The Almanac

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ILLYA OSLOV FLICKED an ice-coated strand of dark hair out of his eyes and tried to swallow the lump of panic that was rising in his throat.

There was nothing here.

With his heart hammering a frantic drumbeat in his ears, he crouched back to the earth, ignoring the sinking sun and the lengthening shadows. This cattail stand was the last one they had left. The stalks had all been harvested earlier in the year, but there should still be roots left to eat. He refused to believe they could be gone. Illya scraped deeper into the mud. Frigid river water swirled in to fill the hole, soaking his shirt. His nose dripped, and his back ached, but still he dug. Weakness seemed to spread from his shrunken stomach through his whole body, making his vision blur and his muscles tremble. He couldn’t remember when he had last had a real meal.

Darkness began to filter through the sky above him. He felt the shift without looking up. He clenched his teeth together. Soon, the gates in the walls around his village would be closing. Night brought the Terrors. No one stayed out after dark and lived to tell about it. He knew this as well as anything; as well as he knew which plants to eat and which held the malice that could kill; as well as he knew his own ma’s face, but his ma and little sister back in the village were every bit as hungry as he was. He could not go back empty-handed again.

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