Though tears, Andrius said, “I only wanted to eat some dinner.”
Daiva laughed—an evil, menacing fit of cruelty.
“Oh are you hungry now? You don’t like that I keep meals from you?” She slapped him again, over and over. “Well you’ll be starving by the time I’m done with you! And you’ll have had the beating of your life too.”
She stumbled against Andrius, crushing him into the wall and forcing all of his breath out.
“Daiva . . .” Aleksandras pleaded in a breathy, congested tone.
Her fingers closed around Aleksandras’s harvest shears. Why they were inside the hut, Andrius didn’t know, but her groping fingers knew what they touched upon.
A smile of grim satisfaction crossed her lips, and Daiva raised the blade above her head.
Andrius was blubbering now. He was going to die. He pled for his life in a series of squeals. “Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.”
A rush of wind gave them pause, as did the creaking of the wooden door to outside.
Daiva growled.
“You think you can get away, Andrius? Are you so foolish? Did you open this door?”
“No,” another voice said. “I did.”
Everyone stopped. Andrius’s eyes were blurred shut. His father’s feet slipped where he leaned against the counter and he nearly fell.
The voice sounded familiar.
“Who are you?” Daiva barked, surly once again. “Don’t you know it’s rude to barge into a person’s home?”
“Homes belong to the village,” the voice said, “and should not be treated as personal property. To answer your question, my name is Petras, and my wife’s is Simona.”
The harvest shears clattered to the floor. Daiva’s face registered shock as she let go of Andrius and backed away.
“And furthermore,” Petras declared, “the visitation of a Regent is to be considered an honor.”
It was the most awkward dinner of Andrius’s life. Daiva tried to overcompensate by being extremely attentive to the needs of their guests, but it didn’t help. Every once in a while she would begin a sentence with the intention of praising Andrius, but it would always die on her lips halfway, as if she lacked the capacity to go through with it.
Aleksandras was proud of his son, of course, and he spoke many times in his favor, telling Petras and Simona how honored he was to be the boy’s father.
Unfortunately, in addition to pride he also had a broken nose, and his voice was consequently very nasal. He had to excuse himself several times before finally heading out to find the healer of Stone.
At least there was plenty of food.
Petras spoke little, asking questions here and there but mostly preserving his reticence. His wife Simona did not speak at all.
When it came time to leave, Daiva fawned over them as Andrius instinctively went over to begin cleaning the dinner things. It would be harder this evening, since Aleksandras wasn’t there to help him. The Regent of Stone spoke up, however, and altered him from his intended course.
“Andrius,” the large man said, interrupting Daiva’s meaningless blathering. “Walk me outside.”
The door creaked open and the hut was filled with a rush of cold air. Andrius stood frozen for a moment, then hurried out after the honorable couple. He just narrowly avoided running into Daiva as she collapsed onto one of the wooden stools. It cracked audibly, followed by Daiva’s expressive swearing. Andrius let the door swing shut behind him, relieved to feel the evening mist on his face.
“Walk us to the road, Andrius,” the Regent said as he led the way. He held onto the rope and his wife held onto his shoulder. There was silence for a while, then the questions came. Very calmly he asked Andrius about his home and his daily life—where he slept, if he was ever hungry or needed things that were not given to him. The only time he seemed to get upset was when Andrius replied to him that he didn’t use a cane. He quickly explained to the Regent that with his other sense he didn’t need one.
As if on cue, Andrius tripped over a loose rock in the pathway to the road. Petras frowned but said no more of it.
When they reached Stone Road, Simona gave Andrius a hug and the Regent clapped him on the shoulder, thanking him for dinner.
Andrius looked at them walking away, fidgeting where he stood. He wanted to ask a question, but he was nervous. After all, the second most important person in the village had seen his family at its worst. It was shameful.
“Regent!” he blurted out before they went too far. They stopped to listen.
Andrius felt sick, but he had to know.
“Regent,” he said softer. “Did you . . . Why did you come to our hut tonight?”
The barrel-chested man nodded once and tapped the end of his cane against the ground.
“The Prophet is fond of you, Andrius. So am I.”
The Regent and his wife did not stay to chat. Arm in arm they quietly set out into the night, waving their canes in front of them as they went.
Andrius stood there a long time, ostensibly thinking, but it seemed as if he couldn’t think of anything at all.
Daiva was particularly bitter in the morning but wary also. Andrius was able to avoid her for the most part, tiptoeing around and pretending not to hear her threats and insults.
Sometimes Andrius wondered if he ought to just lie down and never get up, but that would be too much like Daiva, and Daiva wasn’t even his mother. Besides, he had his class to teach.
He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but there were even more people in attendance this time. He tried to describe how to hear movement with the eyes, and the crowd seemed to follow him fairly well. He finished his lecture with an encouragement to open their eyes and look at things. This was met with great enthusiasm and support. The heaps of praise that the villagers laid on him made him feel better. He was trying not to think about the previous night.
More and more people seemed to be traveling about with their eyes open. A few would open then close them alternatingly, others seemed to try and keep them open at all times.
