For Whom the Sun Sings Page 6

  “And Daiva?” Andrius began slowly, hopefully. “She helped you raise me? She took me in.”

  Aleksandras bit his lip. He hovered his hand over Andrius’s back for a moment, and then he began to gently rub it.

  “I don’t know what to say, my boy. Have I told you how special you are? You’re different, Andrius, in a good way. I know your life is going to be a good one. An important one. I found you a wet nurse after the first few nights, and she loved you well. Came by a few times a day to help feed you. She’s dead now, unfortunately.”

  “Papa,” Andrius whispered. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He let out a long sigh. “You’re old enough. I hate to say it, but you are.” The old man scratched his head. “Do you want the truth or a good story?”

  It wasn’t even a question for Andrius. “The truth.”

  “Daiva . . . She didn’t want you. She told me to put you back. She insisted that we would be outcasts, you would embarrass us—and she was already embarrassed that she couldn’t have a child, understand. She said to kill you, bury you, leave you, forget about you. She screamed and cried.” He laughed bitterly. “Oh how she threatened me. She said we were not going to take you in no matter what.”

  Andrius pulled his knees to his chest. The knots in his stomach were back. Aleksandras nodded his head once and sat up straighter.

  “But I put my foot down. It’s probably the only time I ever have. A man has to put his foot down sometimes, Andrius. I know I’m a bad example for you, but it’s true. I said, ‘No. I’m keeping this boy.’” His lip began to quiver and he drew Andrius into a firm embrace. “‘I’m keeping my special boy, even if the whole world judges me for it.’ My son.”

  Andrius was short of breath. He didn’t know how to think or how to respond. He only knew the scrawny old man who wouldn’t let go of him.

  “I didn’t make you,” Aleksandras whispered. “But I am your father. You are my son and I’m your father.”

  “I know, Papa,” Andrius told him softly. He clenched his eyes shut as hard as he could. It was so much to take in.

  The old man held him for a long time, and then he rose to his feet, wiped his eyes, and unceremoniously shuffled out of the barn, sliding his cane back and forth as he went.

  Andrius was walking on eggshells all morning, trying his best to go about his chores without incurring the wrath of Daiva, the woman who was not his mother. The woman who had begged his father to leave him out in the cold to die when he was an infant.

  Leaving the house was a relief when the time came. It was nice to hear the sun singing again after a long night. Andrius’s jaw felt tender to the touch still and a little puffy, but he could close it now. It would hurt badly to chew, but he could do it when he had to.

  So much of the world had changed for him in a single evening. Daiva was not his mother. He was grateful, in a way, but it raised all sorts of questions. He did not particularly want to think about the sorts of questions it raised.

  It was slightly hot today, and Andrius felt a bead of sweat form on his back as he raised his pitcher to his lips. He left his cane at home, but that didn’t bother him. He opened his eyes wide and listened to the crown of mountains in the Regions of Death, beyond the barrier.

  He wondered momentarily what would happen to a person who crossed over.

  It was a silly question, of course. That person would die. The village was a safe haven from the dangers lying outside.

  It was odd that the stranger had come from across the barrier. Daniel. He made it sound like there was civilization in the Regions of Death.

  It couldn’t be true, of course.

  Andrius shivered. He had reasons for believing that there was nothing but death outside of the barrier. He wondered if there was a chance that his mother was alive, but no. He knew she was dead.

  A rock spun off of Andrius’s foot as he took a step and he followed its motion as it rolled. He kicked it again once he caught up to it. This little game of ‘kick the rock’ kept him amused until about Seventh Stone.

  Maybe he would get to talk to Daniel again today. He was very odd, but he was interesting. Andrius had lots of questions for him buzzing in the back of his mind.

  Despite everything, the hint of a grin appeared at the edge of his lips. He thought of Milda. Maybe he would run into her again, and they could walk to lessons together.

  Sure, they had had their differences in the past, but she really was wonderful. She was smart and she always smelled nice, and she was good at writing songs.

  He daydreamed of her until Fourth Stone, when he saw her walking up the road, tapping her cane in her own particular rhythm. Next to her was Berena, and they chatted as they went.

  Andrius’s hint of a grin grew to a smile.

  “I think I’ll join them,” he said aloud. They were a ways off, but he would be able to catch up quickly.

  He was excited. He never approached someone he knew just to talk and walk with them. He’d never had a friend before, let alone two.

  As he drew closer and they passed Second Stone, he could hear their voices with good clarity. They were still facing away from him and about thirty steps distant, but the sound carried well where they were. They hadn’t noticed him yet. He was just another pair of feet on the road.

  Andrius knew that eavesdropping was rude, so he tried not to listen, but then a thought occurred to him: how would he join their conversation if he didn’t know what they were talking about? Other people made it seem so easy. He decided to listen so that he would be able to join in once he caught up to them.

  “No, I don’t think that man will be there again today. He was talking badly about the First Prophet, and they can’t let that go on,” Berena was saying.

