For Whom the Sun Sings

by W. A. Fulkerson

  Andrius grunted, only half listening.

  “Want to?”

  Jehena smiled widely. Her cane tapped against a roadstone—Sixteenth Brick. She stopped, waiting expectantly.

  “No,” Andrius replied, but he noticed Jehena looking sad, so he qualified his refusal. “I mean, because it would slow us down. We should hurry to do the Prophet’s will.”

  Really it was just because he was sad that he said no. He hadn’t ever done it before. The others sometimes went in groups.

  “I suppose that makes sense. Thank you for thinking of the Prophet, Andrius.”

  He grunted in assent, still thinking about his coming punishment and what they might do to Aleksandras. If only he had more time, he was sure he could show people how to use this other sense. He needed to research the problem, but who could he ask? Where was Daniel?

  “Andrius, I haven’t gotten the chance to thank you for what you did on the Day of Remembrance. I owe everything to you. We all do. Without the Prophet, what do we have?”

  Andrius wiped his face, then looked at the encircling mountains. People sure talked to him a lot lately. It was nice but also difficult and tiring. He never knew what he was supposed to say.

  The sun sang down on them in glorious lines.

  “You’re welcome,” he said cautiously.

  “I know what you’re thinking, though it’s a scandal to have such thoughts. You’re wondering if I actually resent you because of what happened to my father.”

  “Yes,” Andrius agreed, then he kicked himself. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

  “I loved my father, but he just didn’t understand. For all of his wisdom and years of serving the Prophet—I know he won’t be remembered this way now, but he served him faithfully for his whole life until the end. He started to change when Valdas—the Prophet, I mean—decided to claim me. My father said that I was too young, but he didn’t understand the magic that’s between us. He said I was being manipulated. Ha!” She tapped her cane extra hard against the Brick Road. “Can you imagine? The Prophet manipulating someone? Then he started questioning things, things you shouldn’t question. Why does the Prophet keep more than one wife if it’s a great evil for the rest of us? How does he possess the wisdom of Zydrunas if he never met him—nonsense like that. I overheard him talking to my mother about it once. It wasn’t something he’d say openly. He became really possessive, and when the day came—”

  She cut herself off suddenly. Andrius heard her sniffle. A trickle of tears began to slide down her face.

  “He snapped. I love my father, Andrius, but no one can defend what he tried to do. What he did. I wish it wasn’t true, but he got what his actions deserved, if not better. I know my place, though. What is the family without our Prophet, without our village? I love the village first, and so I will always thank you, Andrius, and I’ll never be cross.”

  She cried for a while as they walked, but Andrius did not say anything. He almost piped up a few times, but he decided it would probably do more harm than good.

  It wasn’t until Third Brick that she was composed again, but they did not speak until First Brick when her cane missed a branch that had fallen in the road, and Andrius had to catch her and lead her over it, for which she was very grateful.

  Then, they were at Gimdymo Namai.

  The round building’s double doors were imposing, shut today as were the shutters. It seemed to Andrius almost like a creature of malintent, shut up against him and his interests, yet beckoning at the same time.

  Most boys only entered Gimdymo Namai once—in their mother’s womb on the day of their birth. Coming here was a weird feeling.

  Jehena knocked and announced herself, and the large doors swung inward. Andrius lost his foreboding as wonder overtook him that he was for the second time walking into Gimdymo Namai.

  They plodded on top of slick stone that was the note of night, past the birthing room and several rooms Andrius had no previous knowledge of before they reached the beginning of the stairs.

  Andrius grabbed his escort’s arm as she went to take the first step. His eyes couldn’t hear well in the stairway.

  “Jehena,” he whispered, “why did the Prophet want me to come here? Am I in trouble?”

  She shrugged, not bothering to turn her head. “I don’t think so. He wants to talk with you. He’s right at the top of these stairs in his sitting room with Petras, the Regent of Stone.”

  Andrius’s stomach sank. It was trouble. It was exactly as he feared.