“I’ll have to tell them to close their eyes sometimes,” Andrius said to himself as he walked down Brick Road, thinking about his students.
It was encouraging to have such a large group coming to meet with him again and again, but Andrius wondered how much progress they were making.
When the villagers opened their eyes it looked hollow, like they were dead.
It was not like his eyes or Daniel’s eyes. For the hundredth time, Andrius wondered where Daniel had gone. He had so many things he wanted to ask him.
Andrius thoughtfully lifted his wooden pitcher to his lips and took a drink. The water sloshed noisily.
“Andrius?”
Andrius turned his head and there was Tomas, grinning big.
“Andrius, is that you?”
He choked on his water trying to answer too quickly. He spit it out as he coughed, but he managed a weak “yes.”
“Great job on the hill today! You’re the Prophet’s own, Andrius.” He excitedly raised his hands as Andrius wiped the water from his own chin. “I could tell where you were because of the water’s movement. It’s like I can hear with my eyes already. You’re the best, Andrius—the Prophet’s own!”
Andrius thanked him and listened as Tomas went on about how he thought that maybe, just maybe he was starting to softly hear things with his eyes.
Of course, as he went about trying to prove this, he neglected to open his eyes.
Andrius wasn’t sure if what he was hearing was flattery or wishful thinking, but still, it lifted his spirits a bit. He kept sinking down into sadness whenever his mind wandered.
Tomas chattered all the way to Eighteenth Brick, and Andrius let him. He was happy to have a companion during his walk, and besides, he did not know what to say.
The tall, strong oak tree that he and his age-peers sat beneath rocked gently in the wind. Andrius stopped in his tracks and listened. He even closed his eyes so as
to better hear the melodic rattling of the leaves high above.
That was music to him.
“Ow!”
Andrius was jostled forward as someone crashed into his back. He only narrowly avoided an actual fall by putting his hands on the ground. He was pulled from his reflective moment, but at least he had not fallen on his face.
Viktoras, who had run into him, had not been so lucky. He wore a muddy scowl as he rose, cursing under his breath. He irritably wiped himself off.
“Who is the idiot who didn’t hear me coming and move?”
Andrius swallowed hard, expecting the worst.
“I’m really sorry, Viktoras. It was me.”
Viktoras’s countenance changed, like he was placing the voice. Then, his demeanor was completely different. “Andrius? Is that you?”
“Yes,” he croaked.
To Andrius’s surprise, the other boy didn’t get angry. He didn’t seem happy exactly, but he wasn’t angry anymore. It was like he deflated.
“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t know it was you.”
Andrius raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry,” Viktoras continued as he took his seat.
Andrius stood still as his age-peers gathered and sat nearby. The instructor was starting roll, but Andrius could hardly hear him.
No one had ever apologized to him before.
“Andrius. Andrius?”
“What’s that?”
His classmates giggled.
“Well,” the instructor chuckled. “I suppose the question is answered now, but are you here? We’re calling names.”
“Oh, yes. I’m here.”
He quickly sat down on the grass, setting his pitcher beside him.
The children still giggled softly, but there was something different about the sound. It was more like delight than mockery.
“You’re so silly, Andrius,” Ugna whispered playfully.
Andrius wasn’t sure how to handle that, so he let a stupid grin on his face and waited for the instructor to move on, but he didn’t.
“Did you sleep well last night, Andrius?” the instructor inquired, genuine concern apparent in his voice. “No, probably you were just being funny. Never mind.”
The kids laughed again.
A strange feeling welled up inside of Andrius. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he liked it.
“All right, children, today we will be talking about—No, wait a moment.” The instructor folded his hands. “Children, I just want to reiterate what a debt of gratitude we all owe to Andrius. He saved our Prophet, he is expanding the limits of human knowledge with his lessons, and this new sense of his . . . Let’s applaud for him, children. Clap your hands for Andrius, the Prophet’s own!”
The children broke into uproarious applause, and Andrius felt a wave of that feeling come over him again. He wasn’t positive, but he suspected that it was acceptance.
Someone patted him enthusiastically as the cheers wound down. The instructor seemed very moved, but he pressed on.
“Thank you, children. All right, yes. Thank you. And thank you, Andrius. Truly.”
The instructor stood and then nearly fell, being on uneven ground, but between his cane and a hand on the oak’s trunk he was able to catch himself. He took a deep breath as the children settled down.
“All right. Today we will be primarily discussing mathematics and memorization. You can’t have the first without the second, after all. Mathematics—which was invented by Zydrunas, of course—helps us to solve problems in our daily work for the village. It also trains us to hold complex thoughts and patterns together in our minds. Now, before we get into anything else we will be discussing measurements. I took the pains of measuring Brick Road this morning before lessons. Does anyone have a guess as to how long it may be?”
“3,422 paces.”
“Not in paces, Tomas. Everyone should know it in their own stride. We are speaking of standard measurements for more accuracy.”
Andrius happened to turn around as the instructor continued speaking and he noticed a young woman coming down the road. She wasn’t young enough to be in his age group, but she didn’t seem to be much older than he was.
