For Whom the Sun Sings Read online

  He now stood on the top of a low rise, a verdant hill in the space between Stone and Brick. The grass tickled his feet as he fidgeted.

  He had thought long and hard about what he would say here at the first session, but still he had no idea.

  A massive crowd had gathered already, mostly out of curiosity. The Prophet had granted an hour of time between morning and afternoon work so that he might teach this new method of hearing that had saved the Prophet’s life. His father, Aleksandras, was front and center and smiling as wide as could be. Even Daiva was there, though she did not seem happy about it. Andrius could not imagine how long it had been since the sun had touched her skin on any but a Day of Remembrance.

  It was nearly time for him to start, but he was nervous. There was a piece of him that was excited too, but for the moment all he felt was expectation, obligation, and fear.

  He raised his wooden pitcher to his lips for a quick drink and then he walked to where Aleksandras sat.

  “Papa,” he whispered. He didn’t want anyone else to hear. The light roar of chatter ensured that not even Aleksandras heard. “Aleksandras?” he said louder, putting a hand on his shoulder this time. The old man startled. “Papa, it’s me, Andrius.”

  “Andrius, my boy!” the old man declared. He was bursting with pride.

  Wind swept through the grass and rattled leaves on the trees nearby as Aleksandras waited for him to speak.

  “Well,” Aleksandras continued when his son said nothing. “Are you ready to teach us? This is a great honor. Everyone is here to hear you and learn from you.”

  Andrius looked off into the gathering of villagers. His eyes lighted on Milda, talking with her friends twenty yards distant.

  “They’re here because the Prophet said they should be,” Andrius said morosely.

  Aleksandras laughed and slapped his knee, drawing a snort from Daiva, who was apparently not talking.

  “And that isn’t an honor? A great honor?”

  Andrius stopped. His father had a point.

  Aleksandras carefully pushed off of his cane and stood. He felt around for Andrius’s head, then tussled his hair.

  “You’ll do great, my boy. I always knew you were meant for special things. Speak from your heart.”

  Andrius nodded. He felt a little better, if not fully convinced. Aleksandras gave him a grin and a pat on the back before sitting down again. Daiva proceeded to chew him out in a harsh whisper. It saddened Andrius how his father cowered under her words.

  He returned to his place at the top of the hill and looked over the crowds again. There had to be at least five hundred people gathered around, and he didn’t need to have them call roll to know it, either.

  A flash of insight filled his mind. He knew how to start.

  “Hello,” he said much too quietly. The chattering continued. Andrius looked down and kicked the dirt. Gathering his courage, he lifted his head again and shouted this time. “Hello!”

  The crowd was startled into quiet, as was Andrius. He had no idea he had such a voice. He’d never used it before. The villagers were paying attention, patiently waiting.

  Andrius’s stomach was trying to tie itself in knots, but he was resisting. He cleared his throat.

  “There are about five hundred of you here this afternoon,” he said, doing his best to project. “No one told me that. I can just tell. I don’t need you to call out your names for roll or anything. I just count you, like if we were playing Akmenys. I don’t even have to come around and touch you to know.”

  People were listening. Andrius could not believe it. The only person who ever listened to him was Aleksandras. The momentum carried his shaking voice onward.

  “And . . . and I can read! Without touching the bumps on the page, even. I don’t get lost. I recognize people really easily, and . . . and I’m good at finding things. Whenever one of my age-peers loses something, they talk to me to find it. It’s pretty much the only time they talk to me, actually,” he added dryly.

  A most curious thing happened then. The people laughed. It wasn’t in a mean way, and they weren’t mocking him—it was a delighted laugh. They thought he was telling a joke, and so they laughed.

  Andrius stood a full inch taller. He felt strong.

