“I’ve been through the pain and been dragged through the dirt …”
David Guetta ft. Estelle
Monday June 15th
Scavador Castle, Principality of Rock, 6:49 p.m.
Isobel had felt invisible her entire life under the employment of Baroness Famika. When people spoke to her, they seemed to peer straight through her and she could see in their eyes that they were thinking of something or someone more important. In all the years she had worked for Baroness Famika, she had hardly ever heard a kind word from any adult staff member. Everyone in the employment of Famika spent each day flattened under her expertly manicured thumb. The closest and dearest person in Isobel’s life was Ming Ho, a spirited girl who had ceremoniously* anointed Isobel as her honorary sister. *The ceremony involved five stolen chocolate biscuits, a crude crown of rank goose feathers, a sceptre artfully crafted from empty cereal boxes and Ming’s insistence that the two girls seal their pact of sisterhood by spitting copious amounts of saliva into their palms before shaking hands
Isobel longed to be free. Free from her enslavement and a world of endless confinement. She remembered little from the fateful day when her father’s hovercar had spun out of control and somersaulted into the Undine River near Scavador Castle. Isobel had faint memories of her parents, and of her short childhood in the leafy suburbs of Bouldia City; but searching for specific details was like trying to grasp a feather trapped in a cyclone. The more she tried to remember, the more blurred the pictures of her past became. She could no longer separate her dreams from reality. She had learned that no amount of tears would bring her parents back, and nothing could recreate the pictures of her past.
Baroness Famika had arrived at the scene of the accident shortly afterwards. She had ordered her chauffeur and escorts to free Isobel and her parents from the sinking wreckage. Too late to save her mother and father, a Marionette guardsman pulled Isobel to freedom and carried her dripping to the Baroness’s limousine.
Isobel had been trapped in the freezing water for several minutes and all she could recall was her astonishment at seeing a school of luminous fish swirling around her. Try as she might she couldn’t quite recall what they looked like. All she remembered was how peaceful their gentle humming had been and how a violet ring of light had encircled her in safety.
Another flash of memory that stood out clearly in the jumbled mass of fear and sodden misery was the exact moment that Baroness deLauer had rolled down her window and inspected Isobel, eying her up and down like something foul and dirty. Isobel remembered gazing wide-eyed at the menacing woman, utterly entranced by her icy-eyed beauty.
‘Put that child in front with the driver! I don’t want her in the back getting my seats wet.’
That was it. No sympathy and even less compassion – and it had stayed the same for Isobel since that day. From then on she lived each moment as if in the next she would be beaten or accused of something she hadn’t done.
On a few occasions she had accompanied Baroness Famika to Rio de Grande, and seen other girls her age. How she longed to be like them, to stroll along the Lacroix Riviera waterfront without a care in the world. Her last outing to the city had been shortly after her twelfth birthday; she had spotted a few young girls giggling near a group of boys, each party acting more awkwardly than the other. Would she ever have the chance to meet a boy, and if she did, would she have the courage to hold his hand?
Once, when Isobel was ten, there had once been a delivery boy, a tall handsome boy of about twelve with the greenest eyes Isobel had ever seen. He’d been given a few days’ work in the Castle storage sheds. On an errand in the kitchens one day, Isobel had walked in on him unpacking boxes in the cavernous pantry. Isobel had heard other serving maids giggling about boys and kissing, but she knew nothing about ‘falling in love’. But on that day, when she saw that boy, she most certainly knew that she had never felt anything like the warm tingling that spread through her and left her cheeks burning red.
She had entered the pantry very quietly, and he’d started, but instead of shouting at her like everyone else in the Castle would have; he merely watched her in amusement with those beautiful big eyes.
‘You scared me!’ he chuckled, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. ‘I was unpacking those boxes but thinking about other stuff.’
Isobel said nothing, and annoyingly blushed an even darker shade of crimson. She was about to squeak something in return but he’d interrupted her before she opened her mouth.
‘My name’s Elyot. What’s yours?’
