He pretended that he didn’t hear her as he walked to the front. So much weighed on his mind that he almost didn’t have to pretend.
He felt a little better when he saw Aleksandras in the front row, but seeing Petras, Tadas, and Lukas, the newly appointed Regent of Wood, worried him. All three of the Regents sat together, all in the front.
“It’s probably nothing,” he muttered.
Andrius looked over the greatly diminished crowd and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He wasn’t sure how to feel. His nerves seemed to be the only part of him paying attention.
He raised his chin, clenched his fists, and spoke.
“Hello! I’m here now.”
The crowd began settling down then, amid scattered applause that was less enthusiastic than it had been previously.
“I’ve told you that I would keep you updated,” Andrius began with a wavering voice, “on what I read in the empty books and with whatever I learned about this new sense: sight. Seeing.”
He took a breath. His insides were knotted so badly that he had to hunch forward to lessen the pain.
“I’ve figured out how to read the big one, the Book of Emptiness. It was written by Zydrunas.”
The people gasped and suddenly the hillside was alive with chatter. Andrius struggled for a full minute to get it under control, in which the pointed shushing of several crowd members aided him.
“Zydrunas could see. He wrote with the letters of seeing people, and I read it.”
The crowd was excited—anxious, even. The Regents sat up straighter, and everyone inclined an ear.
“Then,” Andrius said, blinking rapidly, “I found another journal. Two others that he wrote. And I was surprised.” His stomach was in agony. It was like there was a tiger inside, scraping at it. His words came out soft and full of fear.
“He killed—” Andrius’s words caught in his throat. He had to turn his head to the side and compose himself. Petras wore a wary look on his face as he slowly rose to his feet. Hot tears began flowing from Andrius’s eyes as he continued.
“He killed people. Sometimes his friends. The first book was vague, but the others . . .” He let the sentence trail off.
Petras leaned forward. “Andrius,” he hissed, but Andrius didn’t hear him. It was like he was alone.
“What an honor,” Andrius continued, “to read the First Prophet’s words, but he says he made up the title, that there really—”
“Andrius,” Petras said louder now, taking a step toward the boy who would not stop talking.
“—really is no Prophet because he made it up. And he made everybody blind—”
“Andrius,” Petras said sternly. The other Regents were on their feet now. “Stop this.” He turned to the crowd. “Andrius is recovering from a fever. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He must return to—”
Andrius would not be silenced. He was worked up, weeping now as his voice grew louder. “I don’t know why we’re still blind, how that passes on, but he did it. Stabbed their eyes out—”
“Andrius, be quiet!” Petras shouted, groping until he had the boy’s arm in a strong grip. He whispered in his ear. “I like you, boy, but I can’t save you if you won’t shut your lips. Stop this.”
Andrius was too sorrowful to care. “Zydrunas maybe wasn’t even a good person . . . There was this one time, after the war, when—”
“Andrius!”
Petras shook the boy.
“He had his followers lead him to a—”
“Andrius! Silence now!”
“—secret place so that—”
Whack!
Andrius reeled backward, pain exploding in his jaw. He landed face-first in the damp grass. He rolled over, terrified of the powerful, barrel-chested Regent of Stone standing over him, still clenching his fist.
“How dare you speak of the Prophet and the First Ones with accusations? You will choose to be silent or you shall be silenced!”
Aleksandras stood, stumbling forward as the crowd began murmuring and rising to leave. Andrius saw it before it happened.
“Andrius? What are you doing to my boy?”
“Papa, no!”
The Regent of Wood shoved the old man, sending him to the ground groaning. Andrius screamed.
“Take him to Gimdymo Namai,” Petras ordered the other Regents. “Take him to the Prophet and lock the doors.”
“Zydrunas might not have been who we think!” Andrius shouted. “I’ve read his books! He was more like—”
Andrius saw only darkness then, having been silenced by another blow to the head.