  The stairs felt like a death march, and the stillness of the cool hallway was eerie. Every footstep echoed. He couldn’t hear with his eyes. The sounds of strange, muffled speech tumbled down the steps.

  The Prophet and the Regent were having a conference with each other; probably talking about him.

  That was a strange thought. They were talking about him.

  As they reached the top of the stairs, Andrius began to faintly hear the sun singing once again, and when Jehena opened the door he was bathed in its melody.

  “I’ve returned,” Jehena declared.

  “Jehena, my wife, my love, is that you?” the Prophet asked. He was as regal as always, dressed in a flowing robe and reclining in his leather chair. The Regent of Stone stood at the far end of the sitting room, and the Regent of Brick sat on the sofa.

  She giggled girlishly, betraying her thirteen years, and the notes of her face changed from like snow to like cherries.

  “Yes, my love.”

  The Prophet chuckled as his very young new wife tapped her way to him and fell into his arms. He kissed her.

  “Have you brought him?” he asked. “Andrius?” he said, raising his head. “Are you there?”

  “I’m here,” Andrius replied. He realized that his foot was shaking. He stopped the motion right away.

  With a gentle pat the Prophet urged Jehena away. There was business to attend to.

  “Good! Good, Andrius, my most faithful servant, you’re here. I’ve been hearing wonderful things about your lessons on this sense that you have.”

  The Prophet’s voice was like warm butter spread on freshly baked bread. Andrius’s lips curled into a weak smile at the compliment.

  “Thank you, Your Excellence.”

  “Andrius, please, address me as a friend. Do you know Tadas, the Regent of Brick? And you’ve met Petras of course.”

  “Hello, Andrius.”

  “Andrius.”

  “Hello,” Andrius replied.

  This didn’t feel like he was in trouble. The men seemed to be in too good of a mood. He remembered that the Regent of Stone had spoken kindly to him on their last meeting, even if he had spoken sternly as well.

  “I trust your age-group lessons are going well?” the Prophet inquired. “Adomas is a good man and a capable instructor.”

  “Oh yes, Your Excellence—Sir. I mean . . .” Andrius was stumped. “What should I call you?”

  The Prophet waved dismissively.

  “Oh, whatever you like. Something more familiar than ‘Your Excellence.’ I think we’re closer than that.”

  “Valdas?” Andrius asked tentatively.

  The Prophet’s voice dropped slightly. “I don’t think we’re that close.”

  Andrius felt a wave of panic, but the Prophet broke into a booming, infectious laugh, and the Regents laughed with him. It took Andrius a moment, but soon his nerves were gone and he was able to join the levity.

  “You are a clever one, Andrius,” the Prophet said. “Very clever. Let me give you a more helpful response. Perhaps . . . perhaps call me Father. After all, I am the father of the village, Zydrunas’s heir in influence and responsibility. It is at one time respectful and intimate. What do you think?”

  Andrius thought briefly of Aleksandras. The thought of calling someone else “Father” seemed repellent, but then he remembered who he was speaking to.

  “I like it, Your—Father.”

  The Prophet clapped his hands. “Good! Now then, Andri
us, you are probably wondering why I’ve brought you here.”

  “Out of lessons,” Andrius added. The Regent of Brick chuckled at the comment. The Prophet smiled.

  “Yes, out of lessons. I did not want to delay until this evening. You will be living here from now on. Petras has arranged for a mule and he will help you personally with whatever belongings you need to bring with you.”

  Andrius looked around the room, unsure if he had heard correctly.

  “I’m sorry,” he caught himself just as he was about to say “Your Excellence.” “Did you . . . I mean, Father, did you just say—”

  “That you will live here, yes. We discussed several options, but this really is the only possibility. The second floor here where I reside is large, and I am the only inhabitant, other than whichever of my wives happens to be with me on a given day. Solveiga has a room downstairs, and I have another servant who never leaves as well, but I wouldn’t mind having a boy around. You’ll give this place energy.” He laughed, and Andrius’s heart slammed against his chest.

