Compagnons D'Âme

Chapter 1: Un Nouveau Changement

In my home country, our world is called La Terre. My home country is Sol, and our language is Parole, which are considered the most beautiful kingdom and language in the ten countries. To me, and many others, no place is beautiful, it is just another prison. But I am very biased in this opinion, and so are those who also hold it.

I am a Mortel, and a slave also. I am at the lowest rung in the social ladder. My race has few rights, and my position, none. All I am is a form of pleasure for a rich Maître, or a worker for one. But as my Entraîneur has often told me and my only friend, we are to beautiful for anything but pleasure.

Perhaps I should introduce myself. If my Entraîneur learned of my bad manners, he would surely beat me into submission. But for a proper introduction, I must give a bit of my history.

As with all the people of La Terre, I was named for the first thing my mother saw as I received my first breath. My village was small, and surrounded by exquisite fields of flowers. Our home was small, so for there to be enough room for the midwife to birth me, she had to open our front and only door so she had room to move with ease. Mère use to tell me if she hadn’t been in so much pain, she would have blushed at improperness of being spread open and nude, while our neighbors could see from their front porch. But that matters little. The point that does matter is because of the flowers and the door being open, a butterfly fluttered into our house, and the moment I gave my birth scream, it was the only thing my mother could see. So she named me after the creature of beauty, which in our tongue is papillon. So my name is Papillon.

It was easy to see from early life I had been given a proper name. I was so gentle and light footed just like one, and also undeniably beautiful, especially for a boy. My midnight locks fell to my thigh, and my skin stayed milky even in the Sun, almost as white as that of the Spiritueux, our superior class. I was thin and small, but the most notable feature are my eyes. Looking at them often stole a strangers breath, if my looks already hadn’t charmed them out of it. They were a brilliant shade of purple, just like the rare amethysts I had once seen a Nobel wearing. The old women in my village would often tell me that somewhere down the line, I had a touch of a Esprit in my blood.

My fate shouldn’t have surprised me. After all, I was of a poor class and too lovely for words, coupled with the fact that I was the youngest of four boys, along with two older sisters. My family rarely had enough food to eat in good years, and when droughts started hitting our crops, we were going hungry.

To Père I was useless, a pretty boy son that would be better with a needle then a shovel or hoe. If my sisters had never been born, I might have been kept as help for Mère in the house. I know she had wanted to keep me, I was her favorite. She claimed it wasn’t for my looks, though now I ponder the truth of that as the rest of my family was very plain, but for my charming personality and natural sweetness. I would be like her shadow on the days Père didn’t call upon me for help. She laughed as I mimicked her movement in feeding the chickens or darning clothes. My sisters found no amusement in me being ‘underfoot’. Truthfully they didn’t like their looks being compared to mine by the neighboring boys, who would often come to our house being sent on errands by their mères.

My brothers hated me too. I took Mère’s attention away from them, and was rarely forced into doing hard work that was their daily toil for the fact that I was too lovely and weak. I didn’t know about the weak thing, I believe people just thought that because of my looks. I really couldn’t blame them or my sisters for being envious of me, but now I am envious of them greater then they ever were of me.

When I was younger, I didn’t even realize that the older boys glances were turning toward me. They were cordial to my sisters and brothers, until they caught a glimpse of me. Then they wanted to know all about me. If they came often, most would bring me a sweet or a small gift. I had a collection of pretty stones and shells, along with a few lace ribbons. At the time, I didn’t realize these were gifts normally given to girls that the boy had attentions on pursuing in a relationship. I didn’t know anything about it until I followed Herbe, the boy I saw the most one afternoon.

Herbe was the butcher’s son, and was as strong as an ox. My oldest sister, Feuille, had her eye on him for years. My older brothers admired his strength and skill. Yet he never even spared them a passing glance, he only came for me. I revived in his admiring gaze, not understanding it.

Well, when Herbe left our house one afternoon when I was nearly seven, Mère sent me on an errand to retrieve some herbs for Père’s constant headaches. I raced out of our home in pleasure of being able to escape the scornful looks of my family. Wandering down the path, I noticed Herbe up ahead being stopped by another boy who I didn’t recognize. Normally I would have not minded and gone and begged of Herbe to introduce me to his friend, which he would have. But I was at a curious age that I noticed that people spoke differently when I wasn’t around, so I decided to hid in a nearby bush and listen in on their conversation. Till this day, I can still remember it.

