Laila
Later, it would be hard to remember what happened.
She sensed a great disturbance ahead and went to ask Muya what it meant.
The night was moonless, so it took her some time to reach their usual meeting place.
Then she heard screaming. Muya grabbed her arm, restraining her from fleeing.
She started to shout and he clapped a hand over her mouth.
She bit his hand, and he whispered something in her ear. Her eyes closed. She slept.
She woke at the riverbank to the smell of smoke.
Her head lay on some bunched-up cloth. Muya was looking out at the horizon, a hard expression on his face that she had never seen before.
She sprang to her feet and started running before he realized she was awake.
Muya was hot on her heels, but she managed to make it to the tree line near her village—and stopped short.
There was a pile of bodies in front of her, and it included her parents.
A scream died in her throat as her gaze passed over the soldiers patrolling the smoking buildings.
Many of them were gifted, burning bright and terrible with some sort of magic she had never seen before.
“They will bring their own people here to live.” Muya’s voice was quiet and solemn.
“Why?” She had many other, better questions, but this was the only one she could voice.
“Why not?” he responded. “Perhaps your village did not pay its taxes, or pray to the right god, or bow to the right king. You humans have never needed more reason than that.”
“I—” She turned away, covering her eyes.
“That was the wrong thing to say,” Muya said softly. “You are young. You have lost much. But you will find a new home, and it will get better.”
Something in Laila snapped. It was instantaneous—a bloodlust she had never felt before surged through her veins and settled into her bones.
“Yes,” she agreed. “It will.”
Laila’s parents had taught her caution, so she waited and bided her time.
She fled to a converted town where she covered her head and learned to act like one of them.
She had learned midwifery at her mother’s side, but she did not wish to bring the babies of her enemies into the world, and instead became a mediocre herbalist, practicing warcraft by night.
Muya flitted in and out of her life, helping her to hone her power and bringing her warnings.
He knew that she was set on revenge and did not dissuade her from her mission, but neither did he encourage her.
In time, she returned to her old village, which had indeed been repopulated.
These strangers were paler skinned and spoke a different tongue.
And though they seemed like any other people, Laila could only see them as monsters. Monsters who deserved to die.
She picked the darkest night to set the village ablaze.
First, she cast a thick fog of ignorance over the town, just as Muya had taught her, so that they would lie dumb and docile in their homes.
She locked their doors from the outside and brought her torch to their thatched roofs.
Then she turned to face the village guards.
She recognized a few from the original assault.
With the aid of Muya’s second sight, she could see that perhaps, if they concentrated, their magic could put out the fires.
So Laila hardened herself with her memories.
She remembered her parents and friends, lifeless, their bodies only half burned, and she could almost feel their souls around her, trapped because of them.
She remembered the way the soldiers had brutalized her people and defaced her gods.
She struck the first guard with her power, dumbfounding him, then followed with her sword.
She saw the threads of another guard’s magic stretching to the fires, and turned to him.
“Stop!” she called. “You will not be able to put the fire out.”
“How—” The moment of distraction was enough. She sliced through his arm first, and then through his head.
The rest of the guards fled, and Laila laughed.
It was sharp and piercing. They ran as though the spirits of hell were behind them.
But Laila did not follow. She waited and watched until the village was rubble.
Then she salted the earth. If her people could not live there, nobody would.
She hoped this was enough to satisfy the souls of the dead, to free them to be born again.
Her work done, Laila went to the river and waited for Muya. She did not wait long.
“I saw what you did,” he said.
“And?”
“You asked once why I like rivers.” Muya sat beside her. “It is because I had a friend once. My best friend. And she loved rivers. They remind me of her.”
“Did she die?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.” Laila could sense in Muya a deep and abiding sorrow and saw that they were kindred spirits.
“Nothing can bring them back,” Muya said.
“I know. But I can at least live in their memory.”
Muya sighed. “I do not know if your parents would have wanted this for you.”
“What do you know of my parents?” she snapped.
“More than you might think,” he said. “I have known generations of your family. What will you do now?”
“I don’t know,” Laila said. “But I have heard that in the south, the invaders are lesser.”
“They are everywhere,” Muya replied. “Though it feels impossible to believe, most of them are ordinary people seeking to live in peace. Perhaps, now that you have exacted your revenge, you can live nearby. There are plenty of villages here that did not meet the same fate.”
She liked the sound of that. Muya left, and she stayed, dangling her feet in the water.
When Laila looks at me, I am prepared.
We are fierce, she says. Choose revenge.