Prologue

The market is always exciting for me n’ Tobey. Cus here we can run n’ yell and laugh. There’s not nobody like Sir Championt there to tell us “shush”. After the bags get so heavy my arms can’t barely lift “em, I say to him, “I think we”re almost done”.

“Yep, “ He agrees, “you g’ see if you can find the rest whilst I goes n’ gets ur present in the store “cross the street.”

“But Tobey, you aint got no gold!” I yell, but he was already cross the street.

“I been saving” he yells, and then goes in.

I walk down the hill to the bread stand, and I”m lookin’ at what kinda bread I should get when there’s a big bang and the ground shakes. It’s real hot and I can’t see. There’s red in my eye and it’s gooey. Kinda smells like blood. It’s hot. I aint never been so hot. I can’t hear nothing “cept a ringin noise in my ears and it hurts to roll over. When I do get turned over and wipe the blood out of my eyes, I wish I never. The store Tobey went in ain’t there no more, just a big black mark. All the buildings beside are on fire and people are burning. Then I can”t see no more cus the blood’s back in my eyes.

Chapter 1

I was awoken by the sound of screaming. It was dreadfully loud, and somewhat eerie. It was a hollow, hopeless noise. It took me a moment to realize that I was the one screaming. I was shaking violently and each breath was a desperate gasp for air. One thought was impossible to shake. It was entirely my fault. The guilt ate away at my insides. Tears were forming and becoming trapped by my closed eyelids. I could hear Miss Molly and a new servant talking.

“Why’s she screaming?”

“A nightmare that’s all too real I’m afraid.”

“Should we wake her?”

“She is awake”

“You talk as if she does this all the time.”

“Every morning”

“What could have been so terrible?”

“ Six years ago her best friend died, it was her 10th birthday. Poor thing adored him. Probably even loved him. She’s never really got over it.”

What Miss Molly said was true. I suppose I never really did get over what happened that day. Tobey’s memory haunted all my dreams and I constantly had his image in the back of my mind. I “d wager that I could draw a flawless portrait of him with my eyes closed. Our moms were sold when we were babies, so like most of the servants “round, we were raised by Miss Marian (the head cook), Miss Molly (the head maid), Mr. Heckle (the gardener) and even a little by Tobias (the chief of the guards). Tobey thought Tobias must have been his dad since they had the same name. I think he might have been right because they had the same eyes.

Anyway, me and Tobey worked together for a long time. Tobey was always thinking of games that would make the work not so bad. When we mopped, we made pictures on the floor with the water. Sometimes we’d race n’ see who could collect the most eggs fastest without breaking none. Tobey always won, but I had fun just playing. But please don’t misunderstand. It’s not like I spent six years crying in bed. Life went on, though mornings were always hard.

I was running late again. It had become a habit. One that Sir Championt did not appreciate. I normally managed to catch up fairly well. That day I brushed my hair as I swept, and ate breakfast while I mopped. By the time I was ready the cold and cracked marble floor was spotless. I was working with Amelia, her and her sister Amy Leigh were the only female servants my age working in the manor at the time. We had just begun to wash the windows in the south wing, when we heard shouts from outside. As I recall it was more like a chant than shouting. Anyhow, Amelia and I were intrigued. After a quick glance at each other we dashed out onto the balcony.

There was a mob of middle-aged women and very young children gathered outside the gate. Some of the women held big pieces of parchment, but I was unable to make out their messages. “What’s all this?” Amelia wondered out loud.

“Looks to me like a protest.” I replied. This was very unusual. I don’t believe I had seen a protest since the war. That brought a pang of pain to my chest. The spasm always responded to any thought dealing with my 10th birthday, which had been the beginning of the war.

“What do you suppose they’re protesting?” Amelia asked, thankfully interrupting my train of thought.

“Let’s find out. Excuse me m’am.” I shouted to the nearest protestor. “But what exactly is it that you’re protesting?” The plump dark haired woman turned and smiled at me.

“We’re protesting slavery, miss, trying to free all the slaves.” I looked down at the women with scrutiny. They had expensive looking dresses, warm shawls, high heels and pompous little hats. I had difficulty grasping the idea of nobles being against slavery. It didn’t seem to fit.

“Aren’t you a noble m’am?” I asked her.

“Why yes, of course.” She replied indignantly.

“Then why is it you care about our freedom? Not that I’m complaining, but would it not be hurting yourself to free us? Seeing as we do all the household chores and such, it seems that you’d have to do it yourself if we was set free.” I realized that I was being somewhat ungrateful for their effort, but my curiosity had a tendency to overrule my manors.

“We care because you are humans, not animals. And the notion of us cleaning is ridiculously unnecessary. We plan to free the slaves, and hire them as servants. “ This reply left me even more confused then I’d been originally.

“Is there a difference? Between slaves and servants, I mean.”

“Well yes miss, there is. You see a servant receives wages for their work. They may live outside the house of the noble they work for and keep their children with them. Also they are free to leave and seek employment elsewhere.” It dawned on me that I was awfully uneducated. For years I’d been referring to myself and my colleagues as servants, when we were in fact slaves. The notion of being able to move about freely and have gold (well probably copper on a servant’s wage) of my own had never occurred to me. It was very appealing. I had been raised with the impression I was inferior, or at least with the knowledge that others felt that way about me. Inferior people were incapable of overcoming their status. Or so I’d thought.

I attempted to share my newfound hope with the other slaves. Notice I’ve made the distinction between slaves and servants and now use the proper term. I had idealistic plans of an open revolution, a strike. However the others did not enjoy where the conversations I started were going. Many were afraid, and probably rightly so. If we were to refuse work there would be consequences. We could handle a slap on the wrist; we had been receiving beatings regularly for as long as even the oldest of us remembered. It was the harsher consequences we feared. Executions, deprivation of food and separation from family, to name a few concerns. I considered waiting until more nobles took to the cause, but changed my mind. Years could go by without the protests having effect. I feared that those outside the manor’s gate would soon lose interest. I was on my own.