“Herbe,” the boy called. “Why are you up near Feuille Morte’s home?” Feuille Morte was a horrid nickname some of the village boys called my oldest sister. I had heard it said only once before, and had seen as Feuille had gone white and Père slap the boy that spoke it. “I thought you had no interest in her?”

“I don’t Sauterelle,” replied Herbe to the boy, “but in Papillon I find great interest.”

“I have heard of Papillon,” said the boy, whose name I guess was Sauterelle. “Is it true he is more lovely then a jewel?”

“Even more so,” said Herbe. “Though he is a male, he is a sight for sore eyes. I am just getting my fill of him before he leaves.” I didn’t understand that comment. I didn’t know of any plans of my leaving. I notice them continuing their chat, but they had moved to far away from me to hear, so I hurried behind them a good ways down the path to finish my errands.

Herbe’s comment stayed with me for the years to come. The answer to my question about me leaving and what Herbe meant came soon after my twelfth Summer. The harvest was turning out to be the worst in years, and there was no doubt that not all my family would make it till Spring. But then the Commerçants Slaves came to town.

It is said that when the villages and villes have bad years, the Commerçants Slaves have good ones. It is easy to understand. Hungry people are more likely to sell a child or two then full ones. Even a bad Père or Mère probably won’t sell an unloved child if they had a good year, but the most dedicated one might during a bad one. The Commerçants Slaves knew of my villages situation, and were there to take advantage of it.

It was at this time I would have mutated my body if I had known what was to happen. Even before they got within seven miles of my village, they had heard tell of the beautiful Papillon, and how tragic it was that he would probably starve to death this Winter. A stupid man could have seen what to do with that information. The minute they reached our village, they went straight to our home.

It was evening when they came, and Mère was working on repairing my brother, Arbre’s shirt. Père was smoking his pipe, and my siblings were strewn about the house and I near Mère watching her work when the knock came.

Père answered the door with his normal gloomy face to find two Spiritueux standing on our porch. I have never seen a Esprit before, but I have always thought them to be lovely. The men were as tall as Spiritueux were suppose to be, over seven feet, and both had a mane of odd colored hair and large pointed ears. But their faces were gruff, their bodies scarred, and their hands calloused from work.

“Are you the farmer called Abeille?” one of them asked. He had dark green hair and grey eyes.

“I might be,” Père replied in his drawn out voice. “It depends on why you are here.”

“We are here for we heard a rumor that your son, Papillon, was the loveliest creature to ever grace La Terre,” said the other, who had burgundy hair and eyes.

“Who ever told you that was lying,” Père said. I didn’t understand at the time that in his own way he was trying to protect me. He knew that if they made him an offer, he would have to take it for the sake of his family, but if they didn’t he could just let our lives past. “Only thing about him is his eyes, but you grow tired of looking at them soon.”

“We would judge for ourselves,” said green hair with a sneer. “If we must wait to seem him, the less you will get in the end. If he is as you say, then you have nothing to worry about.” Père frowned. I notice Mère rise and try to usher me away, but she didn’t get far before the door was open and the Spiritueux inside. Mère tried to hid me behind her skirts, but it was too late. They had a glimpse of me.

“Boy, come forward,” Père said, and so I came, not realizing what was happening. The minute I was in full sight the men gasped.

“He looks like a fée or an ange,” said green hair, moving closer for a better look.

“Look at those eyes, Moineau,” said burgundy hair. “It is like they are gems set in marble. He is a little statue.”

“I am not blind Baie,” Moineau, the green hair, chided his friend. “But even a blind man would pay a high price for this little one.”I was afraid of these men. They were too close and were touching me in ways I didn’t like. I could see Mère crying in Père’s arms, but the two Spiritueux didn’t give them any notice.

“I will give you fifty pièces en argent for him,” said Moineau. “That is worth more then your whole hut.” Moineau was glaring about our small house.

