The way to the village was long. Teru and the children walked all day. The children, the three girls who'd first helped Teru, as well as two boys, learned the signs Teru used when she needed to stop for a rest or to relieve herself. They were bright children, used to looking out for each other and themselves, used to different levels of ability from one another. It took a long time just to get through the city on the first day. This continent was so strange to Teru. She couldn't stop gaping at things, and half of the things she saw had no meaning to her. She couldn't place them at all.
The city itself was a sea of smooth lines, unlike any lines in nature. Cube-like buildings of many floors rose up from the streets, the levels stacked on one another with an inhuman gaze. Or there were spirals and curlicues rising into the sky, defying the natural order of things. Machinery was everywhere, lifts that ran up and down the outside of buildings, forms that swung overhead as they walked. Teru often flinched and ducked when something came too close, but the children seemed impervious to what was going on overhead. They were concerned about the people on the street, though, glancing quickly from face to face to make sure they weren't being pursued.
The Efraimu kept their distance so they wouldn't draw attention to the travelers, and Teru and the children stuck to the smaller alleys and walked in the shadows of buildings as often as they could. They were lucky, or Nenyi helped them, because though they saw groups of guards marching by in the distance, none came close enough to be dangerous.
When they got to the outer edges of the city, the roads widened and straightened. The children knew where they were going, selecting a road that ran through neat rows of boxy houses.
To Teru's eyes, the homes were not beautiful. They were small and squat, without character, too uniform. Not like her house with its rippling mud walls, whitewash, and flowers trailing from the roof. But maybe people here liked things that looked dull, Teru thought. The clothes were similar. No patterns or designs. They wore solid colors and hoods or tall capes.
Not everyone could live surrounded by beauty, she knew. Teru tried to keep an open heart as they traveled, but this continent felt oppressive to her eyes and heart. Still, there were small things, like a pot of flowers in a window or a quilt hanging from a balcony. During the long walk, she searched for these things and found them, and for each one, she offered a blessing.
Beyond the houses were orchards of short trees covered in fruit. Teru picked a piece of fruit, and the children laughed and picked some as well, but then they heard a shout, and the children's eyes grew wide. They tugged at Teru's arms, and all of them ran until they couldn't hear the shouts anymore, falling into a pile under one of the trees of a forest next to the road.
Teru was confused, a fact that was evident to the children, who told her that the farmer had chased them because they ate his fruit. She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and wrote that where she came from, travelers were always allowed to eat a few pieces of fruit from the trees they walked under. The children fell over themselves laughing at this, shaking their heads. They didn't believe her.
Well. This was not a comfortable continent, Teru thought to herself, taking a piece of flatbread and sharp cheese from a child who handed it to her. But still, she wouldn't have taken the fruit if she had known it was stealing. She realized these children had to look out for themselves, that they would take what they could get away with. She wrote again.
How did you find the place we're going to? It was very far from the city, and Teru had been wondering as they traveled how the children had ever found it or remembered where it was.
"Working," the tall girl, En, said, "like we told you."
Yes, they had told her that.
Teru wrote again. You work?
They laughed at this, but it didn't seem very funny to Teru. Then, finally, En pushed her light-colored hair back and crossed her arms over her chest.
"Of course, we work. Why else would the Emperor want us?"
Teru's face must've shown the dismay she felt because one of the boys leaned forward.
"The Emperor keeps us together so he can teach us and make us good citizens, or at least that's what he promises. So, for now, we work as slaves. But it's stupid of him to keep us together."
Why?
"We teach each other," En said. "We remind each other who we really are, over and over again, so the Emperor cannot fool us. If we have each other to remind us, we will never forget. We will grow up and be a resistance, like stones in his shoes." She pulled the smallest girl, Dib, close to her. "Or we will die trying," she said, tossing her hair, "like my parents did. Either way."
They kept walking.
Teru felt sick to her stomach at the thought of these children growing up to be resistance fighters, but she felt even worse at the idea of them being enslaved to the Emperor. How had they never known of this horror in Maween? Were there just layers behind layers of evil in the world?
Teru tried to be strong, even though it was hard to travel the terrain. One of the children eventually noticed that she was struggling and told the others to slow down. They were in the hills now, and still, the boxy houses were around, but every once in a while, there was a house that had a little more personality, and Teru allowed her eyes to rest on those ones.
It was close to sunset when they came to the village. It was almost a small town, nestled in a valley beside a lake. Efraimu flew low over the lake, and when Teru looked closer, she recognized Lore, Ifa, and Ped, among others. They were stunning against the colorful sky over the lake.
The children didn't stop for long to watch, though, and Teru needed to hurry to keep up. She had been so panicked back in the city that she felt she hadn't really thought this plan through. En and one of the boys had stopped now and were arguing with one another. They were discussing whether to find the man they sought now or in the morning.
Teru pulled out her paper and pencil.
In the morning, I need to rest.
En considered her for a moment, then nodded with a big sigh. The boy smiled at Teru.