  The thought of living somewhere, anywhere, without Daiva was indescribably exciting, but in the Prophet’s own house?

  “Wow,” Andrius whispered.

  “You heard him!” the Prophet declared, his hands raised. “We have a room all set up for you, Andrius. Petras will ensure that everything is taken care of.”

  “I’m going to live here?”

  “Sharp as a shear, isn’t he?” the Prophet chuckled. “Yes, Andrius. You will live here with me. We ought to invest in the future, don’t you think?”

  It was all that Andrius could do to keep from gasping as he looked around the room with new eyes—and this was just the sitting room! He was surrounded by luxuries he had never dreamt of: comfort, prestige, and security. There were padded chairs, shelves of books, probably even a real bed.

  A wide grin spread across the boy’s face, and then he snorted, trying unsuccessfully to suppress his mirth.

  “What is it, Andrius?” the Regent of Stone asked kindly.

  Andrius continued to chuckle, and then he took several deep breaths, leaning over his knees.

  “I thought . . . I thought that when I was called here I was in trouble or something really bad.”

  The Prophet and Tadas smiled, but anguish claimed Petras’s features. Andrius did not know why, but it was as if the man’s heart had broken.

  “You always think you are in trouble, Andrius,” the Prophet declared cheerfully. He leaned forward. “Is there something I should know about?”

  Andrius’s blood froze.

  “No, sir.”

  “Father.”

  “No, sir, Father.”

  The Prophet, Andrius quickly realized, was joking. He was so full of life and kindness.

  “Good, then it’s settled. Andrius, go with Petras and collect whatever you wish to bring, if you have any such articles. You will be given new clothes, naturally, so don’t bother about those. Whatever you need will be provided.”

  Andrius felt weak in the knees. It was all too good to be true.

  “Thank you,” he stammered.

  “You’re welcome,” the Prophet returned magnanimously. “Now go along. The Regent of Brick and I must return to discussing who ought to succeed Aras as the Regent of Wood. Petras, I am already aware of your opinion.”

  “Yes, Prophet.”

  “Good. Goodbye, Andrius. We shall meet soon.”

  The Regent of Stone had already crossed the room and was beginning down the stairs.

  “Oh! Oh, okay. Thank you, Father. Thank you very much.”

  Andrius wore a grin a mile wide as he walked down the marble steps. He was going to live in the Prophet’s house, in Gimdymo Namai.

  Tears came to his eyes. He wiped them away and tried to keep up his smile. Petras was waiting for him at the base of the stairs, and there was a dull, echoing thud as the heavy door at the top of the staircase shut. Andrius felt tears coming again, and this time he broke down. He couldn’t help it.

  “Andrius?” The Regent of Stone turned around, panicked. Andrius’s chest heaved. “Andrius, did you fall?” Petras urgently followed the sound of the boy’s tears.

  The big man sat down next to him. Andrius was breathing hard, trying to calm himself. He could tell that Petras wasn’t sure what to do. He almost put his arm around Andrius, then decided against it and folded his hands.

  “Why are you crying?” he asked.

  Andrius’s laughter mixed with tears. He was bewildered.

  “I don’t know.”

  Then the laughter left him and only sobbing remained. Petras reached his arm around the boy’s shoulders and pulled him in. He didn’t say a word; he just let Andrius cry.

  Finally he wiped his eyes and smiled at the Regent.

  “I’m going to live here. Why am I crying?”

  “You’ve been holding this in a while, I think.”

  Andrius nodded. Petras opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, letting silence reign for several moments.

  “Is it because you won’t get hit anymore?”

  Andrius wiped his nose with his arm. He nodded again.

  “Yes.” He sniffed a few times. “I feel relieved, and I feel guilty for feeling relieved. I have to leave, but how can I leave my father alone with her? She’s so awful. I’m excited, but I’m so scared I’ll . . . mess up. It’s—”

  “Overwhelming,” Petras offered. Andrius nodded.

