5. Food Prison

Kesho jumped at the jaguar paw resting on his shoulder.

“Awful, just awful,” the king said. “Let’s hope your sister is found soon.”

Oh, how he wanted to hit Jagu in the head with his spear. He restrained himself.

“Awful indeed,” he said with clenched jaw. “Will you join the search?”

“I do what I can.”

Kesho did not know what that meant. Jagu did not leave his side, no matter which direction Kesho chose.

“Tell me, Kislo—”

“Kesho.”

“What does your father think of us? Is he prepared to cooperate?”

Kesho frowned. Jagu steered their path more and more, aiming for the food storages.

“Aren’t we … already cooperating?”

Jagu shook his head. His voice was tinted with sadness. “I sense hostility. I sense your eagerness to leave. While we provide everything! It’s good here, don’t you think, Karsto?”

They paused next to the huts. Even more meat was thrown into them by a group of Gosti. While the Asha Tribe had raised the alarm due to Misha’s disappearance, the Jagu Tribe pretended nothing was wrong. Perhaps missing creatures was the default here.

Kesho salivated. So much food. Years of comfort and safety. No need to hunt. No need to be reminded how weak and useless he was without both arms.

And then there was Jambir’s talk of magic. Kesho searched for the sparkling gemstone, but if it was there, it was now covered by too much food.

“It’s … fine here.”

“Fine?”

“Fine and nice,” Kesho added. “I mean, have you ever been attacked? Has any wild animal ever breached your borders?”

Jagu smiled. “No. So many murderous tribes and animals, yet we are safe here like a mother’s womb.”

“And hunting? Have you ever needed to hunt?”

“Oh, once in a while. I try to stay in shape, you see.”

Kesho did not see it.

“My children, however, have never hunted. And the plan is to make sure none of our children ever have to do so again.”

He studied Jagu’s children. The prince couldn’t walk straight, or fast, with his short legs. The princess had terrible sight due to her tiny eye, judging by how often she bumped into Gosti or buildings. Or maybe that was also the default here.

If even they could have a comfortable life—the life of kings—why not Kesho?

Before he could stop himself, He spoke his thoughts out loud. “Your children are weak indeed, just like me. I recognize their struggles.”

Jagu’s head swiveled frighteningly fast. His dark eyes looked down on him.

Kesho stepped back, but one step from Jagu covered ten steps of his own.

“I, erm, obviously mean that it’s nice to hear you support your children!”

Jagu grumbled. His sharp nails scratched the walls of the storages.

“I have to,” he grunted. “They are supposed to bear children together to keep the tribe alive and well.”

With … with each other? Kesho thought about getting a child with his own sister Misha, for only a heartbeat, which sent shivers through his body.

It is true, dear reader. Because these jaguars stayed in the same place forever, they never met other jaguars. They only had each other, brothers and sisters bearing children to continue the family legacy. This meant that every mistake in their DNA was made worse with every child. Because both brother and sister had the same mistake in their blood—so now their child had it twice! And yes, sometimes mistakes in your DNA can be good, but they often lead to defects and illnesses.

Jagu softly patted Kesho on the back.

“Go on. Take from the storage. If your tribe cooperates, without hostility or distrust, we promise you will never be hungry again. Even you—one-armed Karno—could live like a king.”

Two thoughts fought each other. Everything about this tribe was weird. The idea of staying in the same place forever already made him restless.

Yet the food storages drew him in. The promises seemed honest. Jambir was already a good friend, and the Indus river was a great place to live.

“I will speak to father,” he said. Jagu kept him a while longer, explaining the history of the Jagu tribe and way too many anecdotes about his dear prince and princess.

Then Kesho ran into the forest, finding his tribe by the sound of their panicked voices.

Jambir had followed Kesho and Jagu all this time. In the shadows, hidden, ready to interfere if anything happened.

To his surprise, it was just a conversation and nothing else. Was Kesho betraying him? Were the Asha and Jagu already the best of friends?

Patience, he told himself. He could work a little longer, he could wait a little longer, if it meant a future in freedom with Misha at some point.

But he could not wait and sit around while Misha was still missing.

He ran away to the place they were expecting him. Today his tasks involved raising a fence on the other side and strengthening its base. Only the most trusted Gosti were trained—and allowed—to climb the trees so they could collect food on the other side or repair fences from above.

Jambir was, obviously, not a trusted Gosti. He could only carry piles of wood and stone. The hard work. The ungrateful job.

To him, the intent of the jaguars was clear as day. They were never going to let the Asha Tribe past. They made it even harder to get past their fences. But why? Why keep an entire tribe hostage? Now the storages would deplete more quickly, while any knowledge had already been shared, and—

The answer became obvious when he saw a familiar figure on the other side of the fence.

Misha. Lovely Misha.

She was chained and put to work amidst the other Gosti, as if she’d always belonged there. The jaguars yelled commands and she executed them. Her body was covered with wounds and blood, while her eyes spit fire.

Those “trusted Gosti” looked down on her, satisfied, licking their lips. Their faces resembled that of a hungry predator spotting some tasty meat.

Surely they didn’t intend to eat her. His tribe was a collection of evil and stupidity, but he had never seen proof they were cannibals.

No, it was clear now. The jaguars intended to use Misha to bear children with the other Gosti. To continue their families of slaves with new DNA that prevented those defects in the prince and princess.

They had captured the Asha Tribe so that their members, in time, would become the Jagu Tribe and provide fresh blood.

Misha looked up. She saw Jambir through the irregular, small holes in the unfinished fence. Her eyes begged for something. Her lips moved without making a sound.

Must work, they said, otherwise never food anymore.

Something inside Jambir broke. He grabbed a large stone and threw it at the face of the jaguar guard, killing him on impact.