Even in the dull pantry light, his eyes had shone like the jewels in the Baroness’s jewellery boxes. They sparkled like stars in his lively face and she thought she had never seen anyone as handsome. He held his hand out for her to shake. Isobel felt as though the sun was trapped beneath her cheeks as her blush intensified. She finally managed a garbled, ‘Ght! Er –‘. She stepped forward to take his hand and her foot caught on a jar of mayonnaise near one of the boxes. With a twirl of her black skirt and a small squeal, she pivoted forward and lost balance. Elyot held out an arm and caught her before she fell.
‘Watch yourself!’ he said kindly, helping her to her feet. In that moment, closer than she’d been to any boy, she glanced up into his eyes and felt a jolt of electricity run through her. She hadn’t understood the feeling and it startled her.
Isobel was bewitched, under a spell. As she looked into his eyes, the warmth inside her spread deeper. She was too young to understand love in a romantic sense, but what she managed to describe in her journal later that evening was hope. She had seen compassion in his eyes, and something that ran deeper. And she had hope that she would find it again. In the same way in which her world had changed that day on the riverbank, she knew her meeting with Elyot would change her life forever.
Before she’d had a chance to say anything to Elyot, Mrs Fatima Orderve, the head chef, had bustled into the pantry and dragged Isobel out by the ear, screaming at her for stalling her chores. Isobel looked back over her shoulder and caught a last glimpse of Elyot. He stood with his cap in his hands, his eyes shining concern – those beautiful green eyes that she would never forget.
Isobel spent that evening overcome by longing, a feeling that later turned to sadness. She had never seen Elyot again, but in the long months that slowly trundled by, after countless beatings from either the Baroness or Mrs Orderve, Isobel read and re-read the entry in her journal about her encounter with him.
She had made numerous plans to run away in the hope of finding him, and once got as far as the Castle gates, but her getaway attempt had only resulted in the worst beating she had ever received. The Baroness also strengthened the potency of the fattening spells, resulting in the adjustment of her dress by two sizes. Isobel had never tried to escape again.
The longer she worked for Famika the more she realised that if she did ever manage to escape, the Baroness would certainly find her, for her magic was becoming increasingly potent.
§
Just after sunset that day, Isobel ran along the stone corridor of the servants’ quarters, sobbing into her cupped hands. Mrs Orderve had found her daydreaming at the windows of the Royal Dining Hall where she was meant to have been polishing the Baroness’s vast collection of cutlery. She received a beating so vicious that tiny rivulets of blood still trickled down the back of her legs.
Isobel fumbled with the key to her chamber door and with tears streaming down her cheeks, half fell into her room and collapsed onto the bed. As each day passed she felt less and less like she had any control over her life whatsoever. The strict regime enforced by Mrs Orderve over the Castle staff had become unbearable and Isobel felt herself withdraw further with each working hour. She reached under her pillow and pulled out a shapeless nightdress. It wasn’t eight o’clock yet, the time her workday officially ended, but she needed somewhere to retreat to, some way of losing herself and escaping the brutal drudgery of her day.
Isobel had two passions. One was writing in her journal, the other was music. She especially loved singing. Her most valuable possession was a music box given to her by her grandmother a few months before the accident at the river. It was an ancient metal music player, the sort that had been used in the days before holomusic. Although it only worked sporadically, Isobel treasured it and kept it well hidden from Mrs Orderve and the other staff members. Shortly before her death, Isobel’s grandmother had told her that when she was a young lady, the prince of a far-off land had courted her; he had fallen in love with her but was unable to ask for her hand in marriage since he was only permitted by law to marry a princess. Heartbroken, the prince had pledged his undying love to Isobel’s grandmother and had given her the music player as a sign that their love would forever live on through music.
Isobel pulled her legs under her and straightened the folds of her nightgown. Through the small window above her bed, the starry sky stretched over worlds she had never seen. It scared her to think she never might. Her dreams were always rich in colour and showed her those worlds – or more accurately put, how she imagined them to be. In them she had another childhood, complete with loving parents, a warm, safe home and most importantly, the freedom to make choices, to do what made her happy. Cathania was such a magical place – a place where people lived each day in complete independence. Yet here she was, imprisoned in the Baroness’s Castle, a scarce few knowing that she even existed. Although the Principality of Rock was only separated from the freedom of Cathania by a narrow channel of water, for Isobel it may as well have been galaxies away, such were her deep-seated feelings of separation and loneliness.
