Nuru: Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The old man died during the night.

Folami said they wouldn’t move on that day because they needed to finish carving up the mokele they had brought down during the hunt, although Nuru suspected it was partially for Emem’s sake. She was exhausted after staying with the man until the end.

The entire tribe heard what the stranger had said. Gossip traveled quickly in a tribe as small as theirs. Most agreed he was likely a criminal. He had been wandering the Savanna alone, and the only people who did that were criminals of the darkest kind. Most times, those who broke the law were ordered to surrender some property to those they had offended—mokele being the most valuable currency—and they exchanged those taken prisoner during war in the same way. The Savanna Folk did not believe in killing, save in battle; and even then, mercy was given to a foe who surrendered honorably. However, those who committed the most heinous of sins were exiled. They were branded to show they now had no tribe and were forced to wander the Savanna alone. They died from dehydration, starvation, or the heat more often than not. Even if they somehow eked out a living they still might get picked off by a predator. The massive plains were a dangerous place without a clan watching your back.

Most who survived alone did so by becoming thieves and murderers. They had been criminals to begin with, so Nuru supposed it wasn’t a far leap doing it again. That was why strangers who came alone were so mistrusted. They had broken the most sacred laws of their people before, and they likely survived only because they continued to do so.

“Surely, that’s what happened,” Nuru heard one woman whisper. “He committed some crime, so his tribe chased him away.”

“A murderer, I think,” a man sitting nearby said. “He killed someone of his tribe, who wounded him in the struggle. The man ran so his tribe wouldn’t brand him.”

Most dismissed what he said for what it surely was: the rantings of a dying man, sick with a fever. Yet a feeling of disquiet lingered over the camp that day. Those not bothered by the stranger’s grim warnings were still nervous after the previous night’s events. After all, Adze or no, someone had sliced the man’s belly open. Innocent or not, someone might come looking for him. Whether he was the victim or attacker was a topic of passionate discussion among the tribe while they went about their daily chores and duties. Nuru went through his normal routine pretending the whole thing didn’t bother him nearly as much as it truly did.

After feeding and watering his family’s animals, Nuru overheard his father and uncle arguing while walking through the center of camp. Some of the Elders listened to their conversation as well. His father insisted the tribe move west as they had planned. His uncle wanted to look east and see if they might discover more wild mokele they could claim. Folami was the Chieftain, and he had the final say. Word passed through the camp that they were to turn east in the morning. As tempting as growing the herd was, it was lost on no one that the stranger had come from that direction. It wasn’t until Nuru sat down for the midday meal that he wondered if perhaps there might be a good reason no other tribes had been nearby to claim the beasts they had ensnared the day before. He didn’t voice this concern to anyone lest any of the others think he was scared of some ghost stories.

Besides, Folami said it will be only fifteen or twenty days out of our way.

After that, they would turn west again and continue their long circuit toward the Holy Mountain. It had been nearly three years since they had last been there.

The Holy Mountain was where it was said Engok, the one god, resided before his ascension to godhood. All Savanna Folk respected the mountain, and none were foolish enough to make war close to Engok’s worldly home. Even the great kingdoms of the west, the Yusindi, the Kyeti, and the Fete—who worshiped a pantheon of false gods—knew the mountain was a place of peace and respect for all and paid homage to Engok when they passed that way. The mountain also was where young men completed the trials so earn the title of Ende warrior. There they endured rigorous tests trying their endurance, their will, and their skill with sword, javelin, bow, and riding. Their knowledge of the law was tested as well. All of these things were needed to become Ende, because only Ende were allowed to become Chieftains and Elders. Only after passing the tests—some of which were potentially deadly—could a young warrior call themselves Ende and grow their braid.

Nuru had spent his entire life hearing the tales of his uncle and father and passing the tests meant more than anything to him. Folami’s wife and two young sons had died years ago when a great flock of kangamato attacked from the sky and caused the herd to stampede. The Chieftain of a tribe was the best warrior and the greatest leader. The mantle often was passed from father to son, but not always. Nuru wanted to prove that he was worthy to succeed his uncle when the time came, and he spent every day readying himself for that moment. He never spoke of this, though. He’d brought it up once before, and it was one of the few times Nuru had witnessed his father become truly angry. He said Nuru should never hope for the day a loved one dies, for one day it would surely come. Nuru hadn’t meant it to be callous, but he figured that—as his father said—it was bound to happen one day, and once it did, he wanted to be able to stand as Chieftain.

