2. The Jagu Tribe

A tired Jambir fell to the weeds. The Gosti would have fallen asleep instantly, even though the floor was hard and covered with sharp stones, if it weren’t for a jaguar screaming in his ear.

“What do you think you’re doing? Sleeping? You’ve barely caught eighty fish today!”

“More than enough for the next—”

“A hundred fish each day. That’s your job.”

“But—”

“Or you will never be fed again!”

The jaguar left. He knew this threat was enough to make his little slaves do his bidding. All living things had to eat. And the only way for Jambir to eat, was by the grace of his jaguar masters who gave it to him. For if they saw you break the rules and secretly eat one of your hundred fish yourself, they’d turn you into their next dinner.

Jambir was exhausted. He’d worked for months, each day, sunrise until sunset. And for what? They already had more than enough food. This tribe was larger than most, yes, but not excessively so. And the fences they built needed wood and stone, not meat.

He walked past those fences on his way to the river. He hoped his fishing net had performed miracles in the meantime, for his limbs were too tired to catch any fish who fought against him in the slightest. Strangely enough, most fish struggled when caught. All of them, even.

If their life was threatened, well, a pike or perch could suddenly bite like a jaguar.

He’d never actually caught one alive and only impaled two with his makeshift stick weapon.

The umpteenth storage hut was being built. Small stone rooms that, according to Jambir, would blow to the next continent at the slightest gust of wind. But it didn’t matter. All their attention was on the most important element: the magic that ensured the meat didn’t spoil and could be stored forever.

The jaguars, of course, refused to reveal that secret.

Jambir shuffled towards the workers—other Gosti that were no more than slaves—and tried to see what they did. Catch a glimpse of the magic and how it was seemingly put into the walls. But even this half-finished storage was already used for piles of meat and guarded by angry jaguars.

Although …

They also made a floor for the hut. Why? It didn’t contain enough meat yet to cover it, which allowed Jambir’s eyes to find a small shimmering light inside the floor, like a gemstone that held a star.

He stepped closer. The jaguar pushed him back violently.

“The river is there, idiot.”

“Oh, yes, sure, well, yes, what a mistake!”

He apologized profusely and shuffled to the river with slumped shoulders. But that image of the gemstone never left his thoughts.

That magic had to die.

If they couldn’t store that food anymore, it was useless to force Gosti to catch a hundred fish each day. They’d almost destroyed the entire area anyway. They had to move or expand their territory, like, well, everyone else. Instead, Jambir had to travel further and further into the river to catch fish, to the point he almost drowned once.

Not this time. As soon as his tired legs felt the ice cold water, the sound of footsteps reached him. He looked up and noticed Gosti silhouettes in the distance.

He turned to the other Gosti fishing near him.

“Do you recognize that?”

“That is a tree, Jambir.”

“No, the silhouette next to it.”

No response. Too tired from work, he guessed, or too angry to care. Jambir was sure though: those silhouettes ran outside of their territory and didn’t look familiar.

Hope blossomed. That was another option! If another tribe would attack and kill the jaguars, they’d finally be free!

Unless … the others were even worse.

No, he couldn’t imagine it. He could only imagine how beautiful life would be once he had freedom and perhaps met a nice female Gosti with whom to spend that freedom.

With his final bout of energy, he ran along the river to meet the silhouettes. It probably scared them off, as they sought cover inside the forest. Jambir followed, though it was much harder to track somebody in an overgrown area. He knew his ancestors liked climbing trees and evading danger there, but he’d never done it himself and didn’t think he even could.

A jaguar ran past him.

No, the king of his tribe!

Shortly after, his two children—prince and princess—also passed Jambir on both sides. They both looked identical to their king, but had noticeable defects. The prince had much shorter legs and a flat, dented snout. The princess’ fur had black splotches that refused to grow hairs, and her left eye was much smaller than the other.

But if you said any of this out loud near the king … well, you guessed it: you were their next dinner.

Jambir tried to keep up with them. “What’s wrong? Where are you going?”

“Intruders!” the prince yelled enthusiastically, as if he’d waited his whole life for this moment. “Free food is gathering at our northern borders!”

The princess frowned. “We thought you came to help. Why are you running this way otherwise?”