She lay on her back and pulled her music player out from under the mattress. Unlike the holochips sold in stores and used by the entire population, this music player required one to insert a circular disc into the opening in its side.
With trembling hands she inserted the earpieces and pushed the > button that activated the silver disc. The gentle soothing sound of the songs she had listened to a million times washed through her like a warm light. Isobel inhaled deeply and felt the pain in her legs disappear as she lost herself in the beautiful music. It was at moments like this that she longed the most to be a singer, free from her slavery. At the same time she felt trapped in her own mind, fighting weighty shadows, scared she was slowly poisoning herself with dark thoughts and hopeless dreams.
What good could I, an overweight maid, be in the world out there? No one would want to hear me sing! No one would ever be interested in a failure like me!
Isobel fought the dark thoughts by concentrating on the music. She thumbed a small switch on the side of the music player to increase the volume. The harmony soothed Isobel’s heart and gave her courage that the future held something in store for her – a life of freedom and one filled with peace.
As the music lifted her from her pain, she began to sing aloud. She forgot about her life in the Castle and she pictured herself on stage at the Cathanian Music Awards. As she sang, she felt alive and electric; transcending the world of desolation she had become so accustomed to. She saw Ming in the front row of spectators, cheering her on while Elyot sat spellbound. She saw herself at the International Competition of Music, winning the Double Vivre Award, the crowds chanting her name in adoration.
Something warm tapped her arm. Isobel’s eyes shot open to see a startled Ming standing mouth agape alongside her.
‘Ming!’ she exclaimed, half choking. ‘You nearly scared the life out of me! How long have you been –’
Ming bowed slightly then replied. ‘Me knock a few times, you no answer! Other maid she tell me Mrs Orderve beat you again. Ming wollied and come to your loom. I knock, then open the door to see if you okay!’
‘Yes, I’m fine. But, how –’
‘Ming hear you sing many times before, Is! Solly, I listen through door. Me say nothing because it not proper. Ming been waiting for you to tell me you sing so beautiful!’ She frowned playfully, and then sat at the foot of the bed. ‘Ming wait no more! I hear you sing now again. I never hear anything so beautiful before. Isobel, you sing perfect!’
Isobel blushed deeply, turning her face to avoid Ming’s stare. ‘No, I –‘
‘Yes, Is! Ming should have said long, long ago! You no be emballassed in flont of Ming. I sing like clicket anyway!’
Isobel smiled and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead not quite knowing how to respond. She didn’t think anyone had ever heard her sing, or that they would ever think she sang beautifully.
‘Isbel, you have gift! My glandpa, he say people who can sing are chosen! They special people with many powers! You be famous Vivre winner one day! Ming think this flom first moment she hear you sing! You be world’s best singer!’
To hear that someone thought she stood a chance at competing for the Vivre Award, the highest accolade a singer could achieve in Cathania, stunned Isobel and brought tears to her eyes even faster.
‘Why you cry, Is? You should be happy you sing like goddess!’ Ming tried to make Isobel smile but the tears continued relentlessly. Seeing the torment tear through her friend, Ming shuffled along the sheets and put a bony arm around Isobel’s shoulder.
Isobel was tired of hiding her misery and tired of feeling alone, caught up in a world of anger and sadness. It was as if Ming had freed something in her and chipped away at the wall she had built around herself. To realise that someone thought she could sing beautifully gave her a glimmer of hope.
At the same time, the reality of her situation and the stinging cuts on the back of her legs cruelly reminded her that she was still only a servant trapped in a life blindingly far from the one she so desperately longed for.
In a burst of sobs and strangled words, and for the first time in her life, she told someone that her dream in life, the only thing she ever wanted, was to sing, her greatest desire to win the Vivre Award and be part of something monumental in life. She told Ming how trapped she was and that she felt she had no choices or control over her life. She cried about the times she would walk through Rio de Grande and see all the other girls with so much freedom. Years of pain and anguish flooded out of her and Ming held her tightly, rocking back and forward as she listened with tears in her own eyes.
Isobel said many things that she never thought she’d say out loud. That she was a failure because all she had achieved in her life was being a maid, that everyone looked down on her, that she wasn’t worthy of a bigger life.
‘I want to know why!’ she shouted, her eyes now raw. ‘Why does my life have to be so difficult? Why do we have to live trapped by that witch?’
