21. The End of Summerhome

NAILAH

CHAPTER 21

The fools of Mountainhome had told her all about their "Wolves," so when she finally found one, she knew exactly what she was dealing with. She stared at the creature with cold, dispassionate patience.

"Where are the rest?" she asked calmly.

"The rest of what?" the Wolf giggled.

She cracked him across the head with her spear.

"Your pack, dog. I demand you tell us where they are. Balru, prepare the fire," Nailah ordered.

In the weeks since she'd returned, Nailah had had no problem usurping most of the tribe's respect from Balru. His previously boastful self had grown dim and obedient under her subtle manipulations. She watched with grim satisfaction as he lit what remained of the bonfire from the Festival of the Moon. It sparked to life, casting flickering sparks out into the night.

"I wish to speak to your masters. Take me to them. This is my final offer."

Nailah leaned in and stared at the odd man. He looked nothing like the people of her tribe nor any other she'd encountered in her travels. But he spoke their tongue, albeit poorly. The weapon he'd brought—the blade she held in her hand—was wrought of a metallic stone she'd never seen before. It was cool to the touch, and the edge was so sharp it drew blood instantly when she slid it across the captive's cheek.

"Cut me all you like, bitch; when my pack arrives, they'll flay you all. We'll rape your women. We'll eat your flesh. We'll steal your young. And you'll be left screaming in the ashes once we've ruined you." The interloper sneered.

Nailah nodded to Balru. His mouth tightened, but he wordlessly dragged the cackling man toward the fire. She followed and stood over him as Balru held him before the flames. What remained of Summerhome—the traumatized remnants of a people recently trampled—watched on in eager silence. She knew they were hungry for justice. They wanted to feel powerful in a world that had forced them to confront their powerlessness, the same as her. She turned to the waiting crowd and smiled.

"This man is a wolf. They come from beyond the edge of the world to hunt the weak, as only cowards would. I lived amongst a people who were nearly destroyed by them. I promise you they are a danger to all of us. But if we want to fight with the wolves, we have to become like the wolves. Are you with me?"

The moon had disappeared many nights before, but she threw back her head and howled anyway. First one, and then many joined her. Somewhere in the dark, the rhythm of the drums began to thump into the void. Nailah turned back to her captive and knelt before him. She stared into his eyes, rather impressed by his lack of fear. Perhaps he was like her.

"You're brave," she allowed. "But no man I've ever known has been braver than the flames."

She rose, then flicked her eyes to Balru.

"Burn him," she commanded.

Balru gave her a pleading look, which she ignored, then obediently lifted the man bodily above his head. The Wolf's giggling had stopped, but his screams didn't begin until Balru dumped him into the bonfire. The shrieks went on longer than she expected, and she regarded his flailing, flaming form with cold interest until he finally grew silent. The smell of charred flesh and hair singed her nostrils, and still, she was transfixed by what she saw: this was vengeance. This was power. She looked down at the blade in her hand and wondered what she might do with more like it. And just like that, as the final bits of flesh roasted from the Wolf's scorched skeleton, she knew what she must do.

Summerhome wasn't going south for the winter. It was going west. It was going to war.