Festival of the Dead

Chapter 6: Lucan

As soon as Lucan slammed the door of his house, the agonizing pain in his head came back. It happened every time there was a death, making him think he was next, but it was usually tolerable. This time, he felt like he was actually going to die. He gasped and fell to the ground, clutching his head and writhing in agony. It felt like someone was repeatedly impaling a spear into his head, and then pulling it out. It went on like that for an excruciatingly long time.

Then finally, the pain started to ebb away. Lucan lay there on the cold floor, shivering and drenched in sweat, until he got the courage to try to pick himself up. It took him three tries to succeed, and then he dragged himself to the table nearby and leaned on it for support. He started to cover his face, but caught sight of his hands and sucked in a breath. His skin was frighteningly pale, a lot more pale than he had ever been born with. He jumped up, immediately lost his balance and would have fallen down if not for the table being in his reach. He lurched towards it and grabbed its side, breathing heavily from all the effort. After a few moments, he decided to try again, but with more caution this time.

He slowly shuffled towards the mirror and leaned towards it to take a look. He was shocked by what he saw. He looked like a ghoul, with his pale skin and hollows under his eyes. His pointed ears looked especially pronounced. His hair was plastered against his forehead and his eyes looked as if they had lost all their color. Lucan staggered away from the mirror, his eyes wide. He touched his face. What was wrong with him?

No, I am completely fine, he reassured himself, I just need a good rest, and everything will go back to normal in the morning. He shuffled to his bedroom, and without bothering to wash up, he collapsed into his bed. But sleep just wouldn't come to him. No matter how many times he tossed and turned, he couldn't find a comfortable position. He gave up and lay on his back, giving the thoughts that he was trying to suppress free rein. Eventually, tiredness took over and he shut his eyes, slowly drifting to unconsciousness.

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By the time Lucan woke up, it was already midday. He washed up, and, realizing how hungry he was, made himself something to eat. Settling on cold bread with stew, he sat down on the table and began to dig in.

Lucan's thoughts returned to his argument with Euandros. He started to get angry once again. How dare he accuse him of being something he was not? And how would he know? He had only known Lucan for a few hours. Lucan hated people who always thought that they were right and never listened to others.

But he realized that he had acted a little irrationally. What if what Euandros had said was true? What if he was fae? But he was sure that his parents were completely human. That would mean that the parents he had known for as long as he could remember wouldn't be his real parents. That would only mean one thing; he would be a changeling. Lucan shuddered and slid that thought away.

So, if I really have magic, let's put it to the test, he thought to himself. Breakfast forgotten, he stood up from the chair that he sat in and pointed his finger towards the cabinet in which the plates were stored. He put all his concentration into bringing a plate towards him. It didn't budge. Come on, he thought. He tried again, with his jaw clenched and his eyes squeezed shut. He tried to pull out magic from deep inside him, tried to feel the power of it coursing through his veins. But nothing happened. He smirked, thinking of how wrong Euandros had been. But something prompted him to keep on trying.

Three, four, five, six, seven, and eight. Eight times he had tried. Eight times nothing had happened. He was starting to get very annoyed. When nothing happened on the ninth try, he screamed in frustration and decided to give up. He was furious, at Euandros, at Guinevere, at his parents for dying, and at the cabinet for not complying. But most of all, he was furious at himself. Why does he always have to get into foolish messes that he would regret later on? He looked up again at the cabinet, which aggravated him even more, and he shouted in anger. He turned around and started walking away.