She was still too far away to hear—with ears, that is.
“No, no. First we want answers in the standard foot, and then we can estimate particular measurements.”
The class went on guessing, and the instructor made them give justification for their answers, which were invariably incorrect.
Andrius, as per usual of late, was not paying attention. He was looking at the girl.
He recognized her.
“We have the pirstas, the span, and the foot. Larger estimations of distance have existed far away in the past, as you may or may not be aware, but after the disease wiped out the rest of the world and reduced man’s population and living space to this village, those larger units became obsolete. They are archaic now. Does that answer your question?”
She was thirteen years old, and her hair was like the hay as it swayed in the fields. He knew her from the Day of Remembrance, when her father tried to kill Valdas.
It was Jehena, the Prophet’s newest wife.
“Well, Milda, it’s nice that someone is finally asking the right questions. First, I took—”
“Excuse me.”
The young woman interrupted the instructor. She seemed poised and yet so frail. Andrius wondered what it must be like to be so close to the Prophet all of the time. It couldn’t help but rub off on you.
“I’m sorry,” the instructor responded, irritated. “Who was that? Berena, was that you?”
“No, Teacher.”
“It was me, Instructor. Jehena.”
“Well this is quite irregular, Jehena. Aren’t you aware that we are having lessons here? This is quite irregular.”
She dipped her head.
“I know that, sir, but it is the Prophet’s will.”
The instructor huffed for a moment, still incensed at being interrupted.
“What is?” he inquired at length.
Jehena looked off with her eyes closed, not even in the same direction as the man she spoke with. This struck Andrius as odd, suddenly.
“I have been sent to retrieve the boy called Andrius and bring him to Gimdymo Namai.”
The wind replied with a light breeze, but everyone present was silent.
“But,” the instructor protested, “he’s in lessons.”
“He knows that, Instructor.”
“Are you—Did he—” He scratched his head. “Are you sure you heard him correctly?”
“Yes, Instructor. I was sent to bring him to Gimdymo Namai.”
Andrius’s heart dropped into his stomach. He was under the impression that the Prophet liked him, but why would he pull him away from a lesson? He didn’t know if that had ever happened before.
It couldn’t be good.
“All right,” the instructor said slowly, hesitantly. “If this message was brought in error I am not to be held responsible. A child needs his education.”
“It is not in error, sir. The Prophet sent me to do his will only just now. You do his will by releasing the boy to me.”
“Very well. Andrius, get your things and go with this woman. Perhaps tomorrow you can stay after class to hear the material you will miss.”
Andrius stood up quickly, then stooped to pick up his pitcher of water. His fingers dipped into the intricate grooves on the sides.
“Yes, Teacher.”
“Very well then. We will continue straight off, class, and no gossiping. Standard units.”
Andrius weaved through the scattering of his age-peers to where Jehena patiently waited. He stole a look at Milda, but she did not seem concerned. She was happily listening to the instructor’s lecture on mathematics.
“Are you here yet?” Jehena inquired kindly.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The young girl turned around then, and using her cane to guide her, she
began walking, tapping roadstones as she went. Andrius fell in beside her.
Already the instructor’s didactics were fading into the background of a place far away and forgotten.
A butterfly the same note as Jehena’s hair floated by. Andrius tracked with it distractedly.
“I don’t believe we’ve met officially,” she said cheerily.
“No, I don’t think so,” Andrius replied, coughing halfway through the sentence. He lifted his pitcher to his parched lips and took a drink of water.
She smiled in response, a secret smile.
He was expecting her to say something more, but nothing was forthcoming, which was fine. He was accustomed to keeping company with his own thoughts.
They passed the field of cartwheel flowers. Stephinius had several men helping him chop down the giant stalks and load them onto a mule. It was harvesting time for the cure. Andrius’s instructor often said that it was a miracle how fast the plant grew, which allowed for continual reaping until the winter.
Apparently in the time before the Hausen War, cartwheel flower was regarded as a weed. Now, thanks to Zydrunas’s research, it had saved every one of them.
Andrius thought that the disparity was significant somehow.
The men in the roadside field cheered loudly as another great stalk snapped and fell to the ground. They were a good distance into the labyrinthine crop.
“We’re passing the cartwheel flower, aren’t we?” Jehena asked with a hint of delight.
“Yes,” Andrius replied. His thoughts returned to the fact that he had been pulled from class to go to Gimdymo Namai. It couldn’t be anything good. Things had been going too well recently. There had to be a storm on the horizon.
“It is a joyous occasion,” she said. The men began to sing as they worked. They were excellent singers, mostly basses and baritones.
Andrius did not respond to her as painful realization washed over him. Probably he was being called because the Regent of Stone had reported to the Prophet how unruly and undignified his home was.
The Prophet would strip him of his class teaching eye-hearing and maybe something worse, even. His footsteps felt heavy beneath him.
“They say,” Jehena continued sweetly, “that it’s good luck to rub a freshly cut bunch of cartwheel across your eyes, in remembrance of the cure and your birth. It honors Zydrunas.”
For Whom the Sun Sings Page 12