  “That’s fine with me,” Milda answered. “It was fun finding him and everything, but he was weird.”

  “So were you really with Andrius yesterday when you talked to him?”

  Andrius beamed, hearing his name. The world was, after all, a beautiful place.

  “I mean, on purpose?” Berena added with a laugh.

  Milda scoffed. “Berena, please.”

  “I mean it, Milda. Are you his friend now?” She sounded disgusted.

  “I’m not his friend,” Milda replied, bored. “I just talk to him sometimes because I feel bad for him. He’s annoying and nobody likes him. I don’t know why I do it sometimes, but no. He’s just a weird kid I feel bad for.”

  Andrius’s steps slowed until he stopped completely. It was as if he was a tree and disappointment was the wind, beating against him again and again.

  He stood there in the middle of the road, hearing the girls’ laughter and conversation grow softer and softer until it was gone.

  His arms hung limply at his sides. His pitcher of water was heavy in his hand.

  It wasn’t that surprising, really. It had been foolish to hope that things were different, like with his offering. Of course it wouldn’t get chosen. It had been silly to think that it had a chance.

  The familiar old weight was back on his chest, and Andrius took a sip of water from his wooden pitcher.

  “I can’t be late to lessons,” he said after a while. He wanted to say that it didn’t matter what Milda and Berena said, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He would think about something else, or better yet, nothing at all.

  He took a mechanical step forward, then another.

  “All right, thank you for calling out roll, children. Everyone is here, it seems, except for Andrius,” the instructor said a little venomously. No one was late for lessons, ever. “We will deal with him later. Children, let me take a moment to once again remind you all of the importance of being on time. Our great founder once said that timeliness may well be the first among virtues. A few minutes early is on time, on time is late, and being late is unacceptable. Of course, the individual who needs this lecture isn’t here.”

  “I’m here, Teacher,” Andrius said fecklessly as he arrived. He had heard the
whole thing.

  The instructor crossed his arms.

  “Nice of you to join us, Andrius. Now tell me, laggard, do you have a good reason for joining us late?”

  Andrius considered lying and saying that he had been sitting there the whole time. It would probably work. Everyone was so oblivious to the things around them.

  “No, Teacher.”

  “Very well,” the instructor replied with a frown. “I do not need to tell you how inappropriate your tardiness is. We will discuss punishment after class.”

  Andrius was nervous, but typically he would have been hysterical, nearly inconsolable. Yet the pain in his heart dulled things. It was like a blanket of snow over the land, making everything seem farther away.

  “Now,” the instructor began again, shifting his tone, “we will be working on writing today and recitation of several wonderful odes to our Prophet and his predecessors, including some of your favorite poems, and after tomorrow’s celebration—aren’t you excited?—we will review the history of the disease, the cure, and the world that was. First, I would like you to each take a piece of parchment so you can—”

  “What does ‘blind’ mean?”

  All of the children perked up their ears. Some put their arms around themselves nervously. The instructor had frozen where he was, half bending down. His mouth hung open.

  No one interrupted lessons. Not with a non sequitur, at least. Andrius noticed the discomfort around him, but he didn’t care just then.

  The instructor remembered himself at last, straightened, and cleared his throat.

  “We don’t go over vocabulary again for another week, Andrius. Now please try to keep your questions relevant and well-timed. As I was saying—”

  “But what does it mean?” Andrius asked again. “Blind. What is it?”

  The instructor wanted to be upset with Andrius, but he was more bewildered than anything. Andrius was usually very quiet in class. He was usually very quiet all of the time. The instructor decided he would just add to his punishment after class.

  Andrius noticed the academic demeanor come over his instructor, briefly replacing the disciplinarian.

  “It is an old word. Archaic, even. I heard my grandfather use it two or three times when I was a boy, which is the only reason I know it. No one uses it anymore.”

  “But what does it mean?” Andrius pleaded. The grass tickled his calves as he leaned forward. The other students didn’t know what to think about the unorthodox exchange.

  “I was getting to that. It means not being able to understand a concept, or when a person misses something obvious. ‘I just explained that to you; are you blind?’ or ‘The pig is right beside you; are you blind?’”

  Andrius leaned back, a little disappointed. He had been thinking about his conversation with Daniel during his whole walk down Brick Road. The stranger had not been outside of Gimdymo Namai, and he wanted to ask him about some of the unfamiliar words he used.

  “Oh,” Andrius replied hollowly. The sun sang cheerily overhead. Bugs buzzed and jumped through the grass.

  “Why?” the instructor asked. “Where did you hear that word?”

  The way the instructor asked the question made Andrius afraid, but his numbness softened the blow. “From Daniel.”

  “Who?”

  “From the strange man that we found. Yesterday. He said that everyone in the village was blind except for . . . Well, except for—”

  “By the sacred Book of Emptiness, Andrius!” Viktoras exclaimed. “Just say it already.”

  “Except for him and me.”

  The instructor scoffed then grew serious. “How long did you speak to him?”

  Andrius was looking off into the distance, listening to the majestic mountains that encircled their glen.