The day went along as most did despite the strangeness of the previous night. The tribe planned on breaking camp the next morning and sending out scouts to search for other wild mokele as his uncle dictated. Nuru fed and watered his family’s animals, repaired a broken strap that held baskets on the side of one of his family’s herd, and filled up their waterskins at a pool they had found by one of the Spires. He and Mosi even found some time for practicing their sword work using some sticks they had each whittled into shape. Mosi never practiced with his real sword. It was made of true-iron—called “steel” in the cities—and was a gift from his dying father. It was the most valuable thing he possessed.

The sun had nearly set by the time they had finished, and he walked back home for dinner. Strolling through the middle of the camp, he spotted Yana and Tia sewing up a tent flap that had torn.

“Hi, Nuru!” Tia said as he passed.

“Hello Tia.”

Tia jumped up eagerly to greet him. Yana eyed him warily.

“What?” he asked her.

“Nothing,” she said, going back to her sewing.

“You look like you want to say something.”

“No,” she said, throwing the leather flap onto the ground. “Maybe I’m just wondering if any more mysterious men wandered into camp today.”

“Are you afraid?” he teased.

Nuru practically felt the angry heat radiating off her face.

“I can protect myself and my family just fine.”

“You don’t need a strong, handsome man protecting you?” he said.

“If you see any, be sure to let me know.”

“You told the other girls you thought he was handsome,” Tia scoffed.

“Shut up!” Yana hissed at her sister.

“Is that a fact?” Nuru chuckled.

“Handsome and stupid,’” Yana blurted out. “What I said was ‘handsome and stupid.’”

“Alright then,” he said, nodding dramatically. “Good to know.”

“It doesn’t mean I like you,” she growled, her cheeks turning red.

“It’s just as well,” he said, turning away. “Who said I would have you anyway?”

It took her a sliver of a moment to respond.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll be a great warrior someday,” he said, turning back toward her, his grin a taunt. “I will be the Chieftain of the tribe. Women will fight for the chance to see me.”

“To see your oversized head maybe,” she said.

Nuru pantomimed measuring his head with his hands. Yana made a sound of disgust, rolled her eyes, and started walking away.

“I mean, you are smart …” he said, loud enough for her to hear. “… and pretty … and the one person in the tribe who’s a better rider … but you’re always so grumpy. Angry too.”

She turned and glared at him.

“Only around you.”

“And me,” Tia muttered.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway since you refuse to wed me anyway.”

“Yes,” she said, planting her feet in the dirt. “It doesn’t matter.”

Nuru shrugged and walked back toward his family’s tent.

“It’s a shame though,” he yelled back. “I doubt any other girl will be as pretty as you.”

Nuru didn’t want Yana to catch him looking back at her, but he could swear she was smiling. He heard Tia say something and giggle before Yana gave her a not-so-gentle punch on the arm.

He got back to his tent, the last light of day fading from the sky. He sat down for dinner with his mother, father, and uncle. The meat was still fresh and his mother had seasoned it with nuts she had found near the camp. None of them, save Nuru, were in any mood to talk about the dead stranger, so he didn’t push the subject. He had no doubt they had been debating the matter all day. Instead, they discussed more mundane matters: how to best divide up the new additions to the herd, whether any should be set aside for sale so the tribe had some money when they visited civilization, and if there were any necessities the tribe might need to purchase if they did. Finally, his uncle remarked he had seen Mosi and him sparring. The old warrior complimented his style but warned his footwork needed improvement.

“If you worked on memorizing the law as much as you practiced your swordplay, you would be wiser than the Elders by now,” Emem chided.

“I know the law just fine,” Nuru said, turning toward his father and uncle. “What I need help with is the bow. I was hoping we could set some time aside to practice before I take the tests. It’s only a few weeks ride to the Holy Mountain.”

His mother looked back and forth from his father to his uncle. Nuru saw something was wrong.

“What?”

After a long pause, his mother finally spoke.

“We have been discussing these matters,” Emem said, folding her hands. “You will not be taking the tests when we arrive at the Holy Mountain.”

Nuru’s heart fell into his stomach and his mind went blank.

“… We are having you wait until the next time we return,” she finished.

No, Nuru thought. No, no, no.

