The Regime
Chapter 1
It was late at night.
Or perhaps it was very early in the morning. She wasn’t sure.
Carmine Bolton sat up and looked around her bedroom. Her eyes fell upon the mirror across from her. She cocked her head to the side, as the reflection looked back at her. The mirror was a new addition to her bedroom, she had traded two old books for it the last time a Trader had stopped by the village.
She smiled at her reflection, her pink eyes looking back at her; her crimson coat stood out plainly in the darkness of the moonlight. She brushed a strand of her carmine mane out of her eyes, and rose from her bed. It was from her mane that she took her name.
She quietly crawled from bed, and fumbled with a box of matches that rested on the bedside table, she frowned at the box, disappointed that it was empty. She was out of matches. She would need to find something to Trade for more. Sea shells were popular with Traders from the inland villages, perhaps there would be a few that had washed up on the shore.
Carmine went over to the window, gently unlatching it and looked up at the night’s sky. The moon was high in the sky. It was very early morning. Perhaps one or two? It was hard to tell. Light from the moon was not as consistent with light from the sun. She smiled up at the moon. It was a full moon, which meant that Traders would be arriving in the morning. She had always looked forward to Trade time. There was always something new to find from one of the villages further inland, or further down the coast.
Carmine sighed and leaned back, setting her forehooves on the floor, and left her bedroom in a brisk trot, grabbing her saddlebag that laid by the door and slipping it onto her haunches. She treaded quietly, taking care not to step on a loose floorboard as she went outside for a walk. She had to take care not to disturb her father, who slept quietly in the other bedroom.
Outside. Carmine found herself looking around the village square. It was a simple village, houses made of stone, with timbered supports and thatched roofs. Simple homes for a simple people.
Carmine gently walked along the cobblestone streets of the village, taking a quiet lap around the square before walking down to the shore line. She loved the quiet nights, where if you listened just hard enough, you could hear the shimmering of starlight among the rolling waves. She passed the palisade wall of the village’s limit, and stepped onto the sandy shore. Feeling the grains beneath her hooves and smiled.
This land was so beautiful, so peaceful. It was hard to remember that it did not belong to them. Not truly.
This was the Changeling Regime. The changelings were the masters of this land. She wasn’t sure exactly how long this village had been here, or exactly how long her family had resided in the Regime, even. According to her father, his father’s father had been taken at a wedding in a far off land called Equestria a hundred years ago. How much truth there was to this, no one was quite sure.
She had asked her father why her ancestor had been taken.
'As a slave,' he’d told her.
She’d been quite young when he'd told her that. But even then, as a young filly of seven, she knew that it didn't add up. If they we're slaves, they were slaves not being used. In her fourteen years, Carmine had never even seen a changeling.
It simply did not make sense. If they were slaves, why were they not being put to work by their masters? Why were they not building cities or tending the land for them? She knew that there was more to it, but what? That she could not say. All she knew was they were left to their own devices. She had to wonder if their masters even noticed their existence.
She spotted a sand dollar lying on the beach and smiled at her good fortune. She could attend Trade with this. She picked it up, and placed it in her saddlebag.
Her mind fell back to changelings. Their masters seemed content to let them live out their lives. They didn't even care if someone left. Few did though, there was really nowhere to go besides other villages up the coast, or inland.
The Changeling Regime was a large island; a Trader had once told her it was some four thousand kilometres across. Some had left the island by building boats, and trying to sail away, but there wasn't anywhere to go, endless ocean was all there was for thousands of kilometres. Besides, this was home.
Carmine thought about Equestria, and had to wonder if she'd even be accepted there, she knew that changelings were generally not well liked. (Second hoof information, after all, she'd never even seen one to know what they were like.) She could only figure that Equestrians would constantly accuse her of being a spy.
She spotted the top of a bivalve shell, smiling at her good fortune. She would be getting good Trades from these. She quickly deposited it in her bag and walked further up the beach.
She would very much like to see a changeling. If only to prove that her supposed captors were real. Though she supposed it would change little. Slave or not, this was home.
Her father was the village blacksmith, and he had made her his apprentice, so that she would eventually replace him. She had gotten to be fairly good at the art. You had to be to succeed as a blacksmith, thanks to the poor quality iron she had to work with. She had gotten pretty good at making simple tools, hatchets, knives, the like.
She had made a sword once. The iron was too weak to hold its shape, and had shattered under its own weight. Coal was scarcer still, so she couldn’t improve the metal by making steel. She had managed to make a spearhead out of the remains of the sword for Grendel, the village protector, though. It had been quite disappointing, but that was just the fact that the iron ore found in the Regime just had too many impurities.
‘What are you doing out here young Bolton?’ a gruff voice asked from behind her.
Carmine whirled around, and found herself face to face with a stern looking gryphon. Brown fur with grey head feathers, and a scar under his left eye.
‘Oh, Grendel, you startled me,’ she said. She was glad it was only the protector.
He looked annoyed. ‘Answer my question. A young mare has no right being out so late.’
‘I'm fairly sure its early,’ Carmine said innocently.
Grendel was not amused.
