Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 29, Section 3 - Reap Ball

Note: This was not what I originally intended to write about here, but it seemed to fit in with this part of the story better than what I had been thinking about. I am at 107 votes now, with 33% wanting it moved up. The other one I am at 87 votes, with 42% wanting it moved up.

“Another Moon on an everyday night; Thinking the morning looking for alright; warming the blood flow with poison I don’t know why”

Below everything the music played, harps, horns, a periodic drum and a steady strum from a nine-stringed bandolier, and that was how she knew it was not real. Nevertheless, Kendra strolled through the motions of that night from so long ago over and over in her otherwise dismal dreams. None of it was real anymore, but there were segments where she wished that if she dawdled long enough that she’d somehow stay and never return to the torn and bruised heap of her body.

There was the part with Ewam standing bare-chested before the mirror in his old room with a shaving blade pressed tightly against his soft, young face. The short red hairs of his chest curled like flames buried deep inside a fire. Everything about him was constricted and tight; his muscles rolled smoothly up his pale arms and down in circles on his back. Butterflies spread their wings in her stomach and flew in all directions just at his sight. She stood in the doorway a long while, taking him in, before mustering up enough courage to speak while praying that her voice did not crack.

“Doth Ewam Perde, son of Rudan, Prince of Satar, Dawn of Man, believe trimming that baby fuzz will make him a man,” Kendra asked from her viewpoint in the doorway? The truth of the matter was that she stole away from her father earlier and escaped to the corridor in secret desire to see him. As bold as the boy was among his male peers, he was quiet and nervous around her. She was much the same among her young lady friends, but could barely look directly at him. Despite that, they both made excuses for crossing each other’s path.

He flinched at the sound of her voice, and she glanced away not to meet his eyes as he glared over.

“I nearly cut my nose off,” he put his hand to his face and then pulled it away holding it up for her to see the blood. “A lady should not sneak so.”

Putting the blade down, he fumbled around the basin below as red drops started to spot the marble top.

“Mercy boy,” she rushed across the room, pulling a kerchief from a loop at her waist. “Have you not the sense to keep a cloth or such around when you’re shaving.”

She titled his chin without a second thought and pressed the kerchief to the long cut running from beside his nose about a finger length up the right side of his face. A red stain quickly soaked through.

“You know I never do things like this,” he covered her hand holding the kerchief and pressed it more firmly against the wound.

“Why are you doing it now then?” She frowned meeting his gaze.

“It was Eden’s idea mostly,” he kept his eyes squarely leveled on her. “For the Reap Ball, you know, the one this evening.”

“Of course boy, I am not daft.” She had been mulling over gowns to wear for the last month. That morning she settled on an elegant purple gown made by a renowned seamstress from all the way in Nocnil. It had the straight, understated look common among those of the sand. “But there will be masks, so what’s the need for shaving.”

“I said it was Eden’s idea mostly,” a smirk curled at the corners of his lips. “Mayhap, we’ll play some tricks in each other’s guise or something of the like.”

“Ughh, boys,” she slipped her hand away from the kerchief. It stuck to his face long enough for him to catch it. “Just when you start acting like men, you play games worse than boys.”

She turned quick enough for her wide skirt to swish in the air. Walking away, she could still feel his eyes on her.

“Mayhap,” he called from behind. “I’ll put the games away long enough for a dance.”

Stopping only briefly enough to collect the strength back to her knees, she squeaked out enough of an answer behind a big smile.

“Mayhap.”

If life were not made of creulities, she would be allowed to linger in that feeling of youthful bliss longer. Instead, it sped up to the ball later that night and the music, that was faint throughout her scene with Ewam, picked up to a defeaning tone.

Union Hall, sparkling from a week worth of cleaning and decked out with bright gold and purple cloth streamers that glistened from the hundreds of candles alit in the huge glass chandelier hanging from the peak of the ceiling in the middle of the vast room, was filled with nobility. The King and Queen sat on the thrones above all, peering down with fingers barely touching.

She noticed all that while spinning and spinning from one masked partner to the next. The masks hung over the top half of the face. They were each painted differently, but all had a long, hooked nose. She had spent the last three days painting a hundred tiny stars on top of a dark blue background to decorate her mask.

The music found another decibel level aided by shouts and laugther. Children sat on the edges sucking on candy while pointing and snickering at those lost in the dance on the floor. She was dizzy and scared, like one false step was going to send the entire room spiraling off into chaos. She trusted her steps and she knew when to raise her arms and to clap after every sixth beat. There was not anything to it, no entanglement of romance. Just a dance among allies, till the music stopped and he stood before her.

His mask was golden with purple whiskers like a cat pointing out on each side. Under the eyes were purple teardrops and the nose was a grotesque black with red nostrils. His thick red hair stuck out the back in a short ponytail and his little chest hair poked out the collar of his shirt.

“Perchance a dance,” she said, raising her hand to his shoulder while he clasped on gently to her other. The music still blared, but everyone else stopped, watching ancient rites play out. He did nothing, but grin back to her.

The song slowed and the dance lasted an eternity, but she did not mind. It was euphoric. He was so fluid, so precise. Never would she have guessed that he could handle himself so on the dance floor. If it were a swordfight, she would have expected it. But this? He was flawless in his steps, even better than she. All the while he led, making her feel guided into postions for purpose of beauty, not prodded like a dumb animal into a pen like most boys their age.

As the dance slowly came to a close, the room filled with applause and whistles. The music was still loud. It was always loud during this part of the fantasy. In real life it had all but stopped as she leaned in. The cheering was loud, and she wanted to be sure he heard exactly what she had to ask. Every year at Reap Balls across Satar, one heart was to be given freely and either accepted or rejected on the spot. It was an old custom, but one that every village, city and grand hall still followed. Acceptance was an engagment for all practical purposes. Rejection. Well, rejections were rare since most of the ball’s organized the couple ahead of time to assure a positive outcome.

This was not preordained.

“If I give you my heart, my lord,” she stopped to swallow a lump of doubt, “will you accept it and keep it safe.”

The mask lifted slightly revealing two very smooth cheeks as his smile broadened. A rush of panic flooded her stomach, but she could not figure out why. She dismissed it, at first as worry over his answer, but then he spoke and her mind went numb.

“I will keep it, my lady,” he spoke enuciating each syllable. That was not like Ewam, at all. “I will keep it and guard it from all others.”

It was the answer she hoped to hear, but not from lips she intended to get them from. Before she could stop him, those same lips were pressed to hers. Some mixture of gasp, swoon and sigh passed around those gathered.

When they pulled apart in reality, the hall had been so quiet she could hear a pair of heavy steps running away. In the dream, the music played on, but the steps were even louder, echoing into her deepest recesses. She never knew a person could be singled out by their footstep, but she knew those by heart.

The man in front of her removed his mask, his clean, square face brimming full with a smile. She even made out a tear of joy gathering in his eye.

“Eden,” she spoke in a whisper, her heart plummeting into her stomach. Over and over again, she repeated the name in shock and dismay until finally the music came to a stop and he answered.

“See, you’re dreaming of me now.” His grin contained none of its former joy. She struggled to open her eyes, both of which were swollen and crusted over. “My methods are curing you.”

She did not have the strength to cry much less fight back as he pealed back her sleeping gown and lowered his fist between her legs.

Through it all, she fixed the back of her mind on a point. Part of the dream that never came quick enough, but always vanished too soon. It had been the night before her wedding. Ewam wore a soft blue shirt that buttoned down the front and Old Moon’s cracked face made it look like it was smiling. That was last time she really felt the full face of joy in her heart.