Giver40

My legs felt leaden by the time we reached the small town. To me it felt like the middle of the night, but the town was quite alive with people enjoying some type of celebration. Children shouted and laughed, men and women sang and carried on from the center of town where they had lit torches.

The scent of dinner and beer made my mouth water and I trudged forward, led by stomach more than my desire to be near a crowd.

"That's my boy," my uncle said. He chuckled to himself as I quickened my pace.

The closer we got to the celebration, I realized the children running in circles and skipping about wore brightly colored masks. My eyes widened in surprise and I came to a sudden stop. With a questioning look, I turned to my uncle.

"A night to keep the spirits away," he said before I asked. His smile widened, a twinkle in his gaze. "A night to blend in perfectly, my child."

Still I hesitated, feeling as though they mocked me even though I hadn't been spotted. My uncle dismounted and I led Moon toward a stable set within the shadows. A young man not much older than me grinned and said he would take good care of Moon until we left in the morning.

Once he turned away, I paused, realizing he had looked me in the eye without fear. He hadn't stared at the mask, either, as for the night it was normal.

I looked over my shoulder to see if he gawked as I left the stable, but he had disappeared. Inwardly I smiled and realized that Uncle Alak had possibly been correct and there was a chance I could blend in for a night. The thought made me tremble with anticipation.

I ran to my uncle immediately, cutting my way through the crowd until I found him with his cane in one hand and coins in the other. A heavy-set woman with dark red hair and wide eyes sauntered beside him and moved like a dancer as she showed him the spread of food. Large hips swayed back and forth with each step and she glanced back to make sure he followed her.

"Eat as much as you like," she said. Her voice was like music, her every move sensual and alluring. She wore a simple green mask with feathers at the corners of her eyes, which made her fiery hair even brighter.

My uncle put his arm around me. "My son and I thank you for your hospitality."

His acknowledgment widened my eyes. I looked up at him and reached around, holding him tight, wanting desperately to be his son and have him as my father.

The woman reached out and placed her hand on my shoulder, which startled me. Had my uncle not held firmly to me, I would have jumped back and ran away.

"And what is your name, my dear?" she questioned as she ran her fingers along my arm.

Her touch was foreign to me and I drew as far back as I could, alarmed by her sudden, almost intimate display of affection. She was around my mother's age, though heavier set with a round face and pleasant smile. I wondered if she would have screamed or ran away if she knew the mask I wore was truly hiding wickedness beneath. The illusion allowed comfort, hid what my mother couldn't accept or even tolerate.

My uncle grunted and nudged me. "This is Erik," he said proudly. "And he is a very shy young man."

She smiled brightly at me. "I see he came prepared for our festivities. Perhaps my daughter could help you decorate your mask?" she offered. "She spent the better part of the day transforming herself into a bird." She laughed to herself and held her hand over her stomach. "She will undoubtedly offer to transform you into something as well, Erik."

I shook my head at once, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself than necessary. Already I felt out of place, as though somehow the others would know the mask I wore was not for decoration.

"You are too kind." My uncle stepped forward and ushered me away. He put his lips to my ear and spoke softly. "Tonight you are no different than anyone else here," he assured me. "Relax, Erik, please try to enjoy yourself." He paused and patted my back. "And remember, you are a guest here. They will be curious of your travels."

Relaxation and enjoyment were words I had never considered adding to my vocabulary, but he gave me no time to argue. With that, he pushed me toward a group of young women and men my age and walked toward a throng of men with mugs of beer in hand.

Awkwardly I stood alone, my heart beating fast and hard. I clasped my hands and looked away from the group standing no more than five paces away. They talked amongst themselves and eyed me, though not with malice. Still, I would not be the first to move, to offer myself up to them.

I studied the ground and balled my hands into fists, unsure of what I should do or how I should act. Conversation would not come easily to me and I started to turn and walk away, preferring the shadows to open spaces. I could easily slip into the stable and spend the rest of the evening brushing Moon and feeding her oats and hay. Unwilling to speak, I felt more comfortable in the presence of another beast than people my age.

"Hello there," a high, feminine voice said.

I paused briefly, then silently berated myself for thinking this woman spoke to me. Footsteps trudged toward me and a hand fell lightly onto my shoulder.