Suddenly it occurred to me. Once a month I went to market for the master. I would be alone, even unobserved. The concept sent me into a fit of giggles. The ironic laughter woke all my drowsy roommates. For years I’d had countless occasions in which escape was possible. What held me back? Fear? Hardly. I suppose others might have been unwilling to leave family behind. I had none. I felt as though a cold wet blanket was pulled off me and I could breath for the first time in years. In less than three weeks I could be free. It wasn’t until late afternoon the next day that I realized I had nowhere to go. It didn’t matter, I’d just leave town as quickly as possible and go wherever I could. Of course I had no gold of my own, but I would have the bundle of coins normally spent at the market.

The days dragged by after that. I was eager to go on an adventure. Contrarily I looked at the manor in a different light. There were certain aspects I’d miss. After all, I’d grown up there. I was tempted to hug my friends; Amelia and Amy Leigh. I resisted the temptation, in fear they would be punished for not stopping me, or tell where I was going under duress. I did however take the time to compose a letter. To the untrained eye my letter was a suicide note. My friends and I had developed a way of hiding a note within a note. The note they’d see explained my intentions of leaving the Manor.

Chapter 2

The morning of my escape I tried to act natural. I screamed when I woke up, as if I’d had my usual nightmare. It was possibly the first night in six years that I hadn’t, and I’m sure the others would have though it odd if I didn’t scream just a little bit. It wasn’t that I hadn’t dreamed, just that the dreams were somewhat pleasant. They revolved around a mysterious cave with blue walls, whirlpools and strange birds with rainbow feathers. I took care in placing the letter I’d written under my pillow. It would lay unnoticed until I was found missing.

As luck had it, as soon as I’d entered the town and bought myself a dress, I overheard a rather important conversation. The dress I bought was that of a lesser lady of the court. Much prettier than anything I’d worn, but nothing like that of the noble ladies I’d seen in the Manor. A woman in an elegant white gown with golden belt around her swollen belly was inquiring about the fastest way to the town Rhaxima. I sensed that she wanted to go alone but the man would not hear of it. “A lady so many months with child mustn’t be unaccompanied while traveling,” he said.

I could tell that she was strongly opposed to the notion of the man joining her, so I broke in. “But she would not be alone, good sir. For I will be driving her carriage”. The woman frowned in thought, but said nothing.

“A lady driver! That’s unheard of!” the man broke in. I quickly recovered,

“I am also a midwife, good sir, and hence perfect for the job. Should the madam go into labor, my presence will be quite necessary.” The man could think of no objections, and went on with his business. Apparently the idea of having to help with childbirth inspired him to busy himself.

“Are you truly a midwife, madam?” The noble woman wondered. “Indeed, my lady, and one in search for work elsewhere.” I replied. “Would you then consider accompanying me to Rhaxima? “ she invited. “It would be my pleasure. When do we depart?” It was all working well, and I was feeling quite smug, this lady could be my way out of town.

Two weeks had passed, and I was growing fond of the very pregnant Lady Carissa. We spent our time in the carriage talking, about everything. I’d learnt that she was a widowed scholar, and loved the written word. She was moving to Rhaxima to open a library, so that even those without gold could learn and enjoy reading. It was her passion and often after we set up camp she would lounge under the starry sky, reading the whole night through. I had never imagined it possible for a noble woman to be so compassionate and understanding. It became clear that Carissa would be more than mere transportation out of town. I began to see her as an ally to my cause, perhaps if I had the support of someone on the inside I could bring down the system from within. I hadn’t been completely honest about my profession as a midwife. However I had helped deliver many servants’ children so I knew enough to keep her convinced. I remembered that it was rare for a woman to become quite so large. The only other person I’d seen come close to that size had twins, so I advised her to plan on multiple births. This seemed to worry her, for raising one child alone is hard enough, raising two would prove to be even more challenging.

We’d only just set out that morning when she started yelling. I quickly pulled over the carriage and tied the horses to a nearby tree. All the births I’d seen had taken place on beds, but none were handy so I had to improvise by laying a blanket in the grass beside the road. The first child came out very easily. She was a beautiful little girl with blue-black hair and her eyes were as blue as the sea. The first thing she did was stick out her tongue out at me. It almost seemed intentional.

The second child took an hour to arrive. By then Lady Carissa was very tired. The baby had identical features to her sister, except that her hair was so blond it appeared white, and her eyes were gray with violet flecks. I had run out of blankets so I wrapped the grave faced child in my jacket and set her next to her twin. Lady Carissa was clearly in pain. Her eyes squeezed shut, her lips pursed, and her hair drenched in sweat. She let out a yelp and pushed. I was expecting the placenta so I gasped in surprise to find a head of flaming red hair. The charming baby I delivered looked up with her emerald green eyes.

I removed my sweater and carefully bundled up the red haired girl, placing her next to the others. It was remarkable how the three of them were so alike, and yet so different. After a moment of gazing at the little angels I returned to Lady Carissa. She was alarmingly still, but I assumed she was simply exhausted. I stroked her hair and my voice a whisper, informed her that her children were healthy. There was no response. Juddering shivers scaled my spine as the horrible realization came to me. I held her hand, willing a pulse to come, but it did not. Her eyes were unblinking. My own filled with tears, and I clung desperately to the Lady who had become my only friend.

After what must have been over an hour I managed to drag myself out of what felt comparable to a black hole. I didn’t know what to do. Where to go. Who to tell. And if I told someone what had happened would it somehow endanger me? Would they ask who I was? Would I be sent back to the Manor? I quickly dug a grave, and placed dear Lady Carissa’s body within. Marking the grave with a stone, I departed. I rode hard all night, not caring where I was going. At dawn there was a gentle rain, tapping on the carriage in a calming rhythm. I stopped the carriage and walked along the edge of the road. For a time I wandered around aimlessly, crying and remembering everything I could about Carissa. I stood my arms outstretched, my head titled back and I took in the rain. It was cool and revitalizing. This was a whole new way to look at rain. Suddenly it was all clear.

In her death, my friend presented me with an opportunity. Everyone in the town of Rhaxima was expecting her to arrive shortly. They knew she was with child. An empty store and mansion awaited her. Most importantly, not one of them had ever looked upon her face. I knew what I had to do. Perista the slave girl was no more. I pushed my identity away. From now on I would be known as Carissa Callistine, widowed, librarian. It was perfect. At first I had wondered where to go, how to move on without Carissa’s aid. It now seemed that I would be the noble who made a difference. I hurried back to the carriage to look in on the children.