“Yeah, sure, to help,” Jambir said, loud enough to cause an echo through the entire forest. “I am running to the NORTHEN BORDER to FIGHT the INTRUDERS!”

“Shut up, idiot!”

“Seems to me are about TWENTY TREE LENGTHS away from—”

The prince scratched his face. Jambir fell backwards due to the hit and the immense pain. The prince and princess ran off and left him behind to deal with the blood streaming across his face.

Once he finally reached the northern border, he found a Gosti armed with bow and arrow.

Their weapons and tools, dear reader, didn’t look like much yet. Their bows could not reach far and broke at the slightest usage. Their arrows weren’t sharp enough to do real damage. But it was always better than no weapon.

“Don’t shoot!” Jambir yelled.

They shot.

Perhaps it was his scream, perhaps they never intended to truly hit the intruders, but their arrows flew off course and became warning shots.

The other Gosti pushed their spears forward. Especially the largest, probably their father, was muscular enough to make the king think twice about attacking. Sure, his king saw Gosti as slaves, but the only Gosti in their camp were much smaller, weaker, and not even able to hold a spear.

These Gosti almost seemed a different species entirely!

“Who are you?” the king eventually asked.

“We are the Asha Tribe,” the largest said. “My name is Farshar. These are my son and daughter. We come in peace.”

“We are the Jagu Tribe, I am king Jagu … and you are intruders in our territory.”

“The land belongs to nobody,” Farshar said decisively.

“Put your spears away.”

“Put your bows away.”

Jagu looked at his children. The prince shook his head, but the princess vigorously nodded.

“Useless,” the king complained.

“They are Gosti,” Jambir said. “They are smart. We can learn from each other’s ways! Look how strong they—”

“Yes, yes, very believable from the mouth of a a Gosti,” the prince said. Without looking, he scratched Jambir’s face again.

The king had only furious eyes for his son. “Behave yourself!”

The red and yellow jaguar stepped forward. He made himself vulnerable: one good throw with their spears and they’d kill him.

All held their breath. Farshar and the king studied each other, from top, to bottom, and back again. They made a calculation in their head, a balancing of good and evil.

“We can exchange food,” Farshar said, “and knowledge, and techniques. We’ll continue traveling north in a few days anyway, so you won’t have to suffer us long.”

His son and daughter had recovered from the attack. They seemed … angry at their father?

His son impatiently tapped his foot, while his daughter squeezed her basket’s handle. Despite her wild and furious eyes, Jambir immediately felt a tug of desire, realizing he found her attractive.

Not a tug of love, dear reader, for that did not exist yet. Only the desire to have children with another animal, to make sure your family tree stood strong for a little longer.

“With how many are how you?” the jaguar asked.

Farshar paused. “It depends. Not few, not many.”

The king grumbled in response. It wasn’t wise to give away your precise numbers to a stranger, he understood that. He also studied Jambir. Who was still infatuated with Misha and about to launch another speech about how clever Gosti were.

Farshar lowered his spear.

“Put away the bows,” Jagu said over his shoulder. “The Jagu Tribe welcomes the Asha Tribe. Let’s spend a few days together and try to share as much as possible. So that both tribes may enter the future with more confidence!”

All released the breath they were holding and felt their heartbeat slow down.

“Misha.” Farshar’s voice was tired. “Go back and pick up the other members.”

“Oh? Hmm? Am I allowed to do that? The other members are moving creatures and—”

“Misha! Behave yourself. Kesho, with me.”

Jagu smiled. “Ah. Children. They’re the same for all species, aren’t they?”

Farshar smiled and patted both his children on the head.

Together they walked back to the heart of the territory. They started with unnecessarily loud statements such as “what a beautiful camp” and “let’s organize a feast” and “no that color red does look great with the shade of the trees”—but the conversation soon turned to whispers.

Once inside the camp, Jagu and Farshar immediately split off.

Jambir seized the moment to talk to Kesho.

“All well and good,” he whispered. “But with how many are you really?”

“About—no, wait, I’m not saying!”

Jambir rolled his eyes. “I have only one question: do you have enough to attack and defeat the jaguars?”

Kesho turned to stone. His response, however, was immediate and calculated, accompanied by a slight smile.

“I think so.”