1. Poor Hunters

Kesho could kill his dad. And his sister. And anyone else who came too close when he was this angry.

“I’m coming,” he spoke decisively. He wanted to make himself big and raise his paws, but that was hard to do when you were born with only one arm. The Gosti—a ghostly creature that started to resemble an ape—didn’t have thumbs yet either, so grabbing a spear for intimidation did not happen easily.

Especially because spears, dear reader, were no more than a stick with some sharp edges during this time period. And the Gosti still walked on all fours most of the time.

“You’re not,” his father said. “You will help your sister collect berries and nuts.”

Kesho’s eyes spit fire at Misha, whose eyes returned the favor. Then she smiled and walked off with her wicker basket.

The rising sun revealed an overgrown forest, in which this family had hastily constructed cottages made from branches. The other members of the tribe had slept in the open air, while their grandparents slept in a nearby cave.

“I’m a man!” Kesho stomped his foot. “I must hunt! Stupid collecting is beneath me.”

“That stupid collecting is how we survived the past ten winters!” Misha yelled. She’d just found her first nuts in the mud and instantly threw them at her brother’s face.

“Save your energy for finding food,” father spoke sternly. “You know the rules, son. Those who are strong enough, may hunt food that moves. Everybody else hunts static food.”

Kesho finally managed to grab a spear and threw it deep into the bark of a tree. The throw almost impaled another member of the tribe. The bison looked up angrily; Kesho didn’t even notice.

“I am strong enough.”

Father sighed and walked away. “I’ll ask grandmother to play a hunting game with you.”

“I’ve been playing games for years! And I win them all,” Kesho spoke with a sense of pride, walking alongside his father.

“Fine! Stop whining. You will come with me, but only to observe, not to act. Understood?”

Kesho’s smile seemed too broad for his face. Several deer walked past, holding baskets in their mouth, and found it a scary sight.

The tribe held some thirty animals from five different species. Kesho though it was quite a large group. The only times they met other tribes, they turned out to be a handful of family members. They’d waved, traded some food, and then continued on their way.

As such, the departure of the deer left the entire area behind them empty.

Misha also rubbed up against father’s fur, keeping pace with him. “Can I come too?”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

His tone made Misha shrivel and shrink. While Kesho ran around with endless energy—his first true hunt!—Misha walked away cursing.

Father pushed away some low-hanging branches. They immediately arrived at a clearing, buzzing with insects now that sunlight reached it. They’d been here yesterday, and the day before, and concluded both times that there was truly no food to be found.

“We’ll see,” father mumbled, “how well your hunting games have prepared you.”

His movement usually resembled that of a speedy hyena, but now he walked slowly and nervously. It took an eternity before they’d crossed the clearing and the real hunt could begin.

“I won’t disappoint you, father Farshar!” Kesho said cheerfully.

Then he stumbled over a mammoth.

Lacking a second arm, Kesho helplessly tumbled to the ground and stayed there in a daze. Thank the gods—his father’s calm voice came to him a heartbeat later.

And yes, dear reader, these creatures did thank the actual gods, for they walked among them and visited them from time to time. Kesho remembered how Eeris had secretly grown more berry bushes for them the previous winters, when food was also nowhere to be found.

“The mammoth is dead,” father said. “Killed recently.”

Kesho pushed himself back on his feet using a tree trunk. “Natural death?”

His tribe had crossed vast sheets of ice long ago to reach this new land. Back then, mammoths were far larger and more abundant than now. Since then, the ice age ended and the climate rapidly heated up. Most mammoths died simply because it became too hot. Kesho imagined—however hard it was—that the giant dinosaurs from long ago died due to a similar reason.

It also meant that all ice had melted by now and they couldn’t walk back to their home land. A wild ocean flowed at their back. For the Asha tribe, the only way was forward, deeper into the area they called Schola.

Kesho could finally see clearly again.

“No, not a natural death,” he noticed instantly. Bites were taken out of its body. But the bites were small and haphazard, as if the attacker realized he didn’t actually like mammoth flesh.

Farshar circled the beast and reached the same conclusion. “None of us did this. Why would you attack and then not claim the flesh?”

Kesho salivated. This mammoth could feed their tribe for months. Or that would be the case, if meat didn’t spoil. Realistically, it would feed them well for a few days, then they’d be forced to throw out the rest.

But he had found it! He would tell everyone how he had defeated the beast and—

Father looked up and pointed at a neat collection of stones, burnt black at the top. They knew what fire was and recognized its consequences, even if they had no clue how to start or control one.