“Your breaking my wife’s heart,” Père said. “If your going to take her great joy, at least pay ten pièces d\'or.”

“That is unheard of for a slave,” exclaimed Baie. “We will add another pièce d\'or for on top of the five we already agreed to pay.” I didn’t understand money, as we rarely had it. For if I did, I would have realized that I was being given a phenomenal price at which a slave was normally sold to a Maître for, not to a Entraîneur. Ten pièces de monnaie en cuivre were equal to one pièce en argent and ten pièces en argent were equal to one pièce d\'or. A laborer was lucky to receive two pièces en argent a year.

“Ten pièces d\'or is my final offer,” Père said. “Take it or leave it.”

“You are mad farmer,” said Baie. “What will you do with a boy that only has his looks to survive on.”

“The butcher boy is interested in him,” said Père. “I am certain he will take him on as a bride, with his three younger brothers, they can just adopt one of their children as their own. At least that way we will always have food, and my wife won’t be sadden, nor his siblings.” I know that last part to be an out right lie. If the first was or not, I will never know. Herbe did seem the kind to take me on as his bride, after all he still showed great interest in me.

“Sir, then why don’t you just....” Baie began.

“Deal,” interrupted Moineau.

“Moineau!” screeched Baie.

“He is worth every pièce de monnaie en cuivre,” said Moineau. Père nodded his head, and put out his hand to shake on the deal. Mère broke down crying and tried to reach for me, but Baie was already leading me toward the door. That was the last I ever saw of my parents and siblings.

I quickly learned what I was, a slave. But not just any slave. I was meant to keep a Noble warm at night or keep them entertained in front of their guest. Training was hard. Moineau was the head Entraîneur, and was brutal. Especially to me, after the price they had paid. The meals, water, and cleanings were few and far in between and the beatings often. Slaves normally were trained for four years or so before sold to a Maître. When I was in my fourth year, Moineau came into another slave, my only friend, the Esprit Colombe.

Colombe became the only who could come close to rivaling my good looks. He was an Esprit, but still much smaller then a normal one, barely reaching six feet, which was still tall to my only five and a half. He had icy blue locks that fell to mid back and sapphire eyes. He was previously a slave, whose Maître was a merchant that had recently lost his business. He had been badly abused, and was much too thin and pale, with many sores across his back that had become infected. I was surprised that he manage to survive. I nursed him as best I could, but I had no extra cloth for bandages or salve. I didn’t even have enough water to spare to clean his wounds properly.

He was still very optimistic. Happy to just have a friend for a little bit, and to not be beat badly as he was use to. I must say Moineau preferred clubbing us then whips, for it only left bruises instead of cuts.

But now we are up for sell at the capital city of Sol, Le Royaume Merveilleux. Whether the rumors of my childhood of this magnificent place are true or not, I don’t and probably won’t know. I will be spilt apart from Colombe, who will probably be dead within the month, and my only hope is for a Maître that will feed me once every other day and beat me only once a day.

Not everyone here shall become a pleasure slave like Colombe and I, most will become household ones and the less lucky will be forced into the fields or mines.

The Nobles stream past us. All of them are Spiritueux, and like Colombe, embody the fairytale like appearance us Mortels believe all Spiritueux have. Most are male, but a few females are there too. The females like to whisper and giggle at us, while fanning themselves with their silk fans, crinkling their noses, and commenting on our smell, hoping to sway seigneurs and higher Nobles that have caught their eyes.

I feel horrid with the lingering looks that land on me, and even more so on the ones that land on Colombe. He is whimpering slightly in pain, for the others slaves keep bumping into us. I try to quiet him, for Moineau or Baie will do it for us if we make too much noise. Noisy slaves don’t sell like quiet ones.

My thoughts break from Colombe and my current predicament as I hear trumpets. I divert my attentions to the approaching noise and see that it is a Royal procession. Even in my state of mind, I can’t help but feel curiosity about it. I have seen many Nobles, but not a single Royal. The first thing was the trumpeters and banner holders. They were all Spiritueux, and dressed in the blue and silver uniform of the Palais.

Next were the Gardes, in their uniforms of red and gold. They all carried a weapon of some sort, that even from a distance looked deadly. Finally, the thing I have been waiting for arrived. The Royals.