They were to be my children now, and that brought me comfort. They were by far the most adorable babies I’d ever seen, and it pained me to think that Carissa never had the opportunity to enjoy them. It occurred to me that they’d need names. Carissa and I had discussed possible names during the long carriage ride, she had picked three possible names for boys, and three for girls, saying she would narrow it down further once she saw them. She explained to me that certain names had hidden meanings and that they are sometimes more appropriate for one child then another. I picked up the dark haired girl on the left, bringing her to my eye level. “Ciara, meaning black and mysterious.” I kissed her tiny forehead and placed her on the seat. Next I picked up the blond baby. “Cardea” I proclaimed “After the Goddess of protecting the home.” When I picked up the third child I declared, “Cleopatra, you are the glory of the father.” And so my children were named.

Chapter 3

When I arrived in Rhaxima and asked for directions to my new home I was given vague instructions. I got lost and had to stop again, at a seamstress’s shop. All the ladies there swooned over the triplets. I was pleased that they didn’t question my identity for I had been worried no one would believe I was Carissa. I could never go back to the Manor, not as a slave, not after this. Freedom sounds awful nice when you’re in captivity, but if you were born in a cage and never really felt it, then it’s not a necessity. But once you have a taste, once you see how much you missed, how could you go back to being satisfied with a cage? This was the beginning of a new life, and I had no intention of letting anything put me back in my old prison.

After sharing a small room with six people my whole life, I didn’t know what to do with myself in my new home. I had grown up in servitude, working in the manor of a cruel aristocrat since I could just barely walk. To live on my own, free to do what I wanted was unthinkable. The death of my dear friend Carissa had presented me with an opportunity. Now I was in a place where nobody knew me, pretending to be someone I was not. It was exhilarating in a “It”s so frightening I feel sick’ sort of way. I kept catching myself dusting, making my bed, washing the dishes… all things that could have given me away, but I was not accustomed to leaving such tasks for someone else.

A couple of days after I arrived in town, once I was settled in I went to take a look at the library I had inherited, leaving my girls with a nice servant (Don’t judge me! I paid her!!!!) named Madelyn, who I hired as a nanny and stayed in a high tower of my mansion. I refuse to refer to my home there as a manor.

The library was immense! With 3 spiral staircases winding up to platforms containing even more bookshelves! I took note that a paint job was called for. Along with the paint job there would have to be a lot of repairs; some of the shelves were crooked or cracked and the floor had a hideous carpet that pricked my bare feet. Not to mention the dust smudged everywhere and the mud caked to the wall. The building had potential but it was in disrepair.

As I’m sure I mentioned earlier, a library for the poor was a logical beginning in the fight against slavery. I wanted to make sure that when I delivered independence and freedom, my people would be capable of adjusting. The more educated they were, the easier that would be. Or so I thought.

* * * * * * * * * *

Each day a new shipment of books arrived at the library. It seems Carissa had already hired scribes to make her copies. When one such delivery arrived I talked to the man who brought them, “I hear rumors that there have been protests against slavery in the North.”

It was risky, bringing up such a matter, I know, but he looked like a good honest man, not very well off himself. Tradesmen, Madelyn informed me, are above servants but below nobles. They are free and independent but pay ridiculous taxes to the nobles and always lose their cases if brought to court. While that was misfortunate, I still saw their lives as much more comfortable then those of slaves.

It occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to elevate slaves to the level of luxury nobles enjoyed, at least not all at once. However I aimed to have slavery abolished in the immediate future, (starting in Rhaxima and slowly spreading throughout the land) allowing slaves to be servants instead. It was an improvement. To you, it may not seem drastic enough, since you may see servants as lowly. I however know that those “minor” variations make the world of difference when you are the one who was once oppressed. Once everyone was free and comfortable I would encourage servants to take up trades, make more money and advance in society. My plan seemed genius at the time. Why is it that somewhere between the image in your mind, and the result of the actions you take, things have a way of getting lost?

“Bout time, too, “s what I think.”

The man”s voice startled me. I’d forgotten he was there. My mind has a habit of wandering. “Yes, I agree. Poor dears, they’re treated like animals. People are people, I think they should be paid for their services.”

I tried to imitate the accent of the protestor woman whose words had inspired me to run away and be a part of the revolution. Though nothing I did would be as drastic as a coup d’état, no violence or overthrown government, rather a change in people’s state of mind. I found myself wondering if Amelia and Amy Leigh had found my letter, if they understood my reasons for leaving.

“I wonder,” I continued, “Do you know how the protests all started?”

“Yes m’am, I heard tell that in a nation to the south, I forget the name, there isn’t any slavery there you see, and the serfs there are starting to get rights. After some nobles took a trip there they decided to free their own slaves and encourage others to join them”

I inwardly cursed my lack of education as I desperately searched my vocabulary for “serf”. I nodded and smiled, making a mental note to look it up later.

Chapter 4

I noted the seasons were changing again, as tiny white flakes drifted gently from the sky and melted against my window. I put down the “Social Classes of Modern Society” I’d been reading when I heard Madelyn yell.

“Ciara! No! Oh, Ciara!”

It seemed the oldest of the triplets was at it again. I hurried to the kitchen. There I found the black haired child sitting on the floor covered in food. I thought to myself that it wasn’t that bad, since toddlers often make a mess. Then I looked around the room. All four walls were dripping in baby food, the counters had little handprints and dishes were broken on the floor not far from where Ciara sat.

“Ciara…” I groaned, more to myself then to her. I quickly scooped her up in my arms, not wanted her to get cut by the glass. She grinned maliciously at me and stuck out her tongue.

“I’m sorry miss,” Madelyn apologized, “I only left her for a second.”

Once Ciara had been cleaned up and tucked into bed I returned to “Social Classes of Modern Society”. While the kitchen was a disaster area, and would take hours upon hours to clean, I’d enjoyed having something to distract me from the 500 page novel in front of me. 500 pages does not seem like that much now, but I’d only just learned to read since I came to Rhaxima six months before. Here’s what I’d gotten out of the book so far:

Slave: One bound in servitude as the property of a person or household. A person who is held in bondage to another; one who is wholly subject to the will of another; one who is held as a chattel; one who has no freedom of action, but whose person and services are wholly under the control of another.

