“Mr. Weathereye,” I said.
“You remembered,” the man chuckled. “Very good! You see, I told you it would all come back to you. What else?”
“My…my ma. She was killed.”
“That’s right. And your father, also. But that was a long time ago. Since then, you’ve been living…where?”
“With…Pa Rastarong. He took me in.”
“Exactly. You see, you knew all this. It’s just that bump on your head that made you forget for a little while. You live near the town called Bright on the colony world of Thairy. You live with your pa, and your name is…?”
“Naumi Rastarong,” I said.
“Exactly. What else?”
I frowned.
“Reach for it!” demanded Mr. Weathereye.
I reached. There was something there, just out of reach. Ah. Well. What was it?
“Some other language,” I said. “I know some other language!”
“You do indeed. Several, as a matter of fact.”
We fell silent, the man smiling, humming quietly to himself while I was preoccupied with something else. “Mr. Weathereye,” I said at last, “I don’t feel like my skin fits!”
“That’s natural,” the old man said. “Any time you get a good bump on the head, that’s natural. You’ll feel a little strange for a while, but you’ll get used to it.”
We fell silent again, and this time I drifted into what was almost sleep. An elderly lady and a lanky, lazy-looking fellow came into the room and sat on chairs near Mr. Weathereye.
“Rastarong,” he said. “Lady Badness.”
They nodded. The woman asked, “How is he?”
“Ah,” replied Mr. Weathereye, “feeling a little strange, as who wouldn’t. All that long journey.”
“Does he know his name?” asked the other man.
“Naumi,” said Mr. Weathereye. “I asked him, the way we do, when he was half asleep, ‘Hey, boy, what’s your name,’ and he said Naumi.”
“What does it mean?” asked Lady Badness.
“How in galactic parlance should I know?” Mr. Weathereye said in a testy voice, running his finger around the edge of his eye patch, as though it itched him. “It’s his name. I asked, and he told me.”
“When can I take him home,” asked Rastarong.
“Soon. Just don’t hurry him.”
“I have fostered before,” said the other, slightly peeved.
“Of course,” soothed Mr. Weathereye. “Haven’t we all.”
They rose and departed. Behind them, I was surprised to find my face wet with tears, my heart swallowed up in a sorrow I couldn’t or identify or connect. Mama and Papa, dead and gone? No, not that. That was long ago. This injury they said I’d had. I couldn’t even remember that. No, it was some word, some label that lay within reach of my tongue but not within reach of my mind. Who was that? And why was I grieving for her?
I Am Wilvia/on B’yurngrad
Joziré and I sat on a haystack above a town with no name, the remains of our picnic luncheon scattered around us. I was chewing on a straw and making pictures out of clouds when Joziré asked, “Willy, do you know when your birthday is?”
I thought a moment. “I don’t even know how long a year is, here. I’m not even sure how long we’ve been here.”
“Here is somewhere on B’yurngrad, and we’ve been here about three school years,” he said. “I know because I’m working on volume three of the history of governance.”
“I’m still reading about laws.” I sighed. “The sisters at the temple say I have to learn all about laws before I can study justice. I think it ought to be the other way around, but they say not.”
“It’s the same with the brothers at the abbey. I have to learn all the stuff that didn’t work before I can study the things that did. They say if a ruler doesn’t know what didn’t work, and why, he’ll waste time, treasure, and lives learning it the hard way.” He stared at the sky, cleared his throat, chewed his lip.
I made a face at him. “What are you so twitchy about?”
“Lady Badness says I have to go away to school next year.”
I sat up, horrified. “Just you? Not me? Where?”
“Just me. Maybe it’s only for boys. She didn’t say where.”
“I guess that’s how Lady Badness got her name,” I said angrily. “She’s all the time bringing bad news.”
“It’s not bad, exactly. It’s just…troubling. Lady Badness says I can’t come into my full powers until I’m well schooled, and I can’t be king until I come into my full power….”
“What powers?”
“I have no idea. Something Ghossy, I guess. She says when I’m well schooled, I’ll know, and if I don’t get well schooled, it won’t make any difference. I’m sure she’s right, but…I don’t want to leave you, Wilvia. Four years is a long time.” He turned his head to stare sightlessly at the two nameless hills that rose gently above rolling grasslands, each bearing a school on its crest: the gray-towered abbey for boys, the white-domed temple for girls. His school; my school. Between the two, the town straggled down into the valley on both sides of a boisterous, nameless river crossed by half a dozen old stone bridges. From the hayfield where we sat, we could see the whole town: gardens, farmlands, orchards. For all we knew, it could be the only town on B’yurngrad.
“It’ll probably be just as remote as this is,” he said. “My mother sends me letters by couriers, telling me I have to stay hidden.”
“Because of the Frossians trying to kill you.”
“Well, they killed my father, they’ve tried three times to kill my mother, they’ve been hunting for us ever since we left Fajnard. Mother’s spies on Fajnard say the Frossians want to wipe out the royal house before they invade, so our family won’t be a center of rebellion.”
I whispered, “The sisters told me about it, and I’ve studied all your mother’s writings. I know she was the one who established the Court of Equity on Fajnard. Think of that, Joziré! A court dedicated to pure justice, one