He recoiled at the unfairness of what she had just said. His mother had always been too overprotective. She never missed a chance to lecture him when he made a mistake or scold him for not being careful enough, but this was too far.

“It is not a woman’s place to decide when a man should take the tests!” he shouted.

“My place is wherever I say it is, especially in my own tent to my own son,” Emem said, eyes narrowed and her voice cold—even for her.

“You cannot tell me—”

“Do not blame your mother, it was my decision,” Imari interrupted. “I’m the one who wanted you to wait, not your mother.”

Nuru felt as though his father had slapped him in the face. His father was an Ende warrior. He knew what it meant.

How could he do this? Nuru thought, his brain trying desperately to catch up with what was happening.

“Why?” he eventually sputtered out, his mouth dry.

His father looked down toward his empty bowl and sighed.

“You … to be Ende is an enormous responsibility—”

“… and you think I’m not fit for it?” Nuru said, not believing what he’d heard.

“No, that is not what I am saying at all,” said his father. “You will be an Ende someday. You just will not take the tests on this trip to the Holy Mountain.”

Nuru shot up off the floor. His father slowly rose to meet him, his mother locked her eyes on her son’s face, and Folami sat, staring at the side of the tent listening to everything.

“It will be years before we return!” Nuru shouted.

“Your father and I do not believe the time is right yet,” his mother said in a measured tone. “You still have much to learn.”

“And is the time not right for Mosi? Or for the others our age?”

“We are not their parents,” Imari said.

“You will sit down and we will discuss this as a family,” said Emem.

Nuru ignored her and marched out of the tent, his mother calling out to him. He ignored her. He strode through the camp past men dousing the torches for the night. He walked past the edge of camp and stomped out into the Savanna, not knowing where he was going.

How could they do this to me? How could they think I’m not ready?

He imagined the mocking looks on the faces of the other boys. He couldn’t bear the thought of Mosi taking the tests while he just stood by and watched. Yana and her family would soon start looking for a good match for her. They would never even consider Nuru if he wasn’t a real warrior. It would ruin everything. He wondered over and over why his father would do this to him.

Why?

The buzzing and chirping of insects were the only sound beside his footsteps marching through the long grass—at least until he heard another set of feet running up behind him.

“I don’t want to talk to you!” he yelled.

“Then I will talk to you,” a voice answered back.

He looked back expecting to see his father but found Folami instead. He had never noticed how similar their voices sounded before. His uncle jogged after him carrying a torch, taking little time to close the distance with his long strides.

“You should go back and listen to what your father has to say,” Folami said once he’d caught up.

Nuru kept walking out into nowhere, barely looking at his uncle and not caring where he was going.

“I did not pass my tests until I was nineteen-years-old,” said Folami. “There was no shame in that.”

“Because you had to!” Nuru yelled, turning to face the older man. “You were fighting to hold the tribe together! By the time you took the tests, you had already fought in a dozen battles!”

His uncle squinted his eyes at Nuru.

“You think this is something to be envied?” his voice barely a hiss.

“I can beat any of the other warriors in the tribe!” Nuru continued. “Nine times out of ten I can walk away without even a scratch!”

“Perhaps your father wants better odds for his only son,” Folami said, his tone intensifying. “Boys die taking the tests.”

“I am tired of being treated like a child!”

“Sit down, Nuru.”

“You can’t silence me like I’m some baby!”

“Sit!” his uncle ordered in a voice that would have made hardened soldiers obey.

Nuru threw himself down, leaning his back up against one of the large boulders that lay scattered around the bottoms of the Spires like leaves that had fallen from a tree. The chirping of the insects sounded more distant for some reason. His uncle shoved the bottom of the torch into the ground so they had some light and then sat down beside him.

“If you do not want to be treated like a baby, then stop acting like one.”

“I want to prove myself in battle,” said Nuru. “Why don’t you believe in me?”

“I do believe in you,” Folami said. “Your parents believe in you; we all believe in you. You know this.”

“What I know is my own father thinks I’m weak! He thinks I’ll fail!”

“He thinks you should have more time—”

“More time for what?” Nuru shot back. “Weaving baskets with the children? Cooking and mixing herbs with the women? My own father doesn’t think I’m a warrior!”

“No, he thinks you are his son,” Folami said, his jaw tight.

“Then I don’t want to be his son!”

His uncle looked away and silence gripped the Savanna. After a long while, Folami finally gave an angry sigh and spoke through gritted teeth.