  “Andrius?”

  “Hm?” he said, coming back to attention.

  “How long did you speak with him?” The instructor was stern. His eyes were shut.

  “Not very long.” Then, a surge of moxie struck him and he pointed. “Milda was there. Berena talked to him too.”

  The girls gasped.

  “That isn’t true!” Berena insisted.

  “Andrius!” Milda hissed. “Why would you say that?”

  “All right, all right,” the instructor interrupted, waving his hands. “I was going to talk about this regardless, but here we are and now seems like the time. The Prophet and his Regents have examined the stranger and questioned him and they found him to be quite unstable. He believed that he was from some magical city in the Regions of Death when in fact, his name is Drunas, Benas and Ieva’s runaway child. He left the village years ago and has been living in the outskirts of the meadow ever since. His parents, as well as all of us, thought he was dead.”

  Excited conversations erupted. The instructor’s raised voice shushed them.

  “They also discovered, as I said, that he was very unstable. Do not believe anything you heard him say. It was good of us to bring him home, but he is unfortunately mad from living in the meadow for so long.”

  Andrius wrestled with himself. He spoke, not intending to address the teacher, only to muse, but his thoughts came out loud.

  “He couldn’t have lived out in the meadow. I listen to it every single day, and the day we found him was the first time I had ever heard him.”

  “Even your magic ears are not perfect, Andrius. Now stop speaking up. Shall we continue with our writing, children?”

  “We found him on the other side of the barrier . . .”

  “Andrius, enough!” the instructor snapped as he threw his stack of parchment to the dirt. “That is quite enough out of you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Andrius said, looking down. The other students were still as death.

  “Sorry only goes so far, Andrius. You mock our traditions with your lack of effort, you expose yourself to reckless risks, you are disrespectful, disruptive, and late!” The instructor took a breath and shook his head. “Andrius, I’m sorry, but it’s what must be done. I have to take you to the Prophet.”

  Fear gripped Andrius’s heart. The other children gasped in unison.

  “No, don’t do that, Teacher,” Andrius pleaded.

  “Teacher, isn’t there another way?” Milda added.

  “He’s just dumb, Teacher,” Viktoras chimed in. “You don’t need to take him to the Prophet for discipline.”

  “Silence!”

  Everyone waited for the instructor to continue. Andrius was terrified. He hadn’t the slightest clue what seeing the Prophet for discipline might be like, but he had heard rumors and he had some idea of what the punishment might be. The peace had to be kept and a severe peace must be kept severely, as the First Prophet had said.

  “It is necessary,” the instructor said evenly. “Andrius, we must wait until the proceedings are through for the Day of Remembrance before your case is heard. You will stand with me atop Gimdymo Namai so that the Prophet can receive you after it is over. Use this evening to reflect on your behavior of late and what it does to the community.” The instructor took a deep breath, then bent over and felt around for the parchment until he had collected it all. “Now,” he said in a too-quiet voice, “everyone take a sheet please. We will be practicing our letters.”

  The children did as they were told, but joylessly. They didn’t even like Andrius, but still they were afraid.

  Andrius was terrified. His stomach tied in knots worse than it ever had before.

  The instructor continued speaking, but Andrius didn’t hear him. He was afraid of shame. He hated being wrong. He wanted to be right for once. Just one time.

  And he wanted to live.

  Andrius didn’t even remember the rest of the day. He was a ghost drifting through the land of the living. After lessons the other children avoided him more purposefully than usual, as if the cloud of doom that hung over his head might be catching.

  Discipline was rare in the village. It was not lenient.

  He had stumbled home in a haze,
and his father had insisted that he come along to the Stone Gathering in the evening because the Prophet says to share company and warmth. The cane-makers and the apothecary and the farmers and the ranchers and the cartwheel flower growers all sat together in the evenings because the village was one.

  As Andrius sat on the ground by the fire, he did not feel part of that blessed union. He rarely did, but at no other point in his young life had he ever felt so far removed.

  There was music and the neighbors laughed, sang, and talked, but all Andrius had were his thoughts, his fears, and his pain.

  He couldn’t help feeling that this never would have happened if he had not found Daniel.

  Where was he anyway?

  It didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter.

  “Andrius, my boy. You are uncharacteristically silent this evening.”

  Andrius looked up from his daze. His father had a fragile smile on his lips and that reserved but earnest desire for approval that he perennially wore.

  Andrius hadn’t told him yet. How could he?

  “I was just thinking, Papa.”

  Aleksandras clapped his hands and grinned.

  “My boy the poet has a thought! Listen, all ye near him!” He chuckled good-naturedly. He was so sincere in everything. “Herkus,” he said, leaning to the side. “My boy’s been thinking. You better listen to what he has to say.”

  Herkus broke from his conversation just long enough to curse Aleksandras, and then he was deaf to them again. Andrius looked around. No one was listening to them or paying any sort of attention at all. It was like he and his father were a bubble in the midst of the river, but impenetrable.