By J. L. Thurston

RESTING AT THE FOOT OF A MOUNTAIN, A TOWN LAY BATHED IN RICHES. Not only were the people there wealthy and fat due to the gold mines, but they were rich in luck, as well. Madam Luck herself, who came from the twilight, lived in the lands at the foot of the mountain, but only in the minutes when the sky held both the sun and the moon.

For decades, men attempted to woo Madam Luck. Every night when the sun drooped low and the moon began to peep into the sky, the mountain town would light up with jubilation. Golden statues were made to honor her, festivals were held to lure her, and many sacrifices were made to impress her.

For twenty years, the king postulated himself before her, begging for her hand in marriage. Any man married to Madam Luck would be, well, the luckiest man of all time. The lineage of the kingdom was under threat until he finally settled for a lovely duchess who was proud to know she was second-rate to none besides Madam Luck herself.

Thousands desired the mystical woman. Hundreds fought for her. Traps were set for her. But no matter what happened while she walked the earth, she always disappeared just as the sun disappeared in the sky.

✶

THERE WAS A YOUNG MAN NAMED ORION who grew up watching hungry men spend vast fortunes and energies on Madam Luck. Orion had no money and no skills save for the way he played guitar. He was younger than he looked, aged by a lifetime of burden. Orphaned young, abandoned by those he had needed, Orion roamed the streets as the only unlucky man in town.

He had one shirt, one pair of slacks, one sheer cloak, and no shoes. His one and only beloved possession was his guitar. On lovely days, his guitar would play on any busy street corner and from its magic it would pull coins from the purses of those much richer than he. On cold, lonely nights, it would sing comforts to his heart.

Orion was many things, but above all, he was lonely. He spoke little, and his filthy appearance caused others to turn him away. He ate alone in shadowed alleys, he bathed alone in the mountain stream, and he slept alone, curled up in a shelter he built on a rocky rise that gave him a wonderful view of the sunset.

Orion had never tried to entice Madam Luck. He had seen her a handful of times, but he had no idea what he’d do with her if he had her. Would she live with him in his shack? Would she eat moldering bread from the bins?

No. If he had Madam Luck, he’d be blessed beyond all other men. He’d wear clothes that were clean and new. He’d have shoes on his feet and warm socks. He’d bathe in oils every night. He’d have food every day.

Winter was approaching and Orion dreaded another season of hardship. He found himself thinking of Madam Luck more and more often. While he played on the streets, he found himself listening in to the conversations that focused on her.

“Jewels,” a man said, as though answering a question. “I bet she wants the finest jewels to adorn her.”

“No!” argued another man. “Clothes. Any man worth half a penny knows a woman loves clothes! Give her a wardrobe, and she’s yours.”

That twilight, for the very first time, Orion tried to meet with Madam Luck. He had no idea how to summon her, but he knew that this winter would be his last. He sat outside in the icy air, his threadbare cloak billowing around him, and he settled his guitar on his lap.

He had no money to buy Madam Luck any jewels or clothing. All he had was music. He closed his eyes and his fingers began to move. Nimbly, he wove a song for her. The tune was lilting, sewing a dress of notes that would only fit her. He remembered seeing her once before. She had disappeared from view quickly, as quiet and soft as a shadow. It seemed to him that she would not want a bawdy dress, busty and frilled. She might appreciate something subtle and soft. A dress that embraced, that soothed sunset skin. And jewels that were warm to the touch, not cold like the bitter wind. His fingers played on strings and from them the sound of falling rubies could be heard, landing on rose gold and dangling silver. He could feel the crush of velvet in the notes, the comfort of rabbit fur, and soft wool.

The sun disappeared behind the horizon, blackening the sky. Alone, the moon hung above the town and all those who had been trying to woo the Madam went to bed. Including Orion.

Days grew colder and shorter. Twilight was hardly a breath long, it seemed. Orion shivered beneath a trader’s post and listened to the gossip.

“I swear, the way to get to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.”

There was much laughter at that. But Orion’s stomach was growling.

As the sky became gray, he set himself outside and began to play.

Music like a roaring fire poured from him. He began to feel the warmth of it. He played the sounds of laughter of people sitting around a heavy table. Notes became clinking goblets. He could smell baked bread in his music, taste the salt of meat, and tang of cheese. The crisp sweetness of apples. The heat of good wine as it slid down his guitar strings and into his throat. He felt the music filling his belly for the first time in weeks. He smiled while he played, knowing he was presenting a feast fit for a being of magic.

As his song ended, with a chocolate-and-nut cake, the sun disappeared and the moon took the sky. It was cold. Oh, so cold, and Orion went beneath his little shelter and fell asleep to the wail of the wind.

Snow fell, and winter had fallen upon them heavily. Orion could hardly waste energy playing the streets because none were out who didn’t have to be out, and most ears were muffled with wool, anyway.

He had packed his shelter with a layer of leaves and snow, and though he was starving and weak, he wasn’t very cold. His fingers were warm enough to play, and so play they did.

In the times of great hardship, when Orion wasn’t sure if he was going to survive, his thoughts would grow deep and telling. He discovered truths he’d otherwise ignored. Truths about himself, and others.

One deep, winter night, after too many consecutive days of isolation, when his belly had been empty for too long, Orion played truth. He played it all while the snow fell and time meant nothing.

From the strings came the anger of losing his parents, and the bitterness of knowing no others loved him. He mourned through the music, and he wept and wailed freely as he remembered no one would grieve him if the winter barren took him.

But the music dried his tears, and a wry note reminded him of the bloom of the spring flowers.

He remembered to play spring. His notes were filled with longing for running streams of water and the ease of a gentle sunny day. The music grew lighter as he played the birds dancing on branches, the mischief of the squirrels. He laughed as he played, and he remembered to play the music of the laughter of children who did not let a little bit of spring rain ruin their fun.

He played daytime. The bustle of crowds, the indifference of a town too busy to look each other in the eye. He played nighttime. He played the sound of sitting alone in his shelter, missing the feel of another person’s hand on his. He played the hole in his heart that should have been filled with dreaming and plans.

And just when his music swelled into a bitter song of desperate hopelessness, his fingers slipped and the meditation that had engulfed him lifted as suddenly as a man startled from a dream. He was no longer alone in his shelter.

She was quiet. Sitting cross-legged as though she’d been there a hundred times. Her eyes watched him, falling on his face with the familiarity of a friend. Inside them, Orion could see a universe of stars.

Madam Luck reached forward and placed her hand on his. It was a knowing touch. It carried many thoughts.

At her touch, Orion knew she was able to speak the language of music. She had heard everything he had said through it. Every feeling, every thought. It was a language she had longed to hear. A true language.

They sat together until the sun went down, and then long afterwards. Orion played for her and she listened, touching his hand, his arm, his hair. As long as they were together, she did not have to go away.

Their luck was changing.