9. No winners here

Fighting one enemy was unpredictable, Kesho always thought. An animal fearing for its life could kick, bite, or hit in surprising ways. And if you only had eyes for your enemy, you might miss the hyena at your back.

The battlefield that exploded before him now was utter chaos, as it ensured multiple enemies at all times.

It moved too fast to understand. Animals screamed. Spears were grabbed. Arrows swirled around them like a thick mist that never cleared up.

Murfa yelled something unintelligible. The jaguar next to him, his cheering friend a moment ago, did not hesitate for a second and bit at him. Murfa stumbled backward and sought cover behind the fire.

Before Kesho could yell out, an arrow landed in Murfa’s back. The strong man fell forwards and did not get up.

Moonlight could not penetrate the battle field. It all happened in darkness, silhouettes outlined by fires, friend and foe melted into one blur. Grunts and footsteps reached Kesho from all sides and made him dizzy.

He sought support with his sister beside him.

But Misha ran away screaming, her face red hot and her fist raised. Along the way, she ripped her spear from the dead king and chased the princess who ran for her life.

Kesho shut his eyes. He didn’t want to see this.

Someone grabbed his arm.

His mother Helera. He couldn’t see her face, only recognize her scent.

“Go! Farshar still tied! Stop your sister!”

The words arrived in bits and pieces. A blinding light passed by—an animal on fire.

Most Asha members tried to flee. They sidestepped attacks, sought cover, but did not fight.

But where could they go?

The deer were pressed with their backs against the food storages, one step backward, and another, until no more backward steps could be taken. At that moment, the look in their eyes changed. They pranced and kicked several jaguars into the dirt with their front legs.

Farshar had rolled himself to a tree trunk and pressed against it to help himself sit up.

Kesho stumbled towards him. He wanted to help, but his one weak arm would be useless. Helera was needed to lift his father.

“Misha! Here!”

Misha heard nothing. She was a storm raging across the battle field, stopping the hearts of all that moved near her.

An arrow pierced her heel.

She sank through her knees and rolled through the dirt. She ripped the arrow out of her and stood up to continue, her pupils shining red like a sunset.

She faded into darkness once more.

“Leave me,” Farshar grunted. “Flee! I’ll save myself!”

“Never.” Helera’s voice shook. “Never, sweetheart.”

She broke Kesho’s spear into two. She used the sharp edge of one part to cut through the thick bonds keeping Farshar’s paws together. Kesho received the other part, which made him feel even more useless.

An arrow landed in the tree trunk just above their heads and vibrated for a long time. The earth trembled from all the falling bodies and furious jaguars. The fires reached towards the sky, as if asking for mercy from the gods, fed by weapons thrown into them.

And a god was present—but Ardex watched and did nothing.

Kesho threw his broken spear part to the ground. The splinters would hurt him more than his enemies. Even his light weapon seemed a heavy stone that kept him off balance.

Helera pushed him back with her one free hand.

“Get your sister.”

“I can’t—”

“You can.”

“I have only one arm!”

Helera suddenly looked over her shoulder. She rolled to the side, holding Farshar tight, even before Kesho had seen the incoming jaguar. Father was almost free. They could flee—they had to flee—otherwise everyone would …

He rolled the other way. His ears searched for his sister’s screams amidst the cacophony of battle.

It was easy. She screamed for help in a way that gave Kesho goosebumps.

He leapt over obstacles. Friend or foe. Unclear. He couldn’t handle it anymore. Couldn’t think. He felt the battle had only just begun, no more than a few heartbeats old, and already he was numb to the blood and the screaming.

The sound came from the river. He hurried up.

A buzz. He instinctively ducked. The arrow aimed at him found another Asha target a tree’s length away. Out there, at least half his tribe was busy breaking down the fence.

Away. Yes. Go away. Flee.

“Misha! Misha!”

The scream betrayed his presence. A jaguar nearby attacked him without looking. His sharp claws disoriented him, but narrowly missed his face.

Fear and shock had killed his thoughts. But his body remembered all the hunting games.

He dodged a fast bite and curled his tail around the enemy’s face. As a sharp claw pierced into his eyes, he rammed his broken spear upwards. The wood stuck between his attacker’s teeth.

But Kesho couldn’t win on power. He had to win on skill and technique. The only advantage of the Gosti over other creatures—scratch that, his only advantage over anyone.

He grabbed his spear with all three of his paws, as tightly as he could. That allowed him to drag it down with his full weight. The jaguar should have let go—but the monster didn’t think of that in time. He was pulled to the ground, first on two legs, then on zero legs.

The jaguar landed in the dirt with a soft thud. Kesho did not hesitate and pushed through with the spear, as he’d do when hunting for meat.

The jaguar stopped moving. Kesho ran onwards.

The battlefield cleared up. Most Gosti with bow and arrow had been pulled down. The situation at the river was calmer, especially with the moonlight bright enough to make it appear as if dawn approached.

All …

All jaguars were dead.

They had won.

They had won.

All food storages were theirs. Camp was theirs. One by one, the remaining Asha members realized the same.

There were no cheers. No joy. No screams of victory.

Of the six creatures left, most sank to the floor, while some resumed their efforts to destroy the fence.

The river bed held a Gosti. With each wave, her body was raised and deposited slightly further away.

Misha had died fighting a jaguar three times her size.

His parents ran past him and carried their daughter from the dirt, crying. Kesho was too numb, too frozen, to think or do anything.

In the end, only one thought could break through.

Did we really have to throw that spear into the king?