Serf: A member of the lowest feudal class, attached to the land owned by a lord and required to perform labor in return for certain legal or customary rights. Bound to fixed payments and duties in respect of their lord, though, as it seems, without any legal redress if injured by him.

Servant: One who is privately employed to perform domestic services. One who serves, or does services, voluntarily or on compulsion; a person who is employed by another for menial offices, or for other labor, and is subject to his command; a person who labors or exerts himself for the benefit of another, his master or employer1

Those definitions were all I could comprehend in the book, and even then at times I had difficulty seeing the distinction. The only clear difference seemed to be that a slave had no rights at all, while a serf and a servant had limited ones.

My tutor, a man named Skylar who Madelyn had recommended, had told me the book was full of the knowledge I needed. He claimed it would help me to understand what was necessary before social mobilization would be possible. I had no idea what social mobilization was, but I was sure I would by the time I finished the book.

Skylar had been a slave. Madelyn suggested that whenever I wished to hire someone to help around the house I should buy a slave. That way I am slowly freeing the slave community. I suppose it was a good start. The day I met Skylar was the first time I ever went to the slave market. I took the opportunity to also hire a cook named Vesta and a maid, Rhian.

Another shipment of books had arrived that morning and I stared gloomily around the library, or at least what I hoped would eventually resemble a library. Box upon box upon box were spread around and on top of my desk. Ridiculously hefty boxes that I couldn’t move were all around me. I bent; trying to lift a cumbersome parcel I’d tripped over twice already and had put down in response to the protests of my back muscles. I am never going to finish! The books will never get on the shelves! What am I doing here? What made me believe myself capable of doing this alone? I am never going to free my friends. I was very pessimistic that month and there was one day when I almost gave up.

I had been working all day at cataloging books. Books that were far too difficult for me to read. I wondered whom I was kidding, running a library. I could barely read! I was also running out of money, the vault in the house was near empty, so where there was once a heavy cover I could now see the hardwood floor. The house, the building for the library, the shipments of books, the paint, and hiring all the slaves when I had already had to pay for when freeing them! It was all very expensive, and I wondered how I would ever make money, since checking out books would be free.

The triplets were not making it any easier. They had recently turned a year old and they were already acting as if in their terrible twos. Ciara was the most difficult; she found a way to crawl out of her crib and was constantly making a mess. She ripped the hair out of Cleo’s doll and put it in Cardea’s ear. Cleo was devastated about her doll, and cried all day no matter what I did.

The combination of working at the library and chasing after the girls was overwhelming. I had no time to study with Skylar and it had been days since I even thought about my plans for the future. I loved the triplets, but I doubted my own ability to take care of them, and the library was Carissa’s dream, not mine. Carissa, it had been a while since I’d thought of her and I felt guilty for not taking more time to grieve. However, thinking of her friendship was not enough to keep me dedicated to the library and I desired a way out. Before I made the final decision I wanted to talk to Skylar. Rhian was cleaning Skylar’s room when I got there, and she advised me that he’d gone to the slave market.

Determined to find him, I took my horse straight there. The slave market was never pretty; it was dank, and dirty. Cages of tarnished iron bars held rag clothed prisoners, while others were tied to moldy wooden posts or corroded wagons, blood crusted on the ropes that joined their bruised wrists together. I met one little girl’s eyes and it stopped me. She was about ten years old, with flaxen hair in ratty braids. Her face was smudged with caked on dirt and she was missing a tooth. I barely noticed all of that because it was the pain in her eyes that stopped me. A child who should have no memories other then joyful play had the haunted gaze of a war veteran. I saw in that single moment that she had suffered more than the average person would in a lifetime. She saw I was watching her and whimpered, pressing back into the cage, afraid. It horrified me that she would see me as a threat, but I wore a noble woman’s dress. I remembered a time when I had been a frightened little girl, traumatized by Tobey’s death, and my hatred for all nobles. I had lived in luxury for a year, with a bathtub, a warm bed, three meals a day. It dawned on me that I was coming close to becoming one of them, someone who didn’t even notice the suffering around me. How could I give up now? Knowing that I would be giving up on people like the girl in the cage. I couldn’t.

I strode up to the slave trader and tossed a couple of coins at him, avoiding looking at his decaying teeth that were a disgusting mix of yellow and black. “I’m interested in purchasing the child, let me look at her.” I was perhaps a little harsh, my fiery gaze daring him to even speak to me. It was impossible to control my hatred for anyone involved in slavery.

“Can’t sleep?”

My gaze moved from the starry night sky to the open doorway of my home. Madelyn stood there, cradling a sleeping child, whose blond head rested on her nanny’s shoulder.

“I guess I’m a little nervous,” I explained, “The grand opening of the library’s tomorrow.”

“Yes, I know. What is it you’re nervous about Miss?”

“I invited everyone in town. It would be rather embarrassing if no one came.”

Madelyn laughed, “There’s no need to worry about that. The people in this town live for events like this. At the introduction of the library itself the scholars will swoon over the books, the uneducated nobles will complement you on your choice of wallpaper.” She grinned at her last comment, “ And then you will go to the town hall for the party. They will all be excited about the chance to dress up and show off their riches. Parties are their life. I know all you have planned for tomorrow and it’s a magnificent party. This finalizes it, now you’re in. You are a part of their world. No place better to fight then within the belly of the beast.”

It amazed me how insightful the young woman could be. I had never told her of my plans to change the very basis of our society. I had never told her I wasn’t a noble. That I wasn’t the real Carissa Callistine. She knew. I suppose that should have worried me, that if one person could see my true identity that meant other people would as well. The thought never occurred to me.

I stood alone in the massive library, an hour before the grand opening. The bright colours of the book covers made the once drab building appear vibrant. I wondered how Carissa had got enough money to afford the magnificent building and the hundreds of books. I wondered if only the nobles would come. I had invited everyone. I concluded that the servants and slaves were too busy working, not permitted to come, and sighed.

Everyone I’d hired to work in the library was getting ready for the party. I was already in my black gown, my hair pined up with the occasional ringlet loose and I was wearing more makeup then I had in my entire life. I stared at the door, my heart racing. It was almost time.

Chapter 5

“Do you have Liberty at Large?”