Her touch turned me into a silent statue. I inhaled sharply, my lips parted in shock at the delicate way she made me pause. My heart stuttered as I stood waiting for her to acknowledge me, for cruel words to tell me of why I didn't belong, to question my presence as well as my appearance.

"What are you supposed to be?" she asked as she stepped in front of me.

Words refused to form. I gawked lamely at her, this blue-eyed sprite with her bee-stung lips and pure alabaster skin.

"I'm a swan," she said as she stepped back and showed her white dress and matching white feathered mask. Her auburn hair had been pulled back and secured with a white ribbon, the pale colors making her into an apparition. "My mother said you wanted no further decoration."

I nodded.

She smiled, though it seemed forced. "What is your name?" she questioned.

Finally, a question I could answer. "Erik," I said.

"Amelie," she said with a curtsy. "Swan princess." She batted her eyelashes at me, which I suspected was supposed to add to her charm. Instead it made her look as though she attempted to blink dirt out of her eye. "And you are?"

"An invisible boy," I answered, still distracted by her rapid blinking.

Her smile widened. "Ah, so that's why you are so quiet? You're invisible." She laughed, a genuine, happy sound as she reached for my hand and pulled me toward the others dressed in darker clothing with colorful, frightening masks. Her voice reminded me of her mother and I wondered if when these strangers saw me, they thought I mirrored my uncle.

I refused to move and dug my heels into the ground, but she tugged me hard and looked back.

"Are you afraid?" she asked with a coy smile.

I was more than afraid. I was petrified. Head bowed, I finally trudged behind her.

"This is Erik," she announced, still holding fast to my hand. I made no attempt to grasp her fingers, but she was kind enough not to mention it. Her touch was warm and smooth, mine cold and damp like a dead fish. "And he is invisible."

I stood a full head taller than the rest, which became noticeable once we were grouped together. Amelie released my hand and motioned wildly as she talked to another girl with dark skin and eyes. The others, who all knew one another, began discussing something that happened the previous day.

With nothing of interest to say, I clasped my hands and bowed my head, willing myself to become invisible.

Before I could fully pity myself, a group of musicians took to a platform and immediately began to play a song I didn't recognize. The music was incredibly fast-paced and out of tune, while the woman singing had a voice like a cat screeching in an alley.

To my surprise, men put their mugs down and women skittered into place. One by one, they took to the open space and began dancing about as though the tune assaulting our ears was pleasant enough and worthy of acknowledgment.

Eventually, I was the only one left off to the side, observing rather than participating. I hugged my arms across my chest and watched briefly before I walked toward the table with food and piled a plate with as much as I could carry.

While I sat at the edge of the table, I watched as my uncle danced with the others. He was not light on his feet, but the women around him laughed and seemed to enjoy his company. He winked at Amelie's mother and spun her around, which made her shriek with laughter.

I sighed to myself and ate in silence, feeling more out of place than I had before. I wasn't made for conversation or polite company. I was best left in shadows, away from the rest of the world.

But my sulking was interrupted when Amelie suddenly appeared and plopped down beside me.

Her chest noticeably heaved, her lips parted and face flushed. "Are you almost finished?" she asked breathlessly.

I stuffed a carrot into my mouth and shrugged, overwhelmed by her appearance and breathy voice. My plate was empty aside from chicken bones, which I considered chewing on merely to avoid conversation.

"Well, you cannot just sit here," she said as she pushed my plate aside and grabbed me by the arm. "Dance."

"I don't know how," I answered, nor was I willing to try. Wide-eyed, I looked at her, wondering what possessed her to drag me to my feet.

"Neither do we," she said over her shoulder. "And that woman doesn't know how to sing, either, but no one will ask her to stop. She will clobber you if you try!"

Her words made me laugh and before I knew it, she dragged me toward the others. Once we were surrounded, she began skipping and jumping about while I stood rigid. She grabbed my arms and began wrenching them back and forth.

"You enjoy this?" I asked.

"It's better than standing there," she said with a laugh.

The song ended and Amelie's shoulders dropped. She shook her head at me. "What do you enjoy?" she asked.

"Music," I answered at last. "But not this music."