  “I hardly ever fall down, and I love running! Running is so great, so free. I can climb trees, and I always know what’s around me, even things that don’t make any noise. And I can hear the sun’s song every day, and the mountains all around us, and did you know there’s a night-sun? It’s true. I hear it sing almost every night. It’s mysterious and . . . misty and beautiful. It isn’t hot like the sun; it’s cold so you don’t feel it. And I can hear a million other things in the sky at night. The universe is a great big band making the best songs every night and I can hear them!” He paused and lowered his voice. No one stirred or made the least sound. Andrius raised his finger to his eye. “Because I can hear out of my eyes. And I want to teach you how too.”

  Somewhere in the back a lone villager started clapping. Then it was like the sky had opened up with a crack of thunder. Every man, woman, and child applauded uproariously. Andrius could not believe it. He actually had to quiet them down again. They had started chanting his name. “Andrius, the Prophet’s own! Andrius, the Prophet’s own!”

  Once they had settled down, Daumantas stood and let his voice boom forth.

  “How do we learn this skill from you, Andrius?”

  Andrius opened his mouth before he realized he hadn’t the faintest idea. It was too late to restrain himself from speaking.

  “Open your eyes!” he shouted, arms outstretched over the crowds.

  Andrius gained confidence then. He had stumbled upon the answer.

  “When my eyes are closed, I can’t hear out of them,” he said quietly. “It’s no wonder, people keeping their eyes shut all the time.” He had a bad habit of talking to himself.

  One by one and two by two, eyes were strenuously opened throughout the crowd. Andrius looked on in amazement. No one’s eyes looked like Daniel’s—or like his own. They were all hollow, like the night somehow. It was a chilling and exhilarating sight, seeing so many eyes open.

  Andrius raised his arms again, grinning so big that he showed his teeth. He couldn’t remember any other time like this.

  “Now!” Andrius declared, searching for the words. He waved his hands as he struggled to explain, and finally he shouted, “Look at things!”

  The crowd was befuddled at that. Many people scratched their heads or murmured to one another. Andrius’s hands fell down to his sides and his grin evaporated.

  “Psst!” Andrius heard from the front row. “Psst! Andrius!” His eyes lighted on Aleksandras, who was leaning forward, cupping his hand around his mouth. “What does ‘look’ mean, my boy? You’re using smart words we common people might not know.” He laughed.

  Andrius nodded earnestly and raised his arms again.

  “‘Look’ means pointing your face at something. I can look at the sky or look at my father or the fire or anything. Look at something and listen with your eyes!”

  Understanding fell on the crowd with a collective chuckle and sigh of relief.

  But nothing seemed to be happening.

  Finally, the apothecary spoke up. “What should we be experiencing, exactly? I don’t think I’m doing it right.”

  She was met with a chorus of agreement.

  “Well, uh, I—” Andrius began, uncertain what to say. When he opened his eyes he could hear out of them. Why couldn’t they? “Learning to listen with your eyes is a . . . process. It’s going to take some time. But that was the first step and today’s lesson: open your eyes and look at things.”

  The crowd understood now. They politely clapped, but Andrius wasn’t sure what to do. He was sweating profusely and it wasn’t even hot out. He felt like he needed to say something.

  “I promise you,” he raised his voice, and the crowd listened, “that I will find a way to make this village hear with its
eyes, just like me. I promise!”

  The gathered villagers erupted in thunderous applause and shouts of acclamation once again. Andrius startled himself with a chuckle, and then a full-blown laugh. Then he was smiling and looking at the sun as people came up to congratulate him and pat his back. A chorus of canes tapping the earth made steady percussion that paired with the chants of “Andrius, the Prophet’s own! Andrius, the Prophet’s own!”

  Andrius had felt many emotions in his life: disappointment, doubt, fear, relief, despair, occasionally even happiness. But what he felt now was entirely new to him. It was triumph.

  At the same time, in the back of his mind, Andrius knew that he had to figure out how to teach these people to use their eyes, to learn this new sense. It would take a lot of thought.

  He wished he could talk with Daniel.

  Where was Daniel, anyway? He would have to find him. He needed some help and some advice.

  Someone kissed Andrius on the cheek as he was lost in thought and taking it all in. There were so many people pressed in around him that he couldn’t tell who it was who had done it.