There are no words to describe the beauty of the Royals. There were two, both the same height and weight and dressed in fine silks. They had the same face and body built, but their coloring was different. One of them was not as richly dressed as the other. He was wearing a dark blue and silver outfit, so much more elaborate then the company. His silk tunic had a embroidered scene of the night sky, with real gold for stars and silver and pearls for the moon, with matching leggings. He also wore a silver circlet set with a large star sapphire. He had waist length pale blonde hair and eyes the color of Colombe’s hair.

But the other, the other was even more grand then the blonde hair Royal.

He had long white hair that reached his ankles, and the deepest gold eyes. His clothing was white, embroidered with both gold and silver along with many gem stones intoLe Royaume du Ciel, were the anges lived. He wore a gold crown set with diamonds. Both also had matching capes and matching bored expressions.

“Make way for le Roi Aigle and his brother Prince Loup,” shirked a crier, causing everyone to move from the path that already hadn’t. It didn’t occur to me where they were going, until it came so close I could smell their rich scent. The Roi was looking at me, while the Prince was focused on Colombe.

“Your Altesses,” said Moineau, approaching the Royals, with a deep bow. All the slaves in the cage, including Colombe and me bowed as low as possible. “How may I grant you my humble service.”

“How much are these two starting at on the enchère,” said a voice. In my position, I didn’t know who he was talking about, or whether it was the Prince or Roi talking.

“Papillon and Colombe?” said a voice, who I recognized as Baie. “Papillon, the dark haired one is starting at fifty pièces d\'or and Colombe is starting at fifteen. I wish to charge more for Colombe, but do to the excess of injuries, I will be lucky if his bidding reaches twenty.”

“Don’t worry,” the voice said again. “I shall pay you one hundred pièces d\'or for Colombe and my brother will pay twice that for Papillon.”

“Your Graces,” said Moineau. “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course we are,” joined the voice of the other Royal. I predicted this one to be the Roi. The other voice was stern, but this new one sent a chill down my back. “We desire them and if it is within reason, we get it. No one will pay more then one hundred for that boy, and as you said you are lucky if you get twenty for the injured one.”

“Then they are yours,” Baie said. The next sound was the cage opening. I saw Moineau, and he roughly pulled Colombe who let out a pained sob. Moineau try to move him and hit him at the same time, when I heard the man gasped. I spared a glance up to see the Prince himself grabbing Moineau’s hand with a hidieous look on his elegant face.

“You idiot,” the Prince sneered. “The boy is already in enough pain and you make it worse! How dare you treat Royal property as such!” I saw the Prince strike Moineau across the face. “You,” he pointed at a Garde, “And you,” pointing at another. “Fetch a padded stretcher.” The Gardes bowed and went off on their mention. The Prince huffed and then noticed my eyes upon him. I attempted to glance down, but it was too late. I expected a slap, but instead a hand was on my chin, forcing it up. I thought it was the Prince, but it turned out to be the Roi, and that nearly made me gasp.

“Your eyes are far to lovely to keep them on the ground, Papillon,” he said to me, and I was struck dumb and nodded. He spared me a slight smile. “Pierre, carry Papillon back to the Palais and to the La Chambre Du Guérisseur along with the other boy. Tell Rubis to take care of them both. My brother and I have further business here.” Pierre nodded. The rest of the Royals company left, except for one last Garde that stayed to either assist the others or protect us. He gave a silk purse to Baie, who was always in charge of the money. The other Gardes soon returned, holding a large plank with silken cushions attached to it. Carefully the free Garde moved Colombe from my arms onto the stretcher, with his stomach down. After that, Pierre picked me up from my seated position and began walking away from the crowd.

In all my exictment it didn’t register to me till right there that I was the Roi of Sol was my Maître, and that my friend was property of his twin brother. But the moment it did, the shock knocked me out, and it would be many an hour before I awoke again.

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Author\'s Note: Language used is French, as it is the language of romance and I didn\'t want to invent of new language. Translations taken from Babel Fish and French Dictionary/ Names Translator will appear in Chapter 3\'s Author\'s Note