NOT FOR THE first time in the last hour, the thought that maybe — just maybe — leaving his house to take a look at the festivities hadn't been such a great idea crossed Luke's mind.
He gave himself a reprieve from the colourful fanfare and closed his eyes. The deep breath helped him get a grip on the pain radiating from his left leg after exerting it more than he had on any other day of the year that was saying farewell in less than an hour now.
Luke rolled his ankle, leaning heavily on his cane as he proceeded with the familiar exercises he'd learned from the village's healer.
Child's laughter came from his right; a boy's laughter. As Luke let his left foot reconnect with the still wet cobblestones, he risked a glance his way. A beautiful boy with dark curls and green eyes, carried on his father's shoulders. Both laughing as the middle-aged man kept a red apple at the edge of his son's grasp, challenging him. The boy, hands still rosy with remnants of melted caramel, apparently couldn't be happier to chase what couldn't be his, for the mirth of his torturer.
Luke smiled, instinctively looking for the mom, but there was no one else. Just the two of them, going hysterical over a silly little game. Luke shook his head and kept on his way down the wide street.
It took just a few seconds for the smile to give way to sorrow as memories assailed him. Luke remembered how it was to laugh; remembered the time it had been just mom and him, too. Both happy, laughing at silly little games.
Before the accident.
Three years ago, strolling through the annual carnival would've been a blast; an excellent idea. Now? Now he was alone, working a job he hated so he could just survive and pay exorbitant taxes to the king. All of it while all these folks laughed and rejoiced the chance for three hundred and sixty-five new chances to lose, the fools.
It was difficult, but in seconds Luke was hurrying along the street — as much as his disability allowed.
The different artists singing and dancing around became a blur of colour and sound, and the more ground he covered, the farther he seemed to be from home. The crowd thickened when he finally reached Rianchi square. His home was just across. Luke started pushing people out of his way and, as he did, the music coming from somewhere ahead made itself more present to his ears.
The gypsies were back and the inflaming melodies of the old songs resonated through the whole of Rianchi. An involuntary frown marred Luke's forehead. Even the usually welcome oblivion of sleep wouldn't be easily reached tonight. Not while this lasted.
Luke shoved more people out of his way, ignoring the expletives thrown at him, until he finally got to the front of the wide ring of people that had formed around the artists. This close, he couldn't tell what was drums and what was the beating of his own heart. So loud that it shook the cobbles beneath his feet.
So many dancers. Girls covered only in the thinnest of red silks in all the kingdom. Moved so gracefully it broke his heart. He had to get out of there.
Eyes fixed across the square, through drums and undulating silk, Luke started his march ahead. Barely ten steps later, and they assaulted him.
Luke was lost in the middle of music and fabric. Soft red that caressed his skin like fire as the girls came to dance around him. He made sure not to give them not even a hint of a smile, so they'd know what he thought of all this. Luke didn't like music. It brought out emotions best kept buried. He had no use for them.
The more he walked, the more the dancers flocked around him and all Luke could think about was that they could at least have been men. Girls had never done a thing for him, not even when showing as much skin as these ones were.
Halfway through, they started turning him around in slow circles as the drums reached a maddening rhythm and the male gypsies began to sing. So much red silk that it seemed his eyes had been covered by rivers of blood.
Luke tried to extricate himself from them, but failed. All he could do was roll around in circles until he didn't know what way was home anymore.
When he was about to shove them all away, as they laughed and danced around him, all the red sea disappeared in front of his eyes, replaced by a woman.
A beautiful woman with an oval face, dressed in strands of the purest gold. Luke gasped, lost for words, as the golden lady, glowing like the sun, approached him with gracefulness unmatched. He didn't have time for anything before she leaned forward, brought her right hand to her lips and blew at his face, and then everything was confetti. Thin sparkles of gold blinded him, invading every orifice available.
Luke tensed, getting ready for the itch and coughing fit that was sure to follow.
Nothing.
The golden lady smiled at him as the music got louder and louder, but no itch; no cough.
He hazarded a look down at himself to see how covered in the substance he'd gotten, but there was nothing. His heartbeat picked up. He scrubbed at his eyes and hair to catch the confetti. Still nothing. When he looked up, the woman was gone.
Everyone was applauding, seemingly unaware of everything that had just happened. The song was over.
"Did you see that?" he demanded from the dancers. Some of them were bowing to the crowd; only a few paid him any mind.
"See what?"
"The woman. The confetti."
The two girls looked at him in complete bafflement.
"You didn't see her? What she did to me?"
The girls traded a look, then refocused on him. Before any of them could utter a single word, Luke whirled around, murmuring to himself. All crazy. That's what these people were. And they were getting him crazy, too.
The cane clicked against the cobbles as he faced the crowd and marched ahead. A few minutes later and he was latching his front door with the heavy pinewood plank. This was the only good thing his scoundrel of a father had ever given him: genes that made it easy for him to get some muscle after hours labouring away at the king's woods. He wouldn't be able to handle that plank with scrawny arms.
But that was all they'd ever be good for. He was plain and simple ugly. Eyes too large. Fan ears and crooked teeth. Finding a lover in such a small village would be hard for a man like him, that liked other men, even if he were pretty. His strong arms would never hold a lover.
That was what Luke was thinking about when he propped the cane beside his bed and got under the woollen blankets.
"Hi," he whispered to the stuffed bear.
As usual, it didn't answer.
The candle on the crooked nightstand created different patterns over Luke's hand as he stretched it and reached for his only friend. So did the dancing flames on the nearby wall.
Bigger than the average stuffed toy, it was the only thing he had left from his childhood. From mom.
For the millionth time, Luke found himself stroking the stitches that ran across bear's face. Mom had sewn them herself. Besides his genes, they were the only memory he had of his dad. Of the night when he tried to kill them. When he ended up with an arrow through the neck.
A shiver ran through him and he shook his head, trying to shut the dreadful images out.
He'd barely leaned back from blowing out the candle when loud voices, bellowing their joy, came from the Rianchi when the clock struck midnight. A few moments later, firecrackers fired in the sky. Luke hugged bear tighter and tried not to feel anything.
It was a hard fight.
"Happy new year, bear," was the last thing he whispered before sleep overtook him.
Luke didn't notice when the rebellious tear dropped from his cheek and landed on bear's eye.
***
LUKE HAD BEEN dreaming the strangest of dreams, before he woke up to terror. In the dream of golden rain and dropping stars there hadn't been so much heat involving him. So much weight around him. There surely hadn't been heavy, hot breath at the back of his neck.
Heart pounding as dread shrouded him, Luke tried to get his bearings on the unexpected predicament. Clearly, some drunkard invader had managed to get past his heavy wooden plank and was now in his bed. And he was... shirtless. Luke had the habit of going to bed naked, since the heat from the fireplace was usually enough to stave off the cold. The skin of his back was currently blanketed by warmth coming off the invader's chest.
The man was big, that was for sure. Luke wasn't a small man, but wasn't big either. Strong and fit, sure, but not big. This man was big, if the weight of his arm holding Luke firmly by his middle was anything to go by.