  The excitement was real and palpable. People were counting on him. Andrius, the Prophet’s own, was here to teach them another sense they had never known.

  Andrius’s heart felt near to bursting as hands continued to pat him and shouts went up declaring his location for the other well-wishers to find. His cheeks hurt from smiling so long.

  The sun sang gloriously.

  Andrius wanted to go and determine if he could find anything out about Daniel’s whereabouts, but he didn’t have a lot of time before lessons. He figured it was bad enough being late once. He couldn’t possibly risk being late a second time. There might not be a Prophet to save the next time he got in trouble.

  After the excitement from his speech atop the hill earlier, Andrius quickly forgot that he was supposed to be somebody. Unconsciously he went back to staying out of the way and looking at rocks and trees and whatever creatures happened to fly by. No one noticed him on the road, which was nothing unusual, but now he was beginning to understand why. They couldn’t . . . sense him, hear him, the same way that he could them.

  As he passed by Fourth Brick he noticed a group of women drawing water from a well. Several of them had their eyes open. Andrius had to smile, though his glee faded when none of them acknowledged his wave. They couldn’t hear from their eyes yet, but at least their eyes were open. Andrius was mostly convinced that it would come to them with time and practice. He was confident.

  But somewhere else inside of him, he was afraid. Maybe he was teaching it wrong. There must be more to it.

  Daniel had said there were people where he came from that could help.

  “We could fix all these people if they came down from here—down the mountain to Brezno,” Andrius mumbled to himself. He was curious to experience this Brezno that Daniel had spoken of. Crazy or not, he had a lot of insight. Andrius wondered if Daniel’s instructions would actually lead to another village. He wanted to investigate and find out.

  But following Daniel’s directions meant crossing the barricade. And besides, there were no villages outside in the Regions of Death. The disease had destroyed them all.

  A leaf floated across Andrius’s path and he kept his eyes on it as it danced and played with the wind. A chill went up his spine and he was captivated for the moment. He stopped to follow its motion with his eyes.

  Voices coming down the road brought him out of his trance. It was Milda, Berena, Ugna, Viktoras, and Tomas, all walking as a group. Their canes tapped against the road continuously.

  Andrius lifted his pitcher to his lips and listened as they walked by.

  “But do you really think he can hear with his eyes?” Ugna was saying. She was clearly skeptical.

  “How else could he have known that the ex-Regent was going to attack the Prophet?” Tomas argued. “His ears didn’t tell him, or else somebody else would have noticed too.”

  “Maybe he just knew,” Berena offered.

  “Yeah, Tomas. Maybe he just knew,” Ugna agreed.

  Andrius nearly spit out his water. They were talking about him. They had no idea he was around and they were talking about him.

  Tomas couldn’t keep the disdain out of his reply. Andrius had always thought he had a squeaky speaking voice. He wasn’t a bad singer though.

  “You’re trying to tell me that an eleven-year-old knew about a plot to commit the greatest crime possible, that no one else found out, that he didn’t tell anybody so he could pretend that he had magic eyes, and that he jumped in at the perfect moment to save the Prophet?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “But it wasn’t the perfect moment,” Ugna replied. Andrius let his pitcher hang down by his side and he tiptoed after his peers to hear the rest of their conversation. “I heard the Prophet was stabbed in his legs. Maybe he’ll never walk again.” She fought back tears for a moment, as did a few others. The thought of their beloved Prophet being crippled was too much. “If Andrius had this extra sense, why couldn’t he stop that from happening?”

  Viktoras was conspicuously absent from the debate. His head hung low and his shuffled steps seemed forced, as if living was a dreaded and grudging necessity.

  Tomas threw his hands in the air.

  “He’s eleven!” he shouted. “Like us. Can you stop a man with a knife on the first try?”

  “How did he do it at all?” Ugna wondered.

  Berena sighed.

  “Milda, you’re his friend. What do you think?”

  “Yes, he’s my friend,” Milda agreed casually.