“You are a stupid, selfish boy.”

Nuru knew Folami was never a man for flowery words, but still, his bluntness surprised him.

“Uncle, I—”

“No! You will not talk, you will listen!” Folami bellowed, his frustration aflame in his one good eye. “You think you know what it is to be a man? Do you think it is strength, or courage, or swagger? No. To be a man is love and it is endurance. Being a man means seeing all of the pain life gives to those you love and taking it on yourself instead. You do it not because they cannot carry it themselves, but because you would rather suffer all the pain in the world than have them feel a single moment of it. Is it so wrong of your father that he wishes to carry that burden a little longer before you must take it up?”

“I-I didn’t think—”

“Yes! You did not think!” his uncle screamed.

Folami leaned back against the rock. His face might as well have been carved from the same stone. Nuru watched the flame from the torch reflecting off his uncle’s ghostly dead eye. Sitting on his uncle’s left side, it was the only eye visible and the flickering light made him look like a monster of a man. Nuru had always seen Folami as a strong but kindly figure—a constant presence of strength in his world. Yet now, truly seeing his anger for the first time, he knew why men feared his uncle. The two of them sat silently for a long time after that. Finally, Nuru spoke.

“I am sorry, Uncle.”

Folami looked back at him and sighed; his anger now abated. His eyes held memories that still haunted him.

“When your grandfather died, we had to grow up sooner than we should have,” his uncle said. “It was hard. Your father had his childhood ripped away from him and he doesn’t want you suffering as we did.”

Nuru nodded. “I understand,”

Folami shook his head. “Not yet, but you will one day.”

He then got to his feet and offered a hand to Nuru. He took it and stood beside the Chieftain.

“In two years—perhaps three—we will circle back toward the Holy Mountain,” Folami said. “You will take the tests then.”

His uncle pulled the torch out of the ground, and they walked back toward the camp. Their feet stepping through the grass was the only sound.

“Maybe I was just worried others will make fun of me,” said Nuru. “They’d say I was too afraid to face the tests.”

“They are just words,” his uncle said. “If they continue, tell me. I will challenge those pups to combat myself and we will see who is afraid then.”

His uncle smiled at him in the torchlight. Nuru smiled back and they continued walking, the swish-swish-swish of their feet moving through the grass still all he could hear.

“I will have to tell Mosi about your challenge,” Nuru chuckled, not noticing how still his uncle’s face had suddenly become. “We can take wagers on how many bruises—”

“Shhh!” his uncle cut him off and threw his hand into Nuru’s chest, stopping him where he stood. Folami slammed the head of the torch into the ground, immediately extinguishing the small light. The two of them stood silently for a moment, Folami’s hand still holding his nephew in place; his eyes scanning the dark horizon.

“Uncle?”
            “Shhh …” his uncle repeated, his voice barely a whisper. “It is too quiet.”

Nur’s eyes frantically searched for whatever had set the veteran warrior on edge.

“It’s night,” Nuru whispered. “Everyone in the camp is asleep.”

His uncle shook his head.

“Not the camp. The birds, the insects, they are gone.”

Nuru listened amid the cool night air. His uncle was right. He heard nothing save for his own beating heart; not even the Savanna locusts which always filled the night with their chirping that time of year. There was nothing.

The silence was deafening.

Then all at once the eerie quiet died and was replaced by a woman’s scream piercing the dark Savanna night.

The scream had come from the camp.

Without a word, Nuru and Folami broke into a sprint toward the tents. The air bloomed with noise echoing from among the camp: screams, shouts, and inhuman roars that turned Nuru’s blood to ice. Their feet pounded against the unseen ground, both instinctively plotting each step carefully so they didn’t trip in the darkness.

By the time they had reached the edge of the camp, the single scream had become a chorus and chaos had erupted everywhere at once. Fires burned throughout the camp so brightly that they couldn’t have come from some meager fire pit, mokele trumpeted in panic, and the shadows of figures running in all directions were silhouetted against the dark. Nuru and Folami ran around the corner of a tent and were met with horror.