“He wasn’t hunted. He was purposely attacked.”

“Attack?”

“This mammoth quarreled with someone. The other defended themselves by killing the mammoth, and then fled. Yes. That’s it.”

At least he seemed certain of himself. Kesho was less certain. It was a powerful beast. Large, strong, armed with tusks.

“Such a beast would die for such silly reasons?”

“Territory, food, a wife, who knows? This mammoth obstructed another creature. He shouldn’t have done so. That’s just how nature works, son.”

Kesho swallowed. He looked at the stump that should’ve been his second arm. He studied father’s much larger, muscular appearance. “Is … is that so?”

As usual, father turned it into a lesson. “And that’s why some children should hunt static food. The Asha Tribe protects you, Kesho, and you can return the favor in your unique way. Do not turn your back on your duties.”

Kesho had a hundred opinions about his “duties”, but said none of them. He just shoved his spear into another tree.

Suddenly, Farshar noticed something and shot towards it.

Kesho imagined an attacker and readied himself, but all father had seen was … a bush picked empty? And a few broken branches?

He crept closer, unsure whether his father had gone insane. “Misha probably plucked those the past few days. We have to bring the mammoth—”

“And does Misha have a thousand hands?”

He looked past father’s outstretched arm. The next bush had been picked empty too, destroyed even. The one behind it as well.

As far as the eye could see, all shrubs and trees were entirely exhausted and destroyed.

“Maybe we should ask Misha to be a little more careful when—”

“We did not do this!” Father ran away, looking for a piece of nature that was untouched. “We don’t stay in the same spot long enough to do this! And we are too few.”

“Then somebody destroys our food.” He wanted to throw his spear, but it was still stuck in the previous tree, so he kicked a tree instead.

“That’s not …” Farshar stopped himself as he realized something. “So that’s why we couldn’t find any food the past ten winters. And we still can’t, despite Eeris’ aid. It’s … a bigger problem than I want to admit.”

They discovered the next body. A bison, with more bites taken out of her.

They reached the river Indus. The Gosti knew it to be a dangerous place, for all animals liked to live near the water. Both prey and predator. Most tribes still abided by Donte’s Rule: don’t approach a river until you’re certain no predator lies in wait.

On this small beach they discovered the body of fish after fish. Some were eaten to the bone, others were almost untouched. They even found the remnants of a hut, torn apart and partially covered by sand.

A fishing net hung from poles at both sides of the river. A school of fish writhed and struggled as they tried to escape it. The Asha Tribe also used this technique, but they had surely never reached this far into Schola.

Farshar didn’t trust it and returned to the cover of trees.

Whoever this attacker was, it could kill anybody with ease. Killing became a sport: they already had so much food that they didn’t even need the mammoth’s flesh. And still they murdered him. Unbelievable.

And now they were precisely following the attacker’s trail.

Father’s ears pricked up and his tail curled. Kesho’s senses sharpened: his sight clearer, his ears more precise, his nose filled with tiny smells he hadn’t picked up before. Smells he recognized from other tribe members, but also … new and unknown smells.

Rustling sounded from all directions, mixed with growls and hums. He couldn’t turn around fast enough to find the origin of each sound, but they grew louder and louder.

They were deep in the forest, squished between trees. No sunlight reached them here. Kesho had noticed—thanks to all the hunting games that had prepared him—but completely forgotten to act on it due to fear.

The shrub besides him wiggled of its own accord.

Farshar pushed Kesho to the floor and jumped in front of him. An insult, he thought, even though he was glad.

A silhouette rose from the shrub, like a plant growing to its full size within a heartbeat. But it was no plant—it was his sister.

Misha quickly grabbed her basket, which lay broken on the ground, and threw some nuts and leaves inside. The act wasn’t convincing in the slightest. She’d secretly followed them.

“Go back. Now!” Father wanted to yell, but had to restrain himself in case danger still lurked nearby.

“Look at Kesho,” Misha whined at full volume. “Laying in the mud, helpless, fear in his eyes. If anybody should be allowed to hunt with you, it should be—”

Her eyes followed a black spot zooming through the sky, accompanied by a buzzing sound as if a storm was coming. Before the could react, a sharp arrow pierced through Misha’s basket. Two more landed before Kesho’s feet.

He shook his head. They should’ve grabbed the mammoth and returned to camp! But no, curiosity killed the Gosti again.

Then he realized what the growls and hums meant. They were voices coming from afar.

Another tribe.

Something told him these were not a handful of friendly family members.