  Andrius jumped and actually said “What?” aloud. His hand immediately went to his mouth. Milda halted in the middle of a sentence. All of the children strained their ears.

  “. . . Andrius?” Tomas asked. “Is that you?”

  Andrius’s heart was racing. Why couldn’t he ever just think things instead of saying them? He had a terrible habit of saying things out loud.

  He panicked.

  “No!” he answered in the deepest, strangest voice he could manage. Then he clutched his wooden pitcher to his chest and hurried past them, careful not to spill.

  “Was that him?”

  “That was weird.”

  “Who was that?”

  Andrius was having trouble concentrating on his lessons. The instructor’s opinion of him had changed entirely, so that at least was nice, if strange. He even recounted Andrius’s heroics to the class and had them thank him for his service to the Prophet and the village. He didn’t know how to take it. He wasn’t used to approval.

  So while the instructor lectured on the principles of communal living, Zydrunas’s early philosophical works, and punching dots into writing paper, Andrius’s mind was elsewhere.

  An insect was clinging to a tall blade of grass. The little bug seemed to have its eyes fixated on Andrius, just like his were on the bug. He thought it was a grasshopper, but he wasn’t sure. People were always so vague when he tried to ask about the different kinds of bugs.

  The grasshopper, if that’s what it was, blinked, and Andrius tracked the motion of its eyes.

  “You can hear from your eyes too,” he whispered, too soft for anyone to hear over the class’s recitation of the village code for conduct and community.

  Teaching this idea of hearing from the eyes was difficult. He did not even understand it himself—he could just do it. It was like trying to understand breathing. It just happened.

  As Andrius sat with his hands propping up his face, a most peculiar thing happened. A second grasshopper flew past and landed on a rock, then hopped onto Andrius’s knee, where he lingered.

  Andrius only narrowly kept himself from loudly gasping. He looked from one grasshopper to the other; first at the one swaying in the breeze, attached to the grass, then to the one resting on his knee.

  Something important was in front of him, just barely beyond his grasp. He sensed the truth more than he comprehen
ded it, but those grasshoppers . . . they were different somehow. They weren’t different in any way he knew how to describe, and yet they were not the same. They were very different.

  What did it mean?

  He listened intently with his eyes until the second grasshopper grew bored, or else disenchanted with the young boy who seemed so inexplicably fascinated. The other leapt into the air and flew away soon after, but they had served their purpose. In some small way, the world had shifted for Andrius. Something tremendously important was right under his nose.

  He spent the rest of the day’s lessons looking at the sky and thinking about what had happened.

  Lessons were finally dismissed, and Andrius was almost too distracted to notice that all of the other children had stood up and started talking. They cleared out quickly like they typically did at the end of the day.

  Andrius remained sitting, lost in thought until he heard Milda saying his name.

  “Andrius? Andrius, where are you? Want to walk with me? Andrius?”

  He shook himself back to reality and looked over to Milda. Her hair was pretty today. The sun’s triumphant chorus weaved between strands of hair.

  He did not know what to think of her.

  As he considered whether or not to answer, he raised his wooden pitcher to his lips and took a sip. Milda must have heard the sound, because her ears perked up and she turned.

  “Andrius?” she said sweetly. Her tone was light and airy. It captivated Andrius, who swallowed the rest of the water in his mouth much too quickly.

  “Ahem. Yes. Hey. Hi, Milda.”

  She smiled. Andrius wasn’t sure if she knew that he could hear it.

  It was quiet as he looked on. Finally Milda crossed her arms and laughed. “Well aren’t you going to take the road?”

  “Oh. Yes. Thank you, yes.”

  He scrambled to his feet and then he bent down to retrieve his pitcher, which was the only thing that he was never separate from. He had been leaving his cane at home more and more these days. He didn’t need it like everybody else.

  Milda turned and began walking, tapping her cane in front of her from left to right, left to right to offset her steps. That way she wouldn’t run into anything. Andrius fell into step beside her nervously. He wringed his free hand open and closed.