He came back to consciousness a few moments later, disoriented and unsure how much time had passed. He found himself being carried hand and foot by the Regents of Brick and Wood. Everything hurt, and he was frozen with terror the likes of which he had never known.
The porter at Gimdymo Namai greeted them cheerfully, then quickly shut his mouth upon hearing the Regent’s harsh tone.
“Get him upstairs,” Petras ordered the other two. He was boiling with quiet rage as he led them, feeling his way up the stairs.
Andrius noticed one of the light switches on the wall of the stairwell. He wondered bitterly if it had ever been used. He almost said something, but he thought better of it.
He had gotten off from disrupting lessons, reaching over the fence, and skipping lessons. He would not get off now, no matter how many people he’d saved.
He swallowed the lump in his throat.
“A severe peace,” he mumbled to himself.
Then the door opened and there was light once again. The windows illuminated the red and yellow rug in the center of the ornate room, the leather seats, the oak bookcase. Standing there at the far end of the chamber was Valdas, the Prophet himself.
“Has someone come to welcome me back from my journey?” the Prophet asked in his buttery, rich baritone.
“Welcome, Prophet,” Petras said solemnly. “I’m afraid we have a situation.”
The Regents of Wood and Brick roughly placed Andrius on his feet, but they still held onto his arms tightly as Petras whispered to Valdas.
“Ow!” Andrius gasped, looking at his throbbing arms. They were turning purple around the new Regent’s grip. “That hurts,” he whispered.
“Shut up,” Tadas replied curtly, and tightened his grip.
Across the room, Valdas nodded and shook his fine robes out as he turned around. Andrius forgot the pain in his body. This was worse.
“Andrius,” the Prophet began slowly, “what was my charge to you?”
“You told me to read the books,” he returned quickly. “And I did! I figured them out, Father.”
Valdas rubbed his chestnut-colored beard.
“And did I instruct you to tell the whole village what they said?”
“No, but—”
The Prophet spoke coolly, calmly. It was like being held by his words with nowhere to go.
“Andrius, Andrius,” he chided. “Don’t you think there might be a difference between what I know and what I relate to the village? Isn’t there?”
Andrius looked down.
“But the books . . .”
“They said horrible things, I know. Petras told me. Didn’t you consider that I, the Prophet, may have had some knowledge to let us judge their truth?”
Andrius hesitated. “I didn’t think of that.”
“They aren’t true, Andrius,” he said with a sigh, sitting in his luxurious chair. “Now calm down. I know you have a fiery spirit. That’s good! So do I. In a way it’s good to hear it in you, beneath your quietness and shy demeanor. It’s going to be all right. Do you need anything?”
Andrius was very confused, but he felt the pressure on his arms relax. The Prophet’s presence was warm and reassuring.
“I’d like my water back,” he said meekly.
Valdas spoke to Petras. “His pitcher?”
“He was carrying this, Prophet,” Petras replied, handing the wooden vessel over to
Valdas, who felt its grooves with his hands.
“I keep water in it,” Andrius offered, sweating and unsure how to feel. “I made it.”
“It’s very good,” he said. “Petras, give it back to him.”
With great relief, Andrius rushed over and took his pitcher and a drink. He realized suddenly how attached he was to it. He carried it with him at all times, mostly because he got thirsty, but also because he had worked hard on it, years ago.
“Now,” the Prophet began gently, “can we have a reasonable discussion? Take me to the chamber and read for me, and I will tell you why what you have repeated is lies.”
Andrius looked around, still breathing heavily. Everyone’s eyes were closed. He was about to ask a question, when an urgent rapping at the door cut him off.
“Enter!” the Prophet ordered.
The doors swung open and an exasperated porter leaned against the jamb. “We have another one, Prophet.”
“Already?” He immediately rose to his feet. “Migle just had her baby this morning.”
“They will be in the birthing room. It’s Zydra.”
The Prophet took up his gaudy metal cane and hurried past them to the stairs. “Andrius, Regents, come with me. We will discuss this on the way.”
