“Shh, baby,” Ona urged her newborn. “You won’t be like the lost ones. The medicine will save you in time.”
“The eyes are full of mystery,” the Prophet declared as he smeared the cure across the baby’s brow and into the eyes, anointing them. “The disease attacks them, rendering the whole body unto death, but you will be spared, child, for you have received the cure.”
The baby stopped crying then, and the Prophet smiled. Relief washed over the room.
“Hold your child, Ona.”
Forgetting that he wasn’t invited, Andrius leaned forward further and muttered to himself.
“That was amazing!”
“Andrius?”
A sudden panic gripped him. He ducked down and tried his best to be silent.
“Andrius, is that you? What are you doing over there?”
A precocious little girl Andrius’s age stopped a few feet away awaiting a response. Andrius’s eyes went up to his pitcher, then back to the girl.
“Milda, stop saying my name!” he hissed. In one quick, deft motion, Andrius reached up and snatched his pitcher from the window’s ledge and bounded away as fast as he could manage.
“Who’s there?” he heard the midwife call from the window, but Andrius wasn’t slowing down. His water sloshed around in his pitcher as he ran. His cane continued to scratch his backside.
He hated the cane.
The children of Andrius’s age group met for lessons at Eighteenth Brick, which was a long way from his home. It was at the end of Brick so that the children might not disturb the adults who were busy working for the village in the afternoon. Brick was the shortest of the three roads, and there were rumors of building a new house soon: Nineteenth Brick.
But for the moment, Nineteenth Brick was nothing more than open sky, full of the sun’s song and the mountain’s rejoicing. There wasn’t even a brick yet.
Milda finally caught up with Andrius at Sixteenth Brick. Children were already gathered around the spreading fir tree that served as their shelter for lessons. He could hear them clearly.
“Andrius, I know you can hear me,” Milda challenged from behind.
“I can,” he replied as she came up alongside. She walked straight and with confidence unusual for an eleven-year-old girl. Her hair was loose around her neck and onto her back.
“You have those magic ears,” she said.
“I don’t have magic ears. I just hear better than everybody else.”
“Sometimes.”
“Always.”
“What were you doing at Gimdymo Namai? We aren’t supposed to hang around there. It’s sacred.”
“No one knew I was there until you opened your big mouth.”
Milda scoffed.
“You’re mean, Andrius. It’s no wonder why you don’t have any friends. And you’re the one who opened his big mouth, if you remember.”
“I have friends,” Andrius returned defensively. Milda tapped her cane rhythmically, childishly in front of her as she walked. She smacked it against Seventeenth Brick as they passed it.
“Oh yeah? Like who?”
“People you don’t know about.”
Milda giggled. “I don’t think so, Andrius. You don’t have any friends because you’re mean and you’re weird and you talk about weird things that nobody cares about. Maybe I’ll tell on you for creeping around Gimdymo Namai.”
Andrius’s eyes went wide.
“No! Don’t do that, please.”
“We’ll see,” she sang.
“Milda?” came a voice from up ahead. “Milda, come sit with us.”
Milda obliged her friends and passed Andrius without so much as a goodbye. He kept his eyes on her as she went. He lifted his pitcher to his lips, taking a long drink of water. He felt sick to his stomach.
The instructor clapped his hands ahead, underneath the fir tree.
“Come along, children, come along. One at a time now, say your names so I know who’s here, and we’ll begin.”
The grass crunched under Andrius’s bare feet as he reached the group of children speaking their names.
“Berena.”
“Viktoras.”
“Ugna.”
“Milda.”
Andrius set his pitcher on the ground at the back of the group and removed his cane from the back of his pants. He sat down and said his name.
“Andrius.”
The other children piped up until all nine of them had spoken. No one was missing today, not that anyone usually was. That would have been unthinkable, unless they were really, really sick.
The instructor, met with respectful silence, began.
“In preparation for the Day of Remembrance, we have been spending more time than usual on the subject of our beloved founder’s life. We have discussed his childhood, early inspirations, his education, his training, and of course his philosophy, statesmanship, and his victory over the sudden onslaught of the disease. Today—” The instructor broke off and held up a hand. “Viktoras, I can hear you whispering. Perhaps you would like to teach lessons today.”
Viktoras halted mid-whisper and bowed his head. “I apologize for misconduct, Teacher.”
“Would you like to run our lessons today?”
“No, Teacher.”
“Then you must despise your village and disregard our First Prophet who founded it.”
“No, Teacher. Zydrunas has my allegiance. I apologize.”
The instructor frowned.
“Then mind your tongue. As I was saying, today we will cover the First Prophet’s final days and death, but first, we will hear your songs. Is everyone prepared?”
The instructor was met with enthusiastic agreement. The children loved music. Andrius’s response was less enthusiastic.
“Viktoras, you seem so eager to speak today,” the instructor said as he took a seat. “Why don’t you begin?”
“Thank you, Teacher,” Viktoras replied, and he stood up and sang for the class. His lyrics were clever and skillfully arranged, using rhymes that Andrius never would have thought of.
Milda was next and her song was, of course, perfect. Much to his annoyance, Andrius knew that the melody would stick in his head. He would probably find himself humming it later.
The best song was Berena’s. She had the high, clear-ringing voice of a summer sparrow. Her lyrics danced with the melody seamlessly, becoming one inseparable, emotional entity. She sang with passion, with delight, laughter, then pain and sorrow at a world that did not understand. The triumph and hope in her last lines reduced all of the girls and several of the boys to silent tears. The boys thought no one would notice their crying, but Andrius did. He noticed everything.
This was the song he had to follow, being the only child left.
As he stood and the students turned their ears toward him, he got lost in the sky. It captured his attention often, so vast and beautiful. It made him forget his worries, even if for only a moment.
“Andrius,” the instructor began. “You do have a song, don’t you?”
Andrius shook himself. “Yes, Teacher.”
“Well do you plan to sing it any time soon?”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, Teacher.”
“Then please.”
Andrius fidgeted. Why was it always that people only paid attention to him when he didn’t want them to? He wasn’t sure about what he had written.