I turned to meet a young man’s gaze. He had dazzling green eyes that were electric with intelligence. I stared into them for a moment, it seemed they had their own gravity, drawing me into them. I forced myself to look away.

“Do you know the author” Skylar had been focusing my lessons on literary terms. A few months earlier I wouldn’t have been able to tell you the meaning of the word “author”.

“Yes, Kateb Fanchon, perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

I nodded absently, still lost in the emerald swirls of his irises. I walked in a daze to the F section of the library. Skylar had been very insistent we arrange the books in alphabetical order by author. I quickly located the book and picked it up. It made my Social Classes of Modern Society look like a scrap of parchment. I struggled not to drop Liberty at large as I handed it to the young man.

I took in the rest of his face, up until then I’d been too focused only on his eyes. His nose was slightly flattened on top and curved up at the end. It was strangely adorable. His features were lit up by a lopsided smile as he eagerly flipped through the pages.

After a moment he looked up and seemed to remember where he was. “Forgive me, I have a passion for the written word and books have been hard to come by in this area.”

“So I’ll be seeing you often?”

“Unquestionably!”

I couldn’t suppress my grin. Not only was I happy I’d see the charming young man again, his passion for reading gave me hope. If the nobles in Rhaxima were educated, they might understand that our social system was wrong. Liberty at large seemed like a title I should be reading. The author must be a revolutionary, an activist who believed people did not have the liberty they deserved. If a young noble was reading that it meant he was willing to change the system.

On the other hand it could be quite the opposite. If the nobles were intelligent it would be difficult to manipulate them, change their minds. Uneducated people are much more gullible. There was also a chance that it was the young man’s job was to stamp out the uprisings and protests. Maybe he was learning how to take away freedom or perhaps the author was an aristocrat, who saw his liberty threatened by the advancement of the lower classes. He didn’t want them stealing the aristocrats’ wealth, employment or land. I did not want to believe the last two theories.

The young man looked up from his book and smiled a lopsided grin. “My name’s Akuji Franz Phoenix, but my friends call me Echo.” I politely shook his outstretched hand.

“I am Carissa Callistine,” I even threw in a curtsy like Skylar had showed me. “Forgive me but I must attend to other guests.

“Of course.”

“Good evening,” I greeted an elderly woman in a scarlet gown.

“Good evening,” she replied, “I just love the wallpaper! Wherever did you find it?” I suppressed a giggle and glanced at Madelyn who was serving drinks.

I sat on the steps in front of the mansion, watching the sunrise. I’d been up all night. The scholars had indeed been impressed with the selection of books the library offered them, but none of them could match the enthusiastic grin on Echo’s face. The other nobles had arrived just in time for the party afterwards. The party had actually been pleasant, there were musicians, delicious food and watching drunken aristocrats dance around gave me a good laugh. It ended very late and I was too antsy to sleep. Cleo stirred in my arms and I looked down at the crimson haired child. She smiled and yawned, snuggling closer to me. I hoped I could provide her with as good a future her real mother would have. I pondered for a long time about how I could get the opportunity to talk with the slaves and lower class citizens of the community. Then it came to me.

Chapter 6

“Welcome,” I greeted the group of slaves huddled before me. “As your Lords and Ladies have informed you, I am providing a free course on how to be a good servant. I will instruct you on proper greetings and cleaning hints, but more importantly I will teach you how to read and write.” There was a murmuring throughout my audience. “ Learning these basic intellectual skills will not only benefit your masters, but yourself. It is the first step to a better life.”

Almost a month had passed since I first got the idea to offer a protocol class for slaves. Their masters believed their housework would improve, so they allowed it, but really my goal was to get access to the people. I decided to start off slow, teach them to read and write before I told them of my goal concerning the abolition of slavery. Since I was a beginner myself, I rarely taught them myself, instead Skylar and Echo did most of the teaching. Echo had stumbled across a lesson one day, since they took place in the library and he was always there. I discreetly mentioned that I thought there could be benefits to an educated working class, but that the nobles wouldn’t understand. He had grinned and joined immediately, my fears evaporating as his handsome smile grew.

“One of my cousins is coming into town. He is here primarily on business but he’ll be staying with me. I am planning a party in his honor and I was wondering, well if, you, er, you know, would like to come. With me.” Echo’s face reddened as he said this and he fidgeted with a button on his shirt.

I agreed, trying not to giggle with glee, or jump with excitement. It had been several months since the first time he had walked in on an “etiquette” session and he had become one of the primary instructors.

The slaves were making progress, almost half could read and about half of those who could read could write. Everyone knew the basics such as the alphabet and how to sound out individual syllables.

“So you’ll come before dinner?” his voice snapped me out of my daze. Once I got to thinking about the library and my teaching my mind would go off on tangents. “Yes, though if you need help I can come early.”

My crimson dress was just a bit too long, so I struggled not to trip over the hem with my wobbly heels. The constricting corset threatened to slowly suffocate me, and my side ached as the blood struggled to squeeze by. I desperately scrubbed the smeared lipstick off my chin, frantic at the sight of my skin reddening at the rough touch of the cloth.

“Madelyn!”

“Yes? Oh, miss! You look lovely!” she exclaimed enthusiastically.

“Help!” I gasped exasperated, handing her a handful of makeup that I was not capable of applying in a way I didn’t resemble a jester or a child playing dress up.

The hours of worrying and fussing with the dress and makeup were rewarded by Echo’s charming half smile. I helped him the best I could, but honestly I wasn’t very useful. The servants had everything I would have been capable of doing under control.

There were almost a hundred people who came in elegant gown and suits that made me wonder if perhaps I was underdressed. As much as my insecurity made me question my appearance, the dress was the most beautiful thing I had ever worn and even with the corset restricting my movements the silky material made me feel delicate and graceful. I would never have thought it possible for those words to describe me.

Echo was busy at dinner with other guests, so I sat with his sister, Raisie. She has bright red hair that fell in fiery ringlets around her slender face. She had booming laughter that could be heard across the hall and loved to hear herself speak. She mostly chattered about nothing, never letting me jump in. I didn’t mind. I wasn’t entirely sure what to say anyhow, this was the first large gathering I had attended since the grand opening of the library.

Once the feast was over, Echo hurried to my side and dragged me to the dance floor. “Forgive me for not rescuing you sooner, I know she can be impossible.” He smiled apologetically and I laughed.