Andrius was deep in thought. It was only the nudging of one of the Regents that reminded him to follow. He quickly caught up to the Prophet as they sped to deliver the village’s newest member from the womb and from the disease.
“Father,” Andrius asked earnestly. “Can I ask a question?”
“Quickly, yes.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs and felt their way forward.
“Everyone is blind except me. If the books are lies, if Zydrunas never really cut out people’s eyes, why can’t we all see?”
They were in the room now. A brunette, short-legged woman lay out on the table screaming and breathing rapidly. The Prophet felt his way to her. Solveiga was already in position. They had done this for every child born since the last Prophet’s death.
“Hello, Zydra,” the Prophet said in an urgent but mollifying tone. “I’m going to get you through this. Now you need to push, Zydra. You need to keep pushing.”
She grimaced as she struggled to breathe deeply.
“Andrius, it’s simple,” the Prophet projected over the noise. “There was an old man in the village named Kazimieras. You are too young to remember. He was deaf. He couldn’t hear at all; it was tragic. Push, Zydra, push! You can do it!”
He began getting his hands in position. She was screaming with greater frequency now.
“He had a son,” the Prophet continued, “named Daumantas. Do you know him?”
Andrius nodded. “Yes.”
Zydra was really screaming now. Andrius couldn’t help watching. It was a bizarre sight, but the Prophet kept talking.
“Daumantas can hear, can’t he? That sort of thing does not pass on from father to son. Here he comes!” Valdas declared, and Andrius watched transfixed as a blood-covered infant came forth. But his mind was in another place, considering what the Prophet was saying.
“Daumantas can hear . . .” he muttered to himself.
The birthing was not yet over, and Solveiga wasted no time. She tied off the cord, and Valdas hurried the newborn child to the anointing table.
Andrius was deep in thought. “Father! How is everyone blind then?”
“The disease,” the Prophet said in a low voice as he readied for the ceremonial ewer, the pitcher filled with thick, black liquid. The cure. “The disease enters through the eyes. You must have received the cure first,” he said as he steadied the crying baby with one hand while he held the cure with the other. Solveiga pried the infant’s eyes open as he kicked and screamed, tossing violently. Behind them the mother was moaning loudly.
It all made sense what they were saying, but something still unsettled Andrius. A sick, wrong feeling pervaded him, and then he got a glimpse of the newborn baby’s eyes.
They were blue, and they were open. They were eyes like his.
“Zydrunas was a botanist, originally,” Valdas said as the viscous cure began to drip out of the pitcher and onto the child’s eyes. “He discovered the cure using cartwheel flower—or the ancients used to call it ‘giant hogweed.’ Isn’t that a trite name?” He smiled as more of the goop fell on the child’s screaming face. As he began rubbing the substance into his eyes, Andrius’s heart rose up inside of him all at once.
“No!” he screamed. He lunged forward, knocking the Regent of Wood in the chest with his water, scrambling toward the anointing of the cure. “Stop that! That’s what makes us blind! The cure’s not a cure!” He bumped into a tray of tools, sending them all clattering to the ground. “The cure’s not a cure!”
He reached out a hand to take the child, but his momentum came to a sudden halt as Petras’s formidable hands came crashing down onto his shoulders. Andrius strained, but he could not reach. He was hysterical.
“Zydrunas poisoned us! The cure is poison! The disease is made up! The cure is the disease! Stop it! His eyes are different—stop it!”
He hit the ground then, still clutching his pitcher. Water sloshed over his face and he gasped. A large hand clamped over his mouth, and blinking away the water, he saw the Prophet angry for the first time in his life.
“First you question Zydrunas, and now you would let the infants die to satisfy your childish theories? Stupid boy! You putrescent, stupid boy, be silent!”
Andrius bit the hand over his mouth, and the man howled, pulling it away.
“The baby has eyes like me!” he protested, trying to scramble to his feet. “Eyes like Daniel had! We have to find him! He’ll have the answers—I don’t think he’s crazy. We just need to find him and—”
“We killed him, Andrius!” the Prophet shouted.