  His eyes had mostly dried. He took a deep breath, speaking but refusing to look at the Regent, just like Jehena had done with his instructor.

  “She isn’t my real mother. A woman who died is. Her name was Janina.”

  “I know.”

  Andrius lifted his head. “You do?”

  Petras nodded. “The Prophet told me.”

  “He knows?”

  A wry smile crept across the stern Regent’s lips. “The Prophet knows everything.”

  Petras removed his hand from Andrius’s back and folded his hands again. The silence was comforting to Andrius. He was used to it.

  After a respectful interim, the Regent of Stone inquired, “Are you all right now?”

  Andrius sniffed, and then he sighed. “Yes.”

  “Are you ready to go?”

  “Yes.”

  The Regent stood, but Andrius remained sitting.

  “My father Aleksandras can’t come, can he?”

  “No, Andrius. I’m afraid not.”

  Andrius took a deep breath and stood. “Okay. I’m ready to go.”

  “The mule and the man helping us are right outside.”

  They began walking down the round hallway toward the entrance.

  “We won’t need him,” Andrius said.

  “You don’t have many things you will be bringing?”

  Andrius wiped the blurriness from his eyes and wiped his fingertips on his pants. “No. Just my patterns.”

  The late sun sang a dirge as it lowered behind the mountains. Walking through the heavy double doors and out into the breezy air, Andrius felt a memory of peace. He stopped suddenly, overcome by the feeling that everything was going to be alright.

  “What sort of patterns?” the Regent asked as he broke the threshold after him, emerging into the village.

  “I’ll show you,” Andrius returned softly. He looked at the growing night upon the face of the mountains and felt strength in his chest, as if a weight had been lifted off of him.

  His skin tingled with the sensation. It was a day of firsts.

  “I shall look forward to experiencing them,” the Regent politely replied.

  There was a rush of sudden activity coming from Wood Road. Andrius furrowed his brow and looked back to the Regent. He did not seem concerned.

  The sounds grew louder, and Andrius perceived a group of people urgently passing First Wood. Without thinking, he ran to the boulder by the side of Gimdymo Namai and climbed on top to get a better look.

  Five men were carrying someone, and a group
of women followed nervously behind. Everyone was speaking at the same time.

  There was a scream amidst the men, and Andrius noticed a pregnant woman. Suddenly he understood.

  “She’s in labor,” he said aloud.

  Petras turned his head, surprised at the direction of Andrius’s voice.

  Andrius looked back to the group as it rushed ever nearer to Gimdymo Namai.

  “She’s in labor!” Andrius exclaimed.

  When the flurry of activity was almost upon them, Andrius shouted over the noise to Petras. “What should we do?”

  He seemed somewhat amused by Andrius’s enthusiasm but otherwise uninterested. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  Petras shrugged.

  “There will be plenty more.”

  The small crowed buffaloed past and Andrius grinned broadly.

  The Regent was right, of course. He lived in Gimdymo Namai now, and the Prophet himself was his benefactor. There would be plenty more births to witness.

  How incredible to be so familiar with miracles as to be uninterested in them, Andrius thought. He got a better look at the soon-to-be mother being carried along as she screamed again. Andrius laughed aloud as they burst into Gimdymo Namai.

  It was his instructor’s wife, Audra.

  “Now they’ll have to pull him out of lessons,” he giggled.

  Approaching the familiar house at twenty-five stone was a confusing experience. Part of Andrius was elated, but the smallest seed of guilt had now sprouted and grown to such a size as to demand attention. He would not miss Daiva, but he was abandoning his father.

  “Get your things,” the Regent of Stone said softly. His cane had just clacked against the roadstone and they made their way toward the only home Andrius had ever known. The night was suddenly colder.

  “Can I say goodbye first?”

  Petras acquired a hard look, as if the heat of anger suddenly steamed off of him, but then he softened and seemed sad.

  “You’ll miss Aleksandras.”

  Andrius nodded, wiping his hand across his face.

  “Very well,” the Regent relented.