“It was refreshing, she’s very sweet” it was his turn to laugh and he spun me around.

“Well, she certainly gives your throat a rest,”

We danced in silence and I was thankful that Madeline had taught me, using Skylar as an example. When the estampie ended he leaned forward to kiss me and I couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time anyone had.

So we was walking down the hall and Tobey turns to me. “So “ur ten now.” he starts. I nod. “Wh”a d’ya wish fer?” he asked. “A kiss” I tell him, and giggle just a little. The middle of his cheeks turn bright pink, I smile, he’s always gettin’ “barassed. He leans forward a little and his lips brush against mine! “Hap” Birth day” he mumbles.

Echo stopped before his lips reached mine and I wondered if I had thought out loud or called him Tobey but his eyes were fixed beyond me.

“Ah! There he is, come, meet my cousin.”

I turned and saw the dark haired man who had lived in my nightmares since I could scarcely talk. My blood abandoned my head, leaving it to struggle in the mundane tasks of seeing clearly and remaining standing. My stomach lurched as I tried to pull away but Echo was guiding me to him, seemingly unaware of my frantic condition. The corset was digging into my sides but I no longer cared; all of my attention was on the man I was moving towards.

“This, is the woman I’ve been telling you about, “Echo said proudly, wrapping his arm around me casually. Maybe he won’t remember. I lied to myself. Maybe he won’t know. Please don’t recognize me. I pleaded silently. I forced myself to smile and curtsied the best I could. I could tell by his hard glare that he knew. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. My limbs were cold and numb as if my body was on strike and the blood refused to circulate. Echo sensed the hostility in the air and said something, I couldn’t understand him. The room was spinning. Can’t breathe. The cold encompassed me and was sucked into the darkness that had been lurking in the corners of my vision.

Chapter 7

I flinch as my bare feet touch the cool cobblestone floor. You’d think that I’d be used to it by now. I tiptoe in the dark right up to the kitchen door, where everyone else is hard at work. I’ve slept in. I wonder why no body woke me. Maybe they haven’t noticed I’m late.

“There’s the sleepy head birthday girl!” Miss Marian yells. Everyone laughs and cheers. This is the one great thing about the Manor. Even though we all work hard, with hardly none of food and rest, Miss Marian and the other grown up servants always make birthdays special for us.

I notice that Tobey’s standing “cross the room. His crooked smile lighting up his freckly face. His sandy hair, like always, flowed this way and that. “Hap B”irth deh” he breathed. He’s holding a muffin in his hand, and it has a candle on top, that’s lit. “ma’k er wish” he encourages.

I close my eyes and do just that. I open them and blow. I have to blow twice before it goes out all the way. Everyone laughs. The laughter dies away as crisp footsteps approach. “What is this?” Sir Championt’s deep harsh voice yells. “Why are you all standing around doing nothing? Are you useless? Get back to work!” The kitchen returned to the usual hustle and bustle. “You there” the harsh voice says. I look up and see that it’s me he is pointing at. “Take this list to market and get everything on it. ”He drops a couple of gold coins into my hand. As he marches away, halfway to the door he spins around and points at Tobey. “Go with her.”

* * * * * * * * * * *

When I gained consciousness there were deep voices in a heated debate. “She is a slave! My slave! A worthless, no good runaway, nothing more.”

“She is a noblewoman, a scholar who owns the library I’ve been working at.”

“She stole the money”

“No, she’s a widow, her and her children…”

The voices swam in my head as I struggled to open my heavy eyelids. I wondered if Sir Championt was really there, or if I was mixing the past with the present. I wondered what would be worse, if he was there or if I’d gone mad. I decided to go with the madness.

* * * * * * * * * * *

“She’s here to identify you.”

I rose from my crouch and leaned against the cool metal bars of my cell.

“Who is?”

“Miss Callistine, the woman who you claim is your sister.”

I gulped rapidly.

The woman who walked in stiffly resembled Carissa from the soft wave of her hair to the small rounded nose. Her eyes were full of fear, that is until she saw me and the fear was replaced by grief. Her knees buckled, leaving her tumbling to the gravel floor. She wailed and clutched at her stomach for a time.

I wanted the tears to stop, the wailing to end. But then it did, and I wished it hadn’t because in place of grief their was rage. She leapt off the gravel and brushed off her dress with such force that pebbles were flung into my cell, bouncing off the bars. She grasped those bars in such a way that I had the impression the flexing fingers would have been circling my throat were I not safely behind them. She glared at me, her nostrils flaring like a bull enticed by the matador. Her spit struck me on the cheek but was washed away by my tears that had long ago streaked black lines of makeup down to my chin.

“Murderer,” she snarled, “MURDERER!” she repeated the wretched word so loudly that my heart seemed to beat to the sound of her voice. With each syllable a firework in my chest went off, it’s effect rippling to the protruding vain on my forehead.

“I didn’t kill her! She died at childbirth, her body was so tired…” I gasped for breath, failing to control my sobs. “The triplets were too much…”

“Liar!” her accusing voice was penetrating my feeble defenses and guilt began to eat away at my intestines. I had not killed her, not in the horrible way she imagined. But I was partially responsible because I WAS a liar. I had told Carissa that I was a midwife, and I wasn’t. Maybe a proper midwife would have been able to save her, maybe she would have lived if I had not lied. I fought the guilt and forced my lower lip to stop trembling. She had been planning on traveling alone, without me the children might have died. The children! It had been days since I’d seen the girls, and I desperately prayed they were being cared for.

“Your sister and I were friends, we were traveling together when she went into labor. I had no intention before her death of taking her place, she was a wonderful woman. After she died, I could not abandon the children, so I raised them as my own, please…”

“Where are the children?” Her rage had wavered slightly, so now it was only hellish anger.

“I..” I turned to the guard. “They took them… Please take care of them, they are innocent, they didn’t know…”

Chapter 8

“Those who are born poor, live poor. And they will die poor. Those born rich will most likely live rich, though occasionally they will die poor if they have misspent their money. That is the way the world works.”