The commotion of the room came to an instantaneous halt. Zydra sat up on the table.
Valdas continued in a quieter voice, but just as enraged. “He was a threat to the village, claiming to be from beyond. He made no sense, Andrius. Would you have had others clambering after him into the Regions of Death? I had him killed for everyone’s good. A severe peace must be kept severely.”
Andrius’s heart sank. He couldn’t believe it.
“I have been lenient with you,” the Prophet said indictingly. “But you go too far, boy.”
“Should I take him around back, Valdas?” Petras asked.
“No!” Andrius shouted. “That’s where you took Herkus to kill him. No! Please! I want to help! Please, no!”
He kicked and thrashed, but he was held fast.
“Silence!” the Prophet thundered, and everyone, even Andrius, obeyed. “Throw him in the basement to calm down. Lock him in.”
Andrius wanted to continue shouting, but he was afraid. He might already have gotten himself killed.
“We are having a gathering,” the Prophet said to the Regent of Brick. “Tonight. Call the whole village to Stone Gathering. These lies must be corrected and the truth of Zydrunas reaffirmed.”
The Regent dipped his head. “Yes, Prophet.”
“Pick him up,” the Prophet ordered. “I don’t want to hear this boy until tomorrow. Don’t give him food. Don’t give him furs or blankets. Let him sit in the cold and think on his foolishness.”
Andrius shook badly as he struggled to stand. They half led, half dragged him out of the birthing room.
Upon reaching the hall, what he saw stole the breath from his lungs and he stumbled, held up only by the strong arms that caught him and continued ushering him toward his cell.
Zydra was holding her new baby, who cried fiercely. When he opened his eyes, they were gray and clouded. The blue was gone. The baby would be blind.
Andrius hit the floor hard, a sensation with which he was far too familiar. The doors slammed shut and he heard the lock turn. Footsteps echoed from the stairs, growing fainter and fainter. He lay there a long time, thinking, dreading, worrying.
“You gave me a key, remember?” he said aloud, shaking his head. He didn’t use it, however. He didn’t know what he would do if he left. Andrius slipped the key back into his pocket and sat up, wiping his eyes.
“Everything’s a lie,” he said softly, holding his head in his hands. “Everything I’ve ever been taught . . .” He paused. It was too difficult to think about. “I’m the only one . . . I’m the only one who can tell them, and I’m only twelve years old. No one even likes me. And I’m scared! Blizzards and snow, I’m so afraid.” He pulled his knees into his chest and breathed harshly. “Why wasn’t someone else born with sight? Someone convincing!” He slammed his hand onto the stone floor, immediately regretting the outburst. His hand stung all over. He blew on it and shook it out, but it still stung.
Devoid of hope, Andrius let himself fall to the side, laying his ear on the cold, hard ground. He clenched his eyes shut, blocking out the artificial light coming from the holes in the ceiling. The generator hummed monotonously as he lay there for a long time, his body tense with despair.
When he opened his eyes, he saw something that made him sit up and crawl forward. Previously he would have called it fuzzymum, but now he knew it was orange. Daniel’s backpack poked out from behind a shelf.
Andrius had never opened it, out of respect, but now he knew that Daniel was dead. It seemed like the right time. Something told him to stop crawling, to turn off the lights and weep, but he kept moving until the backpack was in his hands. A strange numbness covered his pain. An insatiable curiosity overtook him. He had to know what was inside.
“He wasn’t born in the village,” Andrius told himself. “There is no disease. He came from somewhere else.”
Andrius had never seen a pack like this one. Metal teeth clenched to hold it shut, but after some trial and error, he got the largest section open.
He drew his head back sharply at the odor. It smelled like sweat and a piece of rotten fruit.
Bravely turning back to the bag, he picked out unfamiliar garments and tossed them to the side after a short examination. Digging deeper, he found a cylindrical piece of metal with writing on it. He held it up and sounded out the words.
For Whom the Sun Sings Page 21