Ming drew her closer.
‘Is, we never talk like this before. We fliends for long, yet we not share about personal things. You trust Ming – she never hurt her fliends. She never lie to fliends neither!
‘You Is, you special girl! I see it the day I met you! Your eyes, they tell of gleat something. My glandpa he always say much be told flom eyes of person! Ming sees things in your eyes and she know you be big star one day!’
Isobel shook her head.
‘Yes! You listen to Ming! She never hear anyone sing so perfect as you! You sing like Empless Sophea did! No lies!’
‘Oh – oh, Ming,’ Isobel sobbed, ‘I want that so badly. It-it’s all I think about. It’s the only thing I want to do with my life, but how? I’m just a maid. A slave to Baroness Famika.’
Ming stroked Isobel’s hair. ‘Ah, Isbel, you so sad in your heart – but Glandpa he say evelything happen for reason in life! You know that?’
‘W-what do you mean?’ Isobel sniffed, her tears slowly drying.
‘Evelything in life happens for reason! You, me, locked in this stinking Castle as slaves? Is for reason! Ming not planning to work like this for lest of life! You forget it, girl! Ming she wait for opportunity; I tly learn things as they happen to me. That teach me be strong!’
‘But –’
‘Only bloody goat buts!’ Ming retorted sharply. ‘You listen to Ming now. You be quiet! Is, you have beautiful voice for reason! You tell yourself there no hope. You tell yourself you be locked away as slave for lest of life – but it not so! Please plomise Ming you keep dleam of winning Vivre Award and being gleat singer! It will happen!’ Ming shifted position and took hold of Isobel’s hands, squeezing them tightly.
‘There is reason for you living under Baloness Famika. Is a life challenge. It something you must beat to become stlonger. To make you stlonger singer!’
Every word Ming uttered unlocked parts of Isobel. It was though her life had been a jigsaw puzzle with so many missing pieces. Now, in one conversation, Ming had fitted one of the most important ones back into place.
Her first reaction was to doubt Ming, but why should she? Ming didn’t just call a spade a spade; she called it the nuts, bolts, metal and wood that it was made of. There was an undeniable aura around her and most of the Castle staff had a special place for her in their hearts – except, of course, Mrs Orderve, who detested the attention* Ming received from certain male staff members. *Mrs Orderve had always had a special shining towards Thabo Hedgeworth, the landscaper-in-chief, and he had always doted on Ming in a fatherly way, once telling Ming that even if Mrs Orderve were the last woman left in the Empire, he’d rather boil himself alive in a tub of rat droppings than give her the time of day
Isobel looked at Ming’s sweet face through blurry eyes, sniffing repeatedly.
‘T-thank you, Ming,’ she stuttered. ‘Thank you for being so honest.’
Ming shrugged her shoulders and replied, ‘Is what fliends is for! And, after all, Ming one year older than you – I know stuff! Now, you tell Ming all the songs you can sing! Ming hear them all, okay?’
§
Later, after Ming had left the room, Isobel opened her journal. She winced in pain as the welts on the back of her legs rubbed against the coarse blanket.
Whenever she felt sad, or lonely, Isobel would recite a prayer her mother had taught her. It was one of the few things she could remember from her early childhood. She neither understood the meaning of the words, nor knew the prayer’s origins but because her mother had always sung it to Isobel, she would never forget it. With deep feeling, her eyes closed and face lifted to the light above her, she whispered:
“Three-Fold Flame in my Heart;
blue, yellow and pink.
Expand, expand, expand and do your Cosmic Work.”
The words of the prayer combined with the joy Ming’s words had given her and she inhaled deeply, peace flooding her. She opened her journal and, employing her secret coded writing style – a series of strange ornate symbols – wrote:
Monday evening – June 15th
Tonight I think I almost gave up hoping that I would ever be able to find a way out of this place. I can’t believe what’s just happened, I feel like something inside me has been ignited, even if it’s still just a tiny spark. For the first time in my life, someone heard me sing!!! Ming came in and heard me singing! She said –
An owl hooted somewhere in the woods outside her window. Isobel’s pencil clattered to the floor as she fell fast asleep on her open journal.
“I don’t like to hurt but, but everyone gets weak …”