Chapter One

“Tell us a story, Pilla,” Justin asked when Pilla and Dara entered the children’s play area. The younger children spent hours in the playground racing one another, crawling through tunnels built of wood and jumping into soft blankets of hay from the top of ladders they climbed. But whatever the children were doing, when Pilla arrived they abandoned their activities and ran to Pilla beseeching her to tell them a story.

“I don’t know if I can think of a story today. I’m fresh out of stories,” Pilla said, in a game she played with the children.

“Pleeease!” they chimed in unison.

Dara smiled. It was the same each day. After school Pilla and Dara cared for the village children who were too young to work in the fields. Pilla had a gift for story-telling. Dara, on the other hand seemed tongue-tied when asked to tell a tale. She could read from a book, but she was not able to make up stories that made much sense. The children would pummel her with questions. Dara would fumble for answers then forget where she was in her tale. They forgave her because while Pilla had a way with words Dara could teach the children how to use a slingshot. They were not supposed to play with a slingshot until they were older, but Dara had never been one to follow the rules. Dara also organized races and other athletic activities the children enjoyed. And sometimes . . . just sometimes Dara would remove the hay from beneath the ladders and ask a child to jump into her arms. Trust, she called the game. Only the most courageous of children would agree to jump without the safety of the hay. Their eyes closed tightly they would jump and scream. Dara wondered how much was excitement and how much was terror. Dara never failed to catch the child and soon others were pleading to jump next.

When it came to stories, the children knew to ask Pilla and she always obliged.

“Well, okay,” she said as the children implored her. “What shall it be today?” she asked the children, rubbing her angular face with her delicate fingers. The children often supplied her with ideas. Once she began a story Pilla had no trouble holding their attention. She answered questions they bombarded her with and never failed to come up with a satisfying conclusion.

“Tell us about the birds that fly above,” Logan said. Logan often came up with ideas when the others were stumped. Now when Logan spoke there was a moment of silence. Huge black birds had been flying high above for several days. They had come from the west. They would circle for an hour, their circle tightening as if they were searching for something. Then they would fly off from where they had come. They would be forgotten until they returned the next day. They flew so high no one could really see clearly what they looked like. But each day they flew a bit lower. Soon adults and children alike would be able to make out their features.

It wasn’t surprising that the birds deeply disturbed Dara, who always expected the worst. She wasn’t fool enough not to be aware there existed life outside their country. But their country had never before been visited by those from the outside world. That the birds flew lower each day distressed her even more. Dara was certain they were more than just curious. Pilla and the other adults, on the other hand, thought the birds harmless. As a female it wasn’t Dara’s place to question the males who were unconcerned. Children, as was their nature, were both far more curious than adults and a bit frightened by the intruders.

“Okay,” Pilla said. “A story about the birds. Well, we know they come from far away. They come from a land so boring the birds must fly across the desert and the swamp to see creatures as interesting as us. They are big and they do appear fearsome, but I’ve been told they’re actually very gentle. They’re more scared of us than we are of them. That’s why they fly so high and never land among us.”

“What happens if they do land?” Justin asked.

“Well, Justin, they will be so grateful for our kindness they will give all of you a ride into the sky. Shamra with wings. That would be a wonder to behold. Can’t you just see yourself flying overhead on the back of one of the birds looking down on your friends and parents? They would look like tiny insects.”

Pilla went on for fifteen minutes making the birds seem harmless to allay the children’s fears.

Dara loved Pilla’s stories. Pilla could spin a tale about anything and all had happy endings. It was a gift she seemed born with and was always willing to share. When Pilla had finished Dara almost believed the massive birds posed no threat to the Shamra. Almost . . . but not quite.

When Pilla had finished the eyes of the children turned towards Dara. Lyann climbed up the ladder and put her hands on her thin waist. “Trust,” she called out. Dara laughed. Lyann was one of the more adventurous female children. She reminded Dara a bit of herself. Dara removed the hay from the ground and stood at the bottom of the ladder. Brave as she was Dara saw apprehension in Lyann’s eyes. What if Dara didn’t catch her? Dara knew she was thinking. “Trust,” Dara said to both assure Lyann and let her know she should jump.

As Lyann jumped one of the giant birds swooped down and seized the child with its talons. Dara tried to grab Lyann but her outstretched arms just grazed Lyann’s feet. The creature rose and was gone. As it flew off Dara heard Lyann’s terrified scream. Yet instead of the scream growing dimmer the farther Lyann was carried off, it grew louder and louder until . . .

Dara opened her eyes and saw Lyann had jumped from the ladder. At the last moment Dara caught her.

The bird hadn’t come swooping down. It hadn’t grabbed Lyann. It had been merely a vision. It wasn’t Dara’s overactive imagination. It was a premonition of sorts. Dara possessed the gift of sight. She had been having visions since she was seven. She kept what she saw from all but Pilla. Other Shamra wouldn’t understand. It would only make Dara more of an outcast than she was already. Her visions had usually been of a far away land she had told Pilla about when she was seven. A land far from the Shamra homeland and totally foreign to Dara. The visions had frustrated Dara as they lasted but a few seconds and made little sense. It was as if she were seeing events unfold out of order.

Now she had had a glimpse of the future more vivid than any before. More than ever she was certain something terrible was to come. She held Lyann tight in her arms. Lyann jumped to the ground and went running off, shouting with joy. The sound of her voice chilled Dara.

After others had jumped into Dara’s arms the children went off the play by themselves. Dara and Pilla sat keeping an eye on them to make sure they didn’t get into mischief.

“I was worried when Lyann jumped from the ladder,” Pilla said. “You seemed to have . . . drifted off, is the only way I can explain it. I was afraid—”

“I had another of my visions,” Dara said, before Pilla could finish. Pilla fell silent. “They’re so frustrating. How can I explain it? I’m not much with words.”

Lyann tackled one of the males and both Dara and Pilla laughed, forgetting for a moment Dara’s concern. Other Shamra would have reprimanded Lyann. A female was never too young to learn her place in Shamra society.

Pilla then looked at Dara. Think of a picture and use it to describe what you want to say.”

Dara nodded, thought for a moment, then went on. “Okay, it’s like there’s someone in a drawer where you put your clothes. Whoever it is has something terribly important to say, but it’s muffled by both the clothes and the drawer itself. Instead of words I get images. But they’re hazy and I can only capture bits and pieces. I saw one of the birds that fly overhead grab Lyann and fly off with her, nothing else. But I know it has meaning.”

“Dara, you already worry about the birds,” Pilla said. “Maybe it’s not really a vision, just you imagining the worst.”

Dara shrugged. She knew not to argue with Pilla, though she didn’t believe for a moment she had imagined anything. “I think if I could remember the stories my mother told me when I was an infant—before she died—the visions would be clearer. Those memories that have always eluded me are the drawer and the clothes muffling my visions.”

“Don’t dwell on it, Dara,” Pilla said. “Maybe if you stopped thinking of those lost stories your mother told you they’d come back to you in a rush.”

Before Dara could respond Lyann and Justin got into a fight. Dara and Pilla went to separate them. Dara held Lyann tightly. Justin seemed content not to continue the battle. If he won, it would be a hollow victory—winning a fight against a female. If Lyann got the best of him, though, he would be humiliated. Lyann for her part kicked and flayed her arms, trying to free herself. Dara was proud of the child and hoped her rebellious nature wouldn’t be crushed as it was for almost all Shamra females. After a few moments Lyann calmed down. A few minutes after letting Lyann go Dara saw her playing with Justin as if they were the best of friends. It wasn’t in the Shamra’s nature to hold a grudge.