The creature looked like a man but was near seven-feet tall. Its arms and legs were skinny but taut with muscle. It had gray, lifeless skin without a strand of hair on its body. It looked up from the body of the child it had been devouring and snarled at the two men who had just intruded upon its meal. It grabbed a cruel-looking piece of iron it had fashioned into a sword and leaped at Nuru and Folami. In a flash, Folami’s blade was out of its sheath and he parried the wild attack of the monster. Darting toward the left, it reached out and threw Nuru into the dirt with alarming strength. Folami bellowed a battle cry and charged at their attacker. The thing parried one slash, then a second, then a third, but it was not fast enough for his uncle’s honed skills with a short sword. His fourth cut came from above and planted itself between the creature’s eyes. It slumped onto the ground and died. Nuru got to his feet and stared, his thoughts moving at half speed.

It couldn’t be, he thought, the whole world feeling colder than it had a moment before. He was just a crazy old man, half-dead …

Yellow irises stared out from between the blade of Folami’s sword above a mouth of sharp teeth. It was Adze. Man-monsters. Eaters of the flesh. Nuru had always believed such creatures were only stories told so children would behave. Everyone did. They were all wrong. Nuru stood there staring at the creature for what seemed like an eternity, oblivious to the cacophony of shouts and screams spreading throughout the camp. Folami looked down, seeing who the Adze had attacked and killed. He grimaced but said nothing. His uncle then strode over to his fallen foe, picked up the enemy’s blade, then yanked his own out of the Adze’s forehead. He shook Nuru by the shoulders, pulling him out of his panicked trance.

“Come on!” his uncle said, shoving the Adze’s blade into Nuru’s hand. “It is time to be a warrior after all.”

Folami took off running out into the camp. Not knowing what else to do, Nuru ran behind him. He sprinted forward toward the firepit where they had eaten their meal the day before. Reaching the center of their encampment, his breath caught. The camp had become a scene of horror. Dozens of the monstrous beings swarmed between the tents cutting down any man, woman, or child they encountered. At first, Nuru was too scared to even realize he was scared. He just followed his uncle.

Folami ran toward the nearest Adze and cleaved its head off its body from behind with one clean slash. The noise attracted three more of the creatures. Two of them ran for the waiting Folami who readied his blade to meet them. The third ran straight at Nuru. Folami met his pair, iron clashing against iron, sparks flying off their weapons as they made contact. The Adze that charged at Nuru made a wild slash with a vicious looking claymore of wrought metal. Nuru barely managed to duck away from the cut. He heard his uncle still fighting the other two, but Nuru’s world had become focused down to the single opponent in front of him. There was no time for thought and no time to remember the lessons Folami and his father had taught him about combat. All he found himself capable of was narrowly dodging the incoming assault while the demon creature relentlessly attacked. Nuru evaded one final slash, but then the Adze charged recklessly toward him.

Nuru did the only thing he could think of in the moment and stuck his blade forward with all his might.

It happened so quickly the Adze ran right into the blade and the momentum caused him to collapse right on top of Nuru. The Adze died immediately, and its weight pinned Nuru to the ground. Nuru glanced around and saw the battle raging around him amid the light of the fires. His uncle had killed one of his opponents with a deep wound to the chest, but the other one kept coming for him. The body of one of the tribe’s Elders lay lifeless on the ground a few feet away, his face planted into the flattened grass so Nuru could not tell who it was in the dark. Two more Adze ran out from between the tents, blessedly not noticing Nuru or Folami. A woman dragged her husband’s lifeless body away from the camp and out into the darkness. Some of the Adze had lit torches and were burning the tents.

Out of one of the burning tents emerged Tia, three of the Adze mere feet behind her. She ran toward the center of camp. Nuru heaved the dead Adze off of him so he could help her, but he moved too slowly. The weight was too great, and the monsters were nearly on top of the twelve-year-old. Then, seemingly from out of nowhere, Mosi leaped out from between two burning tents and placed himself between the Adze and the fleeing girl. He roared with pure anger and danced with all three, fending them off in a hopeless battle. Nuru finally shoved the dead Adze off him and ran to aid his friend.

The pair of them whirled around dodging each stab and slash from their enemies. Mosi held one in place while Nuru cut it down. The two others tried taking advantage of the opening, but Mosi spun and ducked under one attack and countered the other. Nuru reached the enemy Mosi had jumped away from and shoved his sword into its wiry, muscled neck. Blood gushed out from the wound and it slumped onto the ground with a sickening gurgle a moment before Mosi did the same to the other Adze.