I saw my opportunity to break in and did, “What kind of world is this if the only kind of social mobility possible is to move down. In a land where so many people have nothing how can we tell them it can only get worse, when clearly it can get better! I realize our definition of what a person is differs greatly, and that you do not consider the people I fight for to be more than animals whose sole purpose is to serve you. However if we continue to treat the slaves and serfs this way they will not be the only ones to endure hard times, but the entire population including the aristocrats as well. Our economy suffers! It is not because our products are not well made or our service inadequate, it is because there is no one to buy those products and services. If the slaves were freed and hired as paid workers, then they would provide the market with new customers. They would be able to spend money on food, clothes, and other items. The small amount a noble would have to pay their servants would be more then compensated by the money they would make selling to other nobles’ servants. If the nobility will not free the enslaved human beings because it is the decent thing to do, then they will do it for their own good. The abolition of slavery and serfdom is the only way Rhaxima will prosper. The nobles would still profit from the work of others but the workers would have a greatly improved quality of life.”

I was amazed that I’d managed to express the words that had been locked in the back of my mind for so long. I had realized long before that appealing to their sense of decency was futile, so I incorporated into my speech the one thing they all cared about. I used their greed to capture their attention in a way that would not have been otherwise possible. I knew money was all the avaricious men before me cared about and I gave them a solution to their problem. I didn’t lie about the financial benefits of liberating slaves, I had no doubt it was true. I wondered why it hadn’t occurred to me sooner.

“Miss, do not presume to address this council with the attitude that you are an equal, capable of giving your BETTERS advice on how to do business.” his condescending tone conflicted with the realization reflected. He believed what I had said.

Even with the reassurance feeling of knowing he feared I was right, his words snapped me out of her thoughts and brought me back to reality. I looked around; almost the entire town had come for the trial. Even the slaves were permitted to be there, I was to be used as a lesson to the others.

I was the final witness, the only one for the defense. The prosecution had brought many people to the stand. First there was Sir Championt, my old master, the horrible man who had uncovered my identity. Next was Echo, my friend, or I suppose my ex-friend now that he knew I was only a slave. He knew the details of how I had been secretly teaching the slaves to read and write, telling them of the rights they should fight for. There were many minor witnesses that had worked for me or seen me in town. The last witness to testify against me was Miss Callistine. I was accused of killing her sister.

My case was hopeless. I’d plead guilty to running away and to impersonating a noble. However I naturally plead not-guilty to the charge of murder of which I was innocent. I had no witnesses to Carissa’s death, and I was unable to remember where it was I had buried her body. About half way from here and the next village was as close as I could guess. They had every reason to believe I killed her and if I thought too much on it, I began to question myself.

I knew the noblemen hated me, for trying to change them but I had no idea how the slaves felt. I predicted they hated me too, for getting them in trouble and mostly for giving them false hope. A yellow bird was sitting on the windowsill and I sat silently for a moment watching it. I supposed a bird could live in a cage and be happy with what their master provided. But if someone were to tell the bird that he could have room to fly around, that he deserved to experience the sky… well, then the cage would become unbearable and to lose hope of touching the clouds would leave the bird worse off then before. I wondered if a bird that lived his whole life in a cage should envy a bird that escaped for a day, or if perhaps it was the other way around. A bird that was once wild suffers more in a cage, because he understands what he is missing. It seemed somewhat silly, to be thinking about birds at a trial that would decide my fate, but I suppose it was more then just the birds I was thinking about.

Chapter 9

There was a lot of incoherent clammer that was barely audible from my cold cell but indicated a commotion outside. I sat on the slimy dew covered gravel, wondering how there was dew in the basement of a prison. Perhaps it wasn’t dew at all and at that thought I stood up to avoid touching it. I’d asked the guard five times where my children were, and gained five bruises as a reply. I rubbed at the newest one on my left arm and wondered if a sixth time would earn me a full beating. There were two sets of brisk footsteps coming towards me and I approached the cool bars to see who it was. The unhealthily thin man with a long mustache had a feather in his hat. A gruff balding guard accompanied him, as if the frail man was a danger to the massive guard who stood outside my cell all night.

The man with the feathered hat cleared his throat and twisted his moustache thoughtfully around the index finger. “Hello”

I nodded at him, unsure what to say under the circumstances. He stood there twirling his moustache until he realized I was not planning on speaking.

“If you want a chance at an appeal you’ll have to call this off you know.” He said matter-of-factly.

“Call what off?” I asked, adjusting my torn dress self-consciously.

“So you claim you have nothing to do with this, this… uproar?” he sounded insulted, as if he was not dignified enough to believe what he thought to be a lie.

“What happened?” I was excited. No, I was worried; worried that someone had been hurt, worried about the children, worried that I would be sent back to the manor.

“They won’t work.” My eyes widened. What did he mean THEY? Surely he must have meant the slaves. Had ALL the slaves stopped working? No. They wouldn’t. “None of them will cook or clean or work in the fields. The whole lot of them are mad! Mad, I tell you! Now you look here Miss, they are getting beatings and their food privileges have been taken away. If you don’t call this off right quick then I reckon most of them will die. Some of them will be executed and some will starve, depending on their masters. You call this off. You call this off now!”

He was angry. He had told me I was lucky, that this was one of the few towns where slaves were even given trials; most times punishment was left up to their masters. I shuddered at the thought. I tried to wrap my mind around the idea of the strike. It made sense, in a way but there would be many casualties. At the very least it would make the nobles realize how much they depended on slaves, without workers for a few weeks, they would fall behind in production, they might become so desperate that they offer to pay the slaves for work. It was a faulty plan, but as good as any under the circumstances.

Footsteps approached and I struggled to pull the rags, which were the remainder of my once beautiful scarlet dress, into a position that covered most of me. I wiped my face with my hands but I doubted it made a visible difference. I could tell by the sound of the steps that it was him.

After what seemed like an eternity he was there, only a step away, with only the cool metal bars between us. His face was creased with thought or worry, and was missing his usual half smile. Whether it was the dim light of the distant torches or the absence of his smile, his face was dark and shadowed. His eyes maintained their emerald spark of intelligence but it was behind a cloud of uncertainty. He was unable to decide how he felt about me. There was still the affection but also betrayal. I had lied to him and I’m sure he wondered if anything I had said was true, or if he knew me at all.

