The children and their instructor brought the strange man to the house at Eighteenth Brick, falling down several times along the way. Andrius had never been around Zydra and Stephinius before—the people who lived in the house at Eighteenth Brick. He had heard of them, of course, being so close to where he attended lessons. They were a young couple with two small boys, making their living by raising cartwheel flower on the outskirts of the village and supplying Gimdymo Namai with ingredients for the cure.
The house was full of dust. Zydra cleared the wooden table with an arm, sending everything clattering to the floor, and they laid the strange man on the table. The instructor was going about the business of removing the man’s sizeable and heavy pack when Stephinius chased all of the children out of the house.
As an afterthought, the instructor called out over his shoulder that lessons would be cancelled for the rest of the day.
Andrius didn’t know what to do with himself. He had never heard of lessons being cancelled before. Even when he was in ninth-year lessons and his instructor had come down with brain fever they did not miss a single day. A replacement was simply sent. From earliest childhood until the Age of Attainment, afternoons were for lessons. Then after reaching the Age of Attainment, afternoons were for village work. An afternoon was never free.
Most of the children took to it well, delightfully shuffling away to play games among themselves or to gossip and make up stories about the stranger. Andrius didn’t want to leave. He thought it only fair that he, as the man’s discoverer, should at least get to stay and find out what happened to him.
He didn’t bring this up, of course, lest someone tell him no. Instead, he surreptitiously eased the shutter windows open and monitored the proceedings inside. He reminded himself several times that he would have to keep from talking to himself. Once he nearly reminded himself aloud, so he ceased reminding himself and tried as best as he could to simply keep from thought altogether.
Zydra, Stephinius’s wife, wasted no time in wetting a cloth to clean the man’s skin. Stephinius busied himself with attempting to wake the man up and get him to drink some water, while the instructor tried to figure out how to remove the upper portion of the man’s clothes.
They were strange clothes. They were similar to his own, in some ways, but nothing alike at the same time. The patterns . . .
There was a sudden movement of shutters in front of Andrius’s face, and he yelped in surprise, falling to his backside. Zydra, not noticing Andrius, had absentmindedly swatted the shutters closed, and in such a way he was discovered. He was sent away again, explicitly this time and with a surfeit of threats of punishment. In such a wake, Andrius scampered off, just as four men came down the road.
It was the Prophet. Valdas himself and his three Regents were coming his way. Andrius gasped and froze. Then he feared the worst, that the Prophet might have heard his name when Milda caught him spying at Gimdymo Namai the other day.
Quickly, Andrius moved off of the road and faced away into the wilderness, pretending to mind his own business and hoping that they wouldn’t stop. He could hear them already. The Regents’ voices were harsh and deep, but the Prophet’s was smooth as butter and sweet as honey.
“It isn’t anything good. I’ll tell you that much.”
“We shall determine that if he wakes.”
“There is only one action we can take, Valdas.”
“I will be the judge of that, Aras.”
They continued speaking with one another, taking no notice of the boy on the side of the road. They entered into the house that Andrius had just left, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
The relief renewed a spring in his step, and though still worried over the fate of the stranger, he wasn’t about to let a free afternoon go to waste.
He ran off to retrieve the pattern he was working on as his offering. He still had a lot of work to do on it, and the stranger’s odd clothes had inspired him.
Besides, it would be nice to work while the sun was singing. He paused for a moment to joy in the melody of it, to close his eyes and feel the warmth upon his face.
And then he was off again.
It was only a few moments until he realized that all of his things were back at the spreading tree where he did his lessons. He was really thirsty, and his pitcher was there.
He changed directions and set off at a run again. He gathered his belongings and took a breath, and then he was jogging again. The water sloshed around in his wooden pitcher with every step he took and he wondered what would become of the strange man.
The sun’s song was such a thing of beauty to Andrius. It sounded different depending on the time of day. In the first moments of dawn it was soft and simple, and then it crescendoed into a dramatic, fiery symphony. Every hour, every second, the song shifted, and no two days did the sun ever sing in exactly the same way.
It was a shame no one else heard it. Andrius took a drink of water then readjusted his offering under his arm. He wasn’t certain if it was totally finished yet, but he had gotten to work on it quite a bit yesterday after the instructor had cancelled classes.
It was due today, at any rate. Remembrance was only two days away.
He knew no one would like his offering, but he liked it. It was better than his other attempts. It was difficult to be in poor spirits, anyway. Daiva had been in a yelling mood all morning, and his father’s single, weak attempt at containing her was rolled over. It was nice to just be out of the house, even if he was heading to lessons.
A striking butterfly flitted by, but Andrius didn’t pay it much attention. He was considering his offering. Maybe it would get picked this year.
No, it wouldn’t get picked.
But suppose it did?
He had reached Fifth Stone when Milda emerged from her house and joined Andrius on the road. He debated with himself, but he decided to walk next to her.
“Hi, Milda.”
“Andrius,” she replied meekly.
It was quiet for a while. The water in Andrius’s pitcher slapped against the sides as he walked.
“So?” he said after they reached Second Stone. He wasn’t sure how to act. “Aren’t you going to make fun of me or something?”
“Why would I make fun of you?”
Andrius was nonplussed. He squinted.
“You always do.”
“I do not! You’re just a friendless, creepy jerk, so I have to—”
Andrius sighed and sped up to avoid the girl’s abuse. She stopped midsentence, then stumbled to catch up with him.
“Andrius, wait!”
He kept walking.
“Andrius . . .” she whined. Andrius turned his head around, and he frowned. It wouldn’t be hard to run away from her, but somehow he couldn’t get up the resolve. His stomach was tied in knots. He hated arguing with Milda.
“Andrius,” she shouted, louder than necessary. “I’m sorry, okay? Slow down.”
Andrius stopped and let out a sigh. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t mean it. I wanted to say I was sorry for tattling on you the other day. Okay?”
Andrius furrowed his brow. He rested his eyes on her as she stopped, and he took a sip from his pitcher.
“Why?”
Milda scratched her head. “What do you mean, why? So you aren’t mad at me anymore and we can talk again.”