloise of the hearth, Henriette of the home, and Hilaire of the harvest. I didn’t know much about them, despite attending worship ceremonies which were dull, and the festivals where I was too focused on having fun to do much else. Hilaire, I knew, was the most important to farming villages, and that was who we had the most celebrations for. Harvesting was a very important aspect to farming, despite being a dull and repetitive task.

Despite the blistering heat, I hurried to finish the wash and return all of our clothing home. Laundry had suddenly become dull.