Chapter 1

The Kismas circled high and fast over the dust-covered village. Their caws echoed in the deep valley, closing all villagers’ chattering mouths. “Tonight,” boomed the voice “is the night!” A cheer arouse from Almeda’s throat before she could prevent it from escaping. The villagers clapped with a certain mad sort of joy. Almeda looked around her at the villagers, who seemed wild with excitement over something as small as a battle. Almeda shook her head at her moment of craziness. She was beginning to be like the rest of them.

Sulkily, she dragged her bucket of water and herself away from the crowd. She ducked into the welcoming coolness of her straw hut and lay down on the grassy floor. She listened to the whooping of the villagers.

She couldn’t help but wish the war hadn’t started and the drought hadn’t flown so unexpectantly upon their village and that everything could just be normal again. Her blonde hair lay around her pale head in tumbles and her light blue eyes shut, as if shutting out the tears that were gathering.

Beica had been such a small, welcoming little village before the drought, before the Kismas came, and before Icaarians moved to the neighboring valley.

Almeda slowly crawled out of the hut bravely. All she saw were the villagers quietly mumbling and going about their daily things. It was hard to believe that they had, just a minute ago, been cheering about the battle that night.

“Almeda!”

A little girl, about the age of six, pranced up to Almeda and tugged on her blue, patched dress.

“Did you hear? The battle’s tonight!”

Almeda, disgusted, looked down at the little girl.

“I heard,” she mumbled. “You shouldn’t bother yourself about something like that, Lorrie. Go and play with Madero or something, battles aren’t important.”

Almeda’s face was sympathetic and upset. The little girl with stringy brown hair scampered away, going away to her brother, Madero. Both ran away to the creek. Almeda kept walking down the dusty pathway.

Women in faded dresses walked along, gossiping and carrying wheat home to their starving families. A group of little scraggly boys passed by, waving sticks in the air and claiming, “We are the rulers of Beica!” Almeda smiled to herself, calling out, “Fredrick! Don’t go too far!” She was close to that group of little boys. She had seen them grow up.

The sun froze overhead, drying out everything, including the villager’s hearts. The Icaarians had moved from an iceberg in Antarctica into the valley nearby. The villagers, mad with fear and anger, attacked the newcomers immediately.

Now the villagers celebrated whenever they heard a battle was to be! Almeda shook her head at their stupidity. It seemed she was the only one who had kept her head during this drought.

The seventeen-year-old girl kept walking down the street. She saw a group of teenagers, about thirteen or twelve, dancing on top of the dry well.

“The battle’s tonight!” the shouted with joy as Almeda passed by. Almeda stared back at them as she stopped in front of the well.

“Why do you care?” she asked curiously.

“We’re going to be in it!”

Almeda’s face crinkled into a worried grimace. “You’re too young,” she said.

“We’re not too young,” smiled a boy, hopping down from the well. “Beica is allowing any age now.”

Almeda froze.

“Do any of the…younger boys know this?” The boy nodded.

“Of course! Fredrick, the little hyper one? He’s joining. He’s so excited; all of his little mates are squealing and rushing around with him. He’s bragging about how he’ll save the day.”

The boy snorted and continued. Almeda didn’t hear what he was saying. All she could do was freeze. “Fredrick?” she whispered slowly. “Yes!” The boy rolled his eyes and went back to his friends. Almeda stood, frozen to the spot.

Before she could stop herself, she was stumbling quickly through the streets, screaming, “Fredrick! Fredrick!” Her eyes darted around wildly as her dress flew out behind her. Crowds began to fill the streets. The battle was going to begin. Now Almeda felt like Fredrick’s life was on her shoulders. She wanted to stop and to kneel down, put her head in her hands, and sob. Fredrick was as good as gone in a hostile war like this one.

But Almeda didn’t. She refused to become a coward. Soon, she crowds began to mash together and began to chant evilly. Right as Almeda began to loose hope, there he was. The little black-haired boy with a frail, skinny body and yellow-brown skin stood there, a sword almost taller than him grasped in his palm.

Urgently, Almeda ran up to him. Before he could protest, the sword was in her hand, towering high above him.

“Almeda!” he screamed. “I’m going to be part of the war! Give me it back!”

Almeda shook her head fiercely. “If you go into that war,” she said, her voice shaking, “you won’t be safe.” Fredrick laughed. He stared wantingly at the sword hanging above his head. He jumped up, attempting to grab it.

“I don’t need your help, I’ll be fine. I’m brave.”

He laughed, his friends laughing with him. “Those men out there are stronger than you, and they won’t have mercy on a little boy.” Fredrick sneered. “Hey! I won’t have mercy on them!” Almeda sighed as his false confidence. “If you go into this war,” she said, her voice shaking, “you will die.”

The reality of that seemed to strike him. He fell silent, his face cringing.

“I don’t want to die,” he said quietly as the crowds began to march forward.

“I don’t either,” said Almeda gently, reaching down and hugging him. The sword lay forgotten on the ground beside them. Almeda stretched out her hand. “Let’s go to my hut,” she said kindly, “I’ll get us some boiled water.” Fredrick smiled up into her face.

“I’d like that.” As they crawled through the entrance to the hut, Almeda began to boil some water. “Thanks,” mumbled Fredrick awkwardly.

“No problem,” said Almeda, equally as awkward. As she placed the water in-between them, noises began to roar around them. Yells and moans and thuds. Almeda sadly thought, “Those thumps are people falling to the ground…dead.” She didn’t mention that as she took her first sip of the water. Her heart began to beat faster.

The water was so rare now. Fredrick looked at her, his legs crossed. His eyes were solemn. “I could have been one of those thumps.” So he knew. Reluctantly, Almeda nodded.

“This is good,” she said, distracting him from the subject and motioning towards the water. Fredrick nodded. “It’s really rare.” There was a silence, but a comfortable, settling silence.

Fredrick stood up as the noises began to cease. “I’d better go,” he said. He put the mug in front of Almeda. “Thanks.” And he was out the door. Almeda, nervous about him still, looked after him. But all that were left was the remains of a battle.

Dirty, injured people, some young, some old, dragged themselves into their huts or even the doctor’s. Almeda crawled out. She sympathetically began to invite injured people to her hut. The least she could do was help them.