Nuru’s heart beat so quickly, it felt like it might burst out of his chest. He looked down at the two foes he had killed—his first kills in battle, a distant part of him realized. He heard a tortured yelp and looked up to see his uncle plunge his sword into his second foe, finishing it off. While Nuru had been fighting, Folami had sliced the other Adze he had clashed with across the belly and knocked it to the ground. His uncle looked down at it with a disgusted sneer, blood splattered across his face and chest. He looked up at Nuru.

“Are you alright?” he said.

“I-Yes, I think so,” Nuru sputtered.

His uncle dashed over to him and looked him up and down searching for wounds. Nuru only then noticed he was covered in blood. The Adze that had fallen on him had bled all over his clothes.

“I-I’m okay.”

He wasn’t sure if he’d said it to Folami or himself. Lightning ran through his veins. He couldn’t catch his breath. His hands shook.

Why are my hands shaking?

His uncle bent down and grabbed his face so his eyes were inches from nephew’s.

“Nuru? Nuru, look at me,” he said, a firm calm in his voice. “You did well.”

Nuru nodded. He didn’t know what to say. Heavy footfalls pounding on the dirt pulled both of them back to reality. Mosi ran up to them, his prized sword in his hands. It was just as bloody as their own.

“Folami!” Mosi shouted, his eyes wide and voice shaking. “They’re everywhere! Hundreds of them!”

“Are you alright?” Folami said using the same calm manner he had just spoken to Nuru in.

“I-I don’t-they’re eating … I-I saw them eating …”

“I know,” Folami said. “We saw.”

“My-my mother …” Mosi whispered.

Nuru resisted the urge to vomit. He had no response—nothing to say to his friend. It was like a nightmare. He wanted to wake. He wanted it so badly, but the nightmare only continued.

“We must rally whatever warriors are left,” Folami said, placing a firm hand on Mosi’s shoulder. “We will make for your father’s tent,” he continued, nodding at Nuru. “Takeshe and Wodi camped nearby. With their help, we can start getting everyone left to safety.”

They ran into the center of camp, around the fire pit. Jaka, one of the Elders, was holding his own against an enemy, their long shadows cast from the flames. Folami ran up and cut down the foe then gave a reaffirming nod to Jaka. The Elder nodded back and joined their counterattack. Now four, they made their way through the center of camp. Bodies were strewn everywhere. Folami bent down and checked the heartbeat of a woman who lay on the ground. He shouted to Nuru.

“Fetch your father! I will gather the others!”

Nuru obeyed without a second thought. He sprinted into his family’s tent and heard a struggle going on before he even saw it. Inside, Imari grappled with one of the Adze above the mat where the stranger had died the previous night. Emem lay beside them on one of the old rugs they had laid down. She was unconscious and bleeding from the side of her head. His father and the beast had both disarmed each other and the creature had its powerful hands wrapped around Imari’s neck. Imari countered by punching the monster in its head, again and again. The Adze was dazed, but it continued squeezing. Nuru ran in, stuck the barbed blade around the Adze’s throat, and cut it. Blood poured out and it collapsed onto the floor, one hand desperately grabbing its torn neck. Imari looked up and saw his son. His jaw fell open. After a moment, he embraced Nuru, alternately sighing with relief and coughing from the recent assault.

“Are you alright?” he gasped, holding his son.

“Yes,” Nuru blurted out. “Mother?”

Imari stared at Emem, looking lost. She was their healer, not him. Still, he found a reassuring smile for his son in that moment.

“She will be fine,” he said. “We just need to get away.”

Nuru finally blurted out that Folami was outside and he needed their help. Imari nodded. He bent down, picked up Emem, and pulled her over his left shoulder. He grabbed his sword from the ground with his other hand.

“We must make for the edge of the camp,” his father said, his voice still weak. “There are too many of them. We are overrun.”

They dashed out of the tent. Outside, the battle was turning. Folami had rallied a half-dozen men including Takeshe, Wodi, Jaka, and Mosi. They cut down the attacking Adze one after another, but the creatures kept coming like a surging wave. Nuru watched Mosi take the head off an opponent while Folami dueled three at a time, slicing them to pieces, one-by-one. Nuru lifted his sword and joined the fray, stabbing an enemy in the back while it traded blows with Wodi. He glanced behind him and saw Hekita, Jaka’s daughter, emerge from a burning tent holding a stolen Adze spear. She drove it into an enemy running by so hard the blade pierced through its chest and she slammed its whole body into the ground. It looked for a moment like they might drive them off; it looked for a moment like they might survive.