"Thanks," he said. "She's strict, this one. We're all exhausted."
They found a quiet place on the side of a hill and made a little camp. Teru felt her mind fill with questions as she helped them set up spaces to sleep and gather wood for a fire. She was glad to stop for the night. It was not only that she was tired. She realized she didn't really know what they were doing here. Who was the man the children wanted her to meet? Once they were settled, eating some food the children had gone off to retrieve—more bread and some vegetables, Teru was determinedly not thinking about where the food had come from—she wrote her question down.
Why are you bringing me to see this man?
Of course, it was the tall girl who answered.
"We come here each year to harvest plums," the girl said, "and we always stay near the old man's house, in tents near the lake. He is a healer, and he is always kind to us."
Dib piped up. "He is blind."
The oldest boy nodded. "He can't see because of something the Emperor did to him many years ago. But he is still a strong healer. He healed Dib's arm when she fell out of one of the plum trees. He's full of some kind of wild magic, something we don't have here, and he looks like you—like he comes from your country. So we thought maybe he could heal your voice."
Teru tried to tamp down the hope she felt at the description of the man. Beyond her voice, she wondered if he could help her find her way home. Maybe, if he was Maweel, full of "wild magic," as the children said, he had ways to travel that none of them knew. Only a heartbeat later, the hope fizzled. Surely the man would go home if he knew the way. And the children didn't really know anything about Maween. Maybe he wasn't even Maweel.
Dib slipped her hand into Teru's. "He looks a little strange," she said. "Because of his eyes. But don't worry. He is very kind."
Teru slept deeply that night. She could feel the Efraimu close by, and their presence comforted her with its familiarity. There was some other peaceful presence here, too, by the lake. The stars, maybe, so similar to the stars at home. She sighed in her sleep.
The next morning dawned clear and bright, and the children wanted to set out at once, so Teru stretched her stiff body and followed. The young ones seemed unafraid here. Most people glanced at them and then away, perhaps assuming they were here to work. There was a house in the distance, separated from the others a little, close to the lakeshore. The oldest boy pointed.
"That's the healer's house," he said. "We're going there."
Teru sighed. She had woken today with blisters on her feet and knots in her calves. She would be glad to stop walking. As they drew closer to the little house, which was less boxy than the others and even had some flowers set in window containers, Teru could see a man sitting on a step, pouring hot water from a kettle into a pot. He didn't look as old as she had been expecting, hearing of this "old man." In fact, he seemed younger than Teru. It was a nice scene, and in the distance, the lake was very beautiful. Lore circled lazily overhead, his sunset colors gleaming in the morning light.
Teru looked back toward the house. They were very close now. The man had finished pouring water and had turned his face toward them, brushing his hands together.
Something in Teru's body reacted before anything in her mind could, and her heart skipped a beat. She couldn't catch her breath.
"Is that you, children?" he called. "I hear your little skips. How is your arm, Dib? And why are you here? Plum harvest is months away. Do you have other work? Or have you just come to pester me in my peaceful kingdom by the lake?" He grinned, his sightless face not quite pointed at them, and something in Teru's chest squeezed and squeezed. She could not draw a breath. He was as familiar to her as her own self. But what had happened to him? Where his eyes had been, there was nothing but two hollows, seamed over with wrinkles. She kept stumbling forward to him, though her legs wanted to give out beneath her.
Some kind of moan came from her throat. The children were tugging at her clothing. They seemed distressed. Teru realized she was half leaning on the oldest boy as she continued to stagger forward. Tears were pouring down her cheeks.
"Don't worry," the boy murmured to her. "It was hard for us to get used to his face, too. But he is a very good man, not harsh or cruel."
Teru couldn't say anything because this continent had stolen her voice. She squeezed the boy's hand, and the tears kept streaming.
"Uncle, we brought you someone who is lost. We thought maybe you could help her find her way home," En called.
They were very near to him now, walking into the small yard around the little house. Teru could see it now; Maweel art on the outside walls, not perfect because he couldn't see, but done from the memory of his childhood.
"Me?" he said, laughing. "Are you children making fun of me again? It is refreshing. Everyone else is so polite. You know I can't lead anyone home, though, right?"
"We think you and her are from the same place," said Dib, and when the man heard these words, a look of pain and longing crossed the beloved ravaged face, and Teru could take another step forward.
"Yes? Do you have any words for me?" the man asked, hearing her, turning his face toward her.
"She can't speak," the littlest one said.
"Yes," said En, "we hoped you could heal her voice."
Now he was frowning, his face still turned toward hers, sensing something, maybe. Teru was weeping, weeping, and she could tell the children were confused, but she had no time to write, no time for anything but to get to him. She sank down to the ground at his feet and reached for his hands, holding them to her own wet face. He didn't resist but gently patted at her cheeks and forehead, then her hair. Finally, he gasped, leaning forward to smell her.
"Mama?" he breathed, and Teru nodded, gathering her son into her arms while she wept silently and his tears mingled with hers.