He meant well, there were few risks to be had around the village, few things truly dangerous. Wild animals were Grendel’s main concern. Wild boar was usually the threat he had in mind.
‘I’m looking for sea shells for Trade,’ she admitted.
Grendel sighed and opened his brown leather waistcoat, pulling out a small silver pocket timepiece, ‘At two o’clock in the morning?’
‘I have to go out early! Or Fisher will get them all!’ she cried out.
Grendel sighed. ‘Next time, tell me when you plan to wander after dark. Lest you get run through by a spear on accident.’
‘Protector, your eyes are sharp, you'd know who it was instantly!’ she protested.
The gryphon sighed and nodded. ‘Don’t stay out too long.’
Carmine smiled warmly at him. ‘I won’t, sir. You have my promise,’ she said simply.
The gryphon gave her a nod, before turning back, walking into the village.
Carmine chuckled. She knew how to turn on the charm when she needed to. Her eyes turned downwards, discovering a large conch shell. She smiled brightly at it, picking it up and quickly depositing it in the bag. It was such a fine specimen, so large and ornate, it would fetch her many things at Trade.
Carmine was satisfied with what she’d found, and turned back for home. She hoped to catch a few hours more sleep, for tomorrow morning it would be time for Trade.
…
She awoke in the morning to the sound of the village bell. One chime, two chimes, three chimes. Three meant that Trade had begun.
Carmine leapt from her bed, grabbing her bag and dashing out the door. She looked on in awe as a large crowd formed around the square. The entire village always turned out for Trade.
In the centre of the square, was a set of three large wagons filled to the brim with treasure! She fought herself to the front of the crowd and watched as the caravan master began to speak.
He was a silver coated earth pony stallion with a matching short grey mane and tail. With piercing green eyes that almost seemed to glow in the light of the morning. She recognised this Trader, he’d been here many times before. Ryswell, his name was Ryswell, and he was the master of Trade.
‘Good people of the coast!’ Ryswell said, clearing his throat as the village fell quiet. ‘You all know me, I am Ryswell, the Master of Trade! I am here for the same reason I am always here; it is time again for Trade! I now declare Trade open!’
The sound of jubilation filled the air as the village surged forward, inspecting the goods brought by the caravan, the sounds of voices rang throughout the village streets as they haggled with Ryswell and his fellow Traders for goods.
Carmine took a step up to one of the caravans and began to look through it, looking for anything useful. No matches were to be found, but that didn’t matter much at this point. Trade had just begun, someone was sure to swap a box of matches for something later, which would allow Carmine to swap one of her seashells for them.
‘See anything you like?’ a voice asked of her.
Carmine looked over and saw Ryswell looking down at her. The stallion was a good head taller than the young mare. She smiled up at him. ‘Still browsing, but I’m sure to find something before Trade’s end.’
‘Indeed,’ he said and glanced up at the bartering crowd. ‘Always such a happy time, Trade.’
Carmine nodded her head as she looked out to the crowd. They were a mixed village, almost all of them were. A number of earth ponies, a few pegasi, rare still were unicorns, but there were other races as well. Gryphons were possibly the largest minority in the village, numbering twelve. Another six were members of a race of dire wolf like creatures, thick coated dogs called Schäferhund, from a land which Carmine had trouble pronouncing the name of. Oster-something-or-other.
Rarer still, were two of the oddest creatures she had ever seen in her entire life, were several fat bear like creatures, with black and white fur, and dark beady eyes. They were the Mao Xiong, who had lived on an island called Kowloon before being resettled here.
Ryswell looked back over to Carmine, studying her closely. Carmine blushed as she realised he was giving her so much attention and looked back. ‘And aren’t you such a lovely maiden miss—?’
‘Bolton,’ she said. ‘Carmine Bolton, apprentice blacksmith!’ she added proudly.
Ryswell gave her a chuckle and a nod. ‘And talented I am sure, I’m impressed already with such a lovely maiden—Still a maiden, I assume?’ he asked.
Carmine blushed slightly darker, which her scarlet mane fortunately hid the visible signs for. She nodded her head in affirmation.
Ryswell smiled warmly. ‘Excellent, guard that well. It could make for an excellent Trade when you’re a bit older,’ he said with a suggestive smile.
‘I will sir,’ she said with a nod, her cheeks were hot with embarrassment.
Ryswell winked at her and he turned his head back towards the growing festivities.
Trade was always such a happy time. Carmine knew she was always the happiest at Trade time. There was always so much positive energy flowing through the crowd as they bartered and bickered over their desired goods, you just couldn’t help but have a good time.
By the end of the day, Carmine had finally been able to find matches, and had traded her large conch shell for several books.
It was Grendel, the protector, that seemed to luck out on his Trade the most, though.
Ryswell had lugged out a rather large item, what looked like a large metal tube that the gryphon hefted on his shoulder.
‘I believe they called this particular item a Pak,’ Ryswell proclaimed. ‘Sort of a large cannon, made a lot of noise and fired a shot that would explode on contact. It is yours, protector, my gift to you,’ the earth pony said with a bow.
Carmine was impressed with the Pak as she smiled at Grendel. She was sure the old gryphon was going to scare her with it at some point.