Then everything fell apart at once.

Nuru helped a fallen Takeshe to his feet but froze when he heard a scream on his left. Mosi was on the ground, gripping his belly while dark blood gushed over his hands. A jolt of fear and anger rushed down Nuru’s arms and legs. He sprinted toward his friend and leaped toward the Adze that had slashed Mosi across his midsection. Nuru tackled the creature, his blade ripping all the way through its chest and out the other side. He pulled himself up and stabbed it again in the neck for good measure. He crawled toward Mosi, who moaned with pain. He leaned the wounded youth against a nearby basket. Nuru looked over the grievous wound. He had learned enough from his mother to know it was bad.

It’s not bad, Nuru realized, it’s hopeless.

He looked around hoping there was something—anything—that might help. What he saw turned his heart to lead. Beyond Folami and the others fighting for their lives, several of the attackers had rallied and these Adze didn’t hold swords, they wielded bows; bows not made of wood or bone but of a dark and jagged metal just like their blades. Hinges allowed them to bend the weapons back, drawing arrows and releasing them into the center of the battle. Nuru grabbed Mosi and pulled them both to the ground, narrowly avoiding the deadly volley. Around the fire, both man and Adze fell onto the trampled grass as one, shafts piercing and ripping through their bodies.

Jaka went down to his knees, breathing raggedly with an arrow sticking out of his chest. He looked toward the fire at the center of camp just in time to see an arrow catch Hekita in the eye. He moaned in agony just as a second arrow struck him and he collapsed. Nuru saw Wodi fall, then Takeshi, then the other remaining warriors.

All except Folami.

His uncle screamed as one arrow hit his shoulder and another punched its way through his side, yet still he stood. Two more sliced into the back of the Adze he had been fighting, and Folami shoved it to the ground and out of his way. The Chieftain roared like some wild animal and charged toward the line of bowmen. A third arrow hit him in the right leg, then another cut through his chest, but still he staggered toward them, fueled by rage. Finally, an arrow cut across his temple which brought him to his knees. Blood poured down his face while he feebly pushed himself off the ground. More enemies rushed forward, surrounding him. Folami swung his sword wildly to hold them back, but one lunged forward and stabbed him in his back with a spear. Nuru could do nothing but stare in horror as his uncle collapsed, this time never to rise again.

There was no thought in Nuru’s mind after that, only fear. Somehow finding the will to move, he picked up and dragged Mosi away, blood flowing out of his friend’s belly. Nuru heard a scream and looked up, seeing one of the advancing Adze fall. His father was still alive and backed up against one of the burning tents, away from where the arrows had flown. He stood over the body of the foe whose throat he had just slashed, but he and Emem were cornered. He still carried Nuru’s unconscious mother over his shoulder, holding her in place with his left arm while he swung his sword with his right. Flames licked at their backs and a dozen opponents stared at the remaining warrior lit from behind by a curtain of fire. They stood around them, their blades drawn but afraid to attack their dangerous opponent.

For the briefest of moments, Imari and Nuru’s eyes met across the battlefield, and Imari smiled—he smiled. Why, Nuru didn’t know. A moment later, the Adze closed in on them, their swords raised high. Imari raised his own, meeting the tide of blades and disappearing beyond his son’s sight. Just then, another one of the monsters charged at Nuru from the right. Nuru blocked the blow from above while Mosi struck with his failing strength, stabbing it in the stomach. Nuru looked back toward where his parents had been, but he saw only Adze running back and forth and smoke filling the camp. He half-carried and half-dragged Mosi away toward the edge of the tents. They didn’t make it fifty feet before Mosi’s legs gave out, unable to go on any farther. Mosi held out his sword for Nuru.

“Take it,” he gasped, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.

“It’s yours,” Nuru said, trying and failing to make a disarming smile.

“Please!”

Nuru looked into his friend’s eyes. They knew each other better than anyone and he saw what this meant. Mosi knew he was dying. He loved that sword. If he could not live on, he wanted a part of him continuing on with his friend. Nuru took the sword and handed Mosi the Adze blade his uncle had picked up.

“You are a warrior,” Nuru said, not knowing what else to say.

Tears and blood both ran down Mosi’s face.

“Run,” he whispered.

Nuru jumped up and raced away as hard as he could. He heard the growls of the Adze descending on Mosi behind him. Nuru didn’t look back; he couldn’t look back. He heard the dying screams of his friend. They were weak and quiet—somehow that made them worse.