"What's wrong with this music?" she asked, though she didn't give me a moment to answer. "You could play better? Are you a traveling musician?" she asked, her tone light and teasing.

"I could play better than anyone you've heard before." I stood straighter and glanced at the musicians, who were slouched and clumsy even in appearance.

She took a step back, looking me over, then nodded in approval. "Then play."

I stammered for words, which made her laugh.

"You won't do it, will you?" she questioned.

Hands balled into fists, I stalked toward the musicians, determined to prove her wrong on this account. "I most certainly will," I said over my shoulder.

Amelie followed close behind. I glanced back at her and caught sight of my uncle, who watched me curiously as I made my way toward the singer and the men who had cast their instruments aside.

"I would like to play," I blurted out.

Once I spoke, I felt incredibly foolish. There I was, a stranger intruding amongst friends, demanding I be allowed to play for them.

"With us?" the singer asked.

I had no desire to play with them, as I knew I could play better than them. Still, I nodded.

"What do you play?" the singer asked as she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and looked me up and down skeptically.

"The violin," I answered.

My uncle sidled up alongside me and nodded toward the violinist. "I could tune it for you, sir," he said politely. It amused me that he realized it was in need of tuning, even if the owner did not.

With a great deal of reluctance, the portly man handed over his violin and sneered at us. "But of course," he answered snidely.

"You are a mystery, my child," my uncle muttered. He glanced at me, a twinkle in his eye as he quickly turned the pegs and listened to the pitch. "You hide in the shadows, then burst out to be heard in a song." He handed me the violin and nodded toward the stage. "Entertain them a while," he said.

I took a deep breath and looked to him, gleaning confidence from his gentle, encouraging expression. The singer tapped me on the shoulder and said quietly, "Do you know Pretty Girls?" she asked.

She hummed a few bars and took up a tambourine, which she tapped gently. To my dismay, she began to singer louder and the gentleman behind her with a flute also began to play. With a sigh, I began to play as well and the crowd started to dance.

Amelie kept to the front of the stage and twirled around, clapping her hands above her head. It was a simple folk sound with no variation in melody and repetitive lyrics, but the audience responded and sang along loudly.

For all of its imperfections, it was enjoyable, and when the song ended, the crowd erupted in cheers.

Amelie danced her way toward where I stood with the violin in hand and touched my shoulder. "You are not so invisible," she said, her voice almost musical.

"I suppose not," I answered.

No one had ever approached me with such calm and acceptance. I glanced around at the men, women, and children both my age and younger, all of them donning masks and enjoying the evening. No one looked at me as an oddity or out of place. Conversation, though stilted, was not as impossible as I had expected.

"Will you dance?" she asked.

I laughed to myself. "No, I will not."

She shrugged, seemingly expecting this answer. "Will you play another song, then? You were truly skilled at playing, even if you were somewhat drowned out by the others."

"Yes," I replied. "Yes, I will play again...if they allow it."

"They would be fools not to allow it," she said firmly. She motioned toward the singer. "Marie, step aside, you yowling cat. He's going to play."

The singer looked aghast and pretended to swat at Amelie. "You little cow. Oh, I will tell mother about you!"

Amelie laughed in return. "My sister," she explained. "The only one brave enough to sing before the crowd, even if she's the least talented."

Marie nudged her sister in the ribs. "The crowd always applauds," she pointed out.

"You sing out of your nose," I said to her.

The singer—Marie—widened her eyes and looked down her nose at me. "Do I?" she questioned dryly.

"It's an observation, not necessarily an insult," I replied. In truth, it was both.

"Well, I didn't observe or insult your music." She crossed her arms and turned away, though I could hear her testing her voice. I had half the mind to tell her my music garnered no insult.

"Where did you learn to play?" Amelie asked.

"I taught myself."

She smiled again, her dark eyes twinkling in the torch light. "I wish I could sing," she said wistfully. She pulled off her mask and rubbed her slender nose. She fanned herself with her swan's mask, her thin face much younger than I had anticipated.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, immediately fitting her mask back into place.

I watched her a moment, wishing I could trade my music for the ability to pull off my mask and be no different from her or anyone else.

At last I shook my head, for once setting aside my misery. If for one night I could be ordinary, then I would accept it. "Not at all," I replied.