I had similar conflicted feelings about him. He was the first person I had felt a real connection with since Tobey. Yet, he had testified against me, he had told the court things he had promised were between us. Yet if I felt betrayed by him then why had I been frantically waiting for his arrival, why was one of my darkest fears that I would not have the chance to explain or see him again.

There was long time where we stood in silence, staring into each other’s haunted eyes. Both of afraid. Both of us Betrayed. And Both of unsure of where to go from there. I laugh to think of that now, where would I have gone? My cell didn’t exactly provide a multitude of options.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” the accusation stung me.

“I didn’t…I didn’t want to remember, I wanted to move on, I was in a position to make a difference and I couldn’t risk it. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand.”

“You should have trusted me.”

“Should I have? Would you have let me stay there with you after I mentioned your cousin’s name? Would you have reported me as…as…a worthless runaway as he called me.”

“I’m not my cousin.”

“No. But you testified against me.”

He looked at his hands, and dropped them helplessly to his sides. “Was any of it real?”

“I…listen Echo. I didn’t kill her, you don’t understand what it was like. I had to get away, and I had no where to go once she died, I had been planning on staying with her…”

My sentences were running together and I doubt I made much sense but there are some things that even the most articulate person has difficulty explaining. And I have never claimed to be articulate.

I sat numbly cold, shifting irritably trying to find a position that did not result in an alarmingly sharp rock jabbing me. Echo’s visit had left me in a strange mood, I was uncertain if I felt better or worse having seen him. We both had the lingering feeling of betrayal and guilt but eventually the mutual attraction overcame the rest of it. Yet somehow, knowing he was out there and wanted me made me feel even more trapped.

Sometimes sitting there all alone with the exception of the guerilla-like guard who grunted occasionally, I imagined the walls closing in. The bars would inch closer as I shuffled back on my hands and knees into a corner. I would wake from these delusions huddled in the corner. I had acted out my daymare unconsciously. The hallucinations would leave me juddering with a tingling sensation that overcame my legs that lost the ability to stand.

It was many days until the man with the great twitching moustache returned, it jerking in fear or anger, I wasn’t sure which. “The council has decided to release you to your master’s care on the condition you instruct your “followers to stop their ridiculous campaign.

My master. The words reverberated in my mind, sending chills to my fingers and toes. My mind argued that I would be warm and have food, which I would be with my old friends. And yet a part of me was screaming in terror, tempted to cower in the corner and ignore what the mustached man had said. I can”t go back. I can’t pretend none of this happened and be…be…nothing, not after I was somebody. Was rotting in a prison cell a better life? Was I something here? Could I refuse what may be last opportunity of escape? Could I ask my people to stop trying? To go back to how things were before? Perhaps I didn’t have a choice, they were being killed by the dozens and I wasn’t sure I could bare another execution.

A trillion questions I was unable to answer. My mouth opened and closed, unable to form a reply. Each option was uniquely awful and I felt like a suicidal person, deciding which death was more fitting. The prison was like poison, seeping into me and unhatching my hold on reality. Going back to the manor was like being hung, I would suffocate at the lack of freedom and wing there, for all to see. I wondered what would happen if I agreed to speak to the people, but then told them to revolt. Execution would be a swift death like the guillotine. Of the three deaths I preferred the 3rd, though I was not suicidal and eventually resigned myself to the hangman.

“I will speak with them.” I said, my voice sounding weak and fragile.

The man stopped fiddling with his moustache and frowned. “Very well.”

Chapter 10

The second I was standing on the platform I regretted my decision and changed my mind. Before me there was a crowd that filled the town square and spilled out into the alleys. On the rooftops there were brutish men with bows and arrows, I recognized one of them as the gorilla from the prison. They were using me as bate and the crowd were lambs to the slaughter. I was being paranoid, the men on the rooftops were only a precaution for if there was a riot.

“Hello, I am Perista, many of you know mw as Carissa Callistine. I respect what you are trying to do by refusing to work; though I worry that there will be consequences. You are right to deny them your service.” I ignored the man twirling his moustache that coughed and stamped his foot, “You deserve rights and salaries. You deserve freedom!” I noticed the arrows on the rooftops were now directed at me.

“So not use violence to gain your freedom if it is avoidable, for that makes you no better then they are. They have seen that I can read, and write and speak to them as equals. They have seen that am more than a mere animal! We are people! But I have betrayed their trust in pretending to be someone I am not. I want you to show them your intelligence but more importantly I want you to show them your moral standards. Make THEM change the way they treat us.”

From out of nowhere Echo jumped up onto the stage and cried out, “If you have any decency at all you will free your slaves,”

There was a flash of light and a whooshing in the air that send me hurtling into the past.

I walk down the hill to the bread stand, and I’m lookin’ at what kinda bread I should get when there’s a big bang and the ground shakes. It’s real hot and I can’t see. There’s red in my eye and it’s gooey. Kinda smells like blood. It’s hot. I aint never been so hot. I can’t hear nothing “cept a ringin noise in my ears and it hurts to roll over. When I do get turned over and wipe the blood out of my eyes, I wish I never. The store Tobey went in aint there no more, just a big black mark. All the buildings beside are on fire and people are burning. Then I can”t see no more cus the blood’s back in my eyes.

An onslaught of arrows was flying in from all directions and I cringed, expecting to be struck. “Quick like the guillotine,” I whispered. It was not me they were aiming at, but I did not perceive this until the first arrow pierced Echo’s back. Only seconds after the first, he was torn apart by the others, his body collapsing into a disgruntled heap of organs.

I wanted to cry out, to run to him, to save him somehow, but thick fingers grasped my shoulder and pulled me away from him. It has not happened! Not again! I felt cursed, as though everyone I touched would be killed or suffer. As I was dragged away I stared at what was once Echo, and the image was overlapped with the memory of the scared ground where Tobey had been. I reached out, desperately trying to grasp one of them, trying to hold onto something that was gone, to a hope.

To this day I can’t imagine why they would have shot him rather than me. I was a slave, I was “expendable”, and I had not said what they had told me to. I suppose they could not have a noble who was on the slaves’ side; they must have feared others would join his way of thinking.

I sat in the rusted slave trade wagon, decaying hay picking into my legs and my hands clutching the cold bars. I stared with horror struck eyes, tears streaming down my dirt smeared face, at the malicious nobleman handing my master a pouch of coins. I remembered the frightened child I had freed.