He looked over his shoulder at the burning ruins of the camp. The bodies of his tribe lay scattered on the ground around him. Some had Adze crawling over them like enormous flies, feasting. Those few left alive were surrounded and falling, joining their brethren on the ground one by one. The mokele roared in ways he had never heard before, even when one was slaughtered. Their calls were high pitched and screeching, sounding almost like enormous children screaming. Nuru gripped Mosi’s sword in his hand. He was determined to go down fighting, to die with his tribe, and stand as a warrior as his father and uncle had.

That’s when he saw Yana.

An Adze sat on top of her, tearing out the long pink strands of flesh from inside her belly with its teeth. She was still alive, though. He saw her blinking her eyes; eyes that held an expression that was beyond fear and beyond pain. Those eyes met his own, calling out to him, screaming in mute appeal: “help me.” Yet there was nothing Nuru could do. From across the camp, he watched Yana vanish behind two more Adze rushing up to join in the meal.

Men don’t surrender. Only the lowest of the low abandon their tribe and run. Only cowards break.

Nuru broke.

He didn’t feel it happen. It was as though his feet started moving and the rest of him only caught up a moment later. He heard Mosi’s last word echo within his mind: “run.” So, Nuru ran. He sprinted out between the burning tents, away from the screaming mokele, and out into the darkness beyond. Toward where, he didn’t know. His only destination was away. He didn’t even realize he was crying until the sound of the slaughter faded away enough for him to hear himself sobbing.

 His feet pounded heedlessly through the grass, realizing with a sick feeling in his stomach that he was not alone. Other footfalls trampled through the grass behind him. For half a heartbeat he dared hope it was someone else from the tribe; that someone else—anyone else—had escaped as well. Then he heard the inhuman roar of an Adze barely fifty feet behind him. His lungs burned and his legs ached, but if he stopped running, it meant his death. He ran and ran, but he heard the creatures gaining. He didn’t dare look back. Then there was a sharp sting shooting through his toes and he found himself flying through the air.

He had tripped on a rock.

He felt a strange emotion during the split second before he slammed into the dirt. It was like a sense of amusement, but sad.

My death will come at the hands of a pebble.

Then he hit the ground and that feeling vanished in a flash of pain. He lay on the ground exhausted, wheezing for breath. Cuts and scrapes blossomed all over his tired body. He was somewhere near the Spires. It was close to where he had sat beside Folami and talked. He tried pushing himself back up, but his arms were as soft and weak as blades of grass. Three Adze charged at him, dim shapes among the faint starlight. One howled, its prey within its grasp. Nuru pulled himself up against one of the large boulders scattered around the Spires. He couldn’t run on his shaking legs. There was no way to escape them now. The Adze closed in, sprinting toward him, their blades raised high and drool spraying out between their razor teeth.

Then Nuru heard another sound, a different kind of roar. This one he had never heard before that night either. This roar was loud, rich, and growling. Suddenly, a dark shape leaped over him and landed on one of the pursuers. It was furry and huge—at least fifteen feet long. It pinned the Adze to the ground and grabbed its head with its mighty jaws. He heard the Adze scream before its voice was abruptly cut short, the beast jerking the Adze’s head away from its body. It was an Anbessa Lion, like the one his uncle had slew as a boy. There were supposed to be almost none left, especially in that part of the Savanna. Yet Nuru was looking at the great white beast with his own two eyes. One of the other Adze swung its sword into the Anbessa, but it barely seemed to register it. It ripped the face off the second Adze with an almost absent-minded swat of a paw that was as big as Nuru’s whole body. The third ran, but the Anbessa bounded after it. In two strides it had taken it down as well. It swung the Adze back and forth, snapping its spine, and slamming the limp corpse into the ground.

Nuru was frozen. He stared disbelievingly at the Anbessa Lion. It looked up and locked eyes with Nuru and Nuru stared back, too terrified to move. After seemingly infinite moments, some semblance of common sense finally reentered Nuru’s mind and he picked up Mosi’s sword and slowly backed away from the predator, careful that he never turned his back on it. After a few moments, the Anbessa grasped one of its prizes within his jaws and dragged it off toward the Spires, vanishing into the shadows of night. Only once it was fully out of sight did Nuru turn around and once again begin staggering out into the Savanna, alone.