Things Grak Hates

by Peter J Story

  Grak rolls his eyes.

  The concept really shouldn’t be this hard for her to understand.

  “Look, I’ll go over it one more time.” He slows his speech. “By assisting him, she prevented us from having our justice for his attack. And that’s nearly as bad as performing the attack.” He catches himself. “Just as bad, I mean.”

  He decides a reversal of focus is due. “And I don’t see why it matters so much to you, Groka. It seems to me that anyone who truly cares about the tribe and its well-being would want justice.”

  “Well … of course I do,” she replies with hesitance. “But at the same ti—”

  Grak spots the dell just ahead and ducks down, motioning for the others to follow. Groka seems annoyed by the abrupt interruption, but obeys nonetheless.

  It dawns on Grak that he’ll need to explain his actions. “I … uh … thought I saw something. Down in that dell. Brak, how far until we reach the spot where you saw Lago?”

  Startled, the man looks around in confusion for a moment. Finally, a thought seems to strike, and his eyes settle on Grak, searching for confirmation.

  What a simpleton! Could my hints be any more obvious?

  Grak rolls his eyes and takes a deep, calming breath. He nods to the bald man.

  Brak nods in reply. “Yes. This is it. Just down in that dell. Like you saw.” He finishes with an obvious, knowing look to Grak.

  Fortunately, no one seems to have noticed. Most are stretching their necks for a better view, and Cordo is already sneaking toward the rim. Ruch and Zacha soon follow him with everyone else close behind.

  Except Grak. He lingers, hoping to let the situation grow on its own. Finally, after a sufficient length of time, he moves forward as well. Taking position next to Frolan, he settles in and scans the area. His heart sinks.

  No! Where is he? This can’t be. Did she somehow warn the man? How would she have known?

  Grak thinks quickly. He decides it’s best to deflect blame before it has a chance to come his way. “What is this nonsense, Brak? Did you lead us out here on some fool’s errand?”

  “I … no …” Brak looks hurt.

  Kando grows excited. “Look! There. Down by that fallen tree. I see items. Man-made. And what looks like a recent fire. Yes. I see a wisp of smoke. Brak must be right.”

  Cordo interrupts, obviously annoyed now. “Then where’s Lago?”

  “There,” says Frolan, his voice full of ice and hatred.

  Every eye follows the man’s outstretched arm as it points to the southern rim. A thin figure is descending into the dell, apparently unaware of his watchers.

  Hope drains from Cordo’s voice. “Well, what makes you think that’s Lago?”

  Grak can’t resist a good joke when the opportunity presents itself. “True. Lago could have eaten two people that size and still be hungry for more.”

  Brak laughs nervously. Looking around, he finds himself alone in this action and trails off.

  Frolan’s voice is unflinching. “It’s him, alright. I can make out his face from here. Council, I suggest you stay back. My team and I will handle him. We’re not taking any chances with this traitor. Not this time.”

  Frolan gives quick orders, and his forces split into three groups of three. He leads his team down the middle while the other two flank on either side. They all move swiftly, ferociously.

  Grak finds a curious sense of respect in watching their approach. Desiring a closer view, he follows, leaving a reasonable gap to avoid any collateral danger.

  The teams quickly reach a distance of thirty paces or so and hunch over, slowing to a covert stride. Not stealthy enough, though. Lago suddenly notices the ones to his right. He drops his branches with a start, and frantically looks around for a route of escape. The other two groups quickly become evident, leaving west as his only option. He darts for it.

  Well, he’s built up some speed. I’d say the exile has done him some good.

  Regardless, the tribe’s security has been training, and they’re far too quick for the man. Just as he reaches the rim, a body lunges from the right, ending his dash for freedom.

  Lago rolls to his side, dazed. He gasps for air as the remaining forces close in, forming a tight circle. Frolan grabs the man’s hair and pulls him up onto his knees. Grak isn’t far behind and reaches them only a moment later.

  Lago’s senses slowly return. “No … no … please. I di … I didn’t poison …” Another deep, labored breath. “I didn’t poison the tribe. I didn’t!”

  Grak smiles. “Who said anything about poison?” His raised voice proves unnecessary, as the remaining council arrives mid-sentence.

  Lago’s breathing calms. “Jafra did. She told me all about it. I told her I didn’t do it. I explained what happened. What actually happened.

  “I left immediately. After I was exiled. Made for Redfist. Thought that would be my best chance at survival. To follow the herd. I stayed there for some time, but I never returned to our camp! Or … your camp, I mean. You have to believe me!”

  A calm, resigned sort of desperation overtakes his voice. “I even left Redfist when I saw the tribe approaching. And Jafra believed me. You can ask her. Please.”

  “Oh, we’ll be talking to Jafra, alright. We’ll talk to her real good.” Grak realizes that sounded better in his head.

  He seeks to redirect the conversation. “How long have you been meeting with her? What have the two of you been planning against the tribe?”

  “No. Please …” Lago’s voice takes on a heavy tone of fear. “You have it all wrong, Grak. We haven’t been planning anything. I only met up with her recently. Eight days ago, to be exact. And I had to convince her of my innocence as well.

  “But she finally believed me. And she offered to help. She said she even had theories about what actually happened. With the poisoning, I mean. She said I’d be useful in proving the truth. Please. I can be a help.”

  Grak doesn’t like the sound of that. His heart picks up its pace as the council repeats the man’s words among each other.

  What truth? What’s he referring to? Does Jafra know? How could she know? It’s my word against Lago’s.

  Grak looks around at the others. Their murmurs have died down. Several wear sympathetic expressions.

  But will my children give in to sympathy for this liar? Will they even believe me? With so many challenging my authority these days? They might just believe this worm instead. No, can’t risk it.

  Grak holds out a hand. “Your knife, Frolan.”

  Cordo reacts quickly, his nervousness on clear display. “Wait, Grak. We haven’t confirmed all the details of the situation. What if he’s telling the truth?”

  It’s already spreading. Be quick, Grak. Immediate action is required.

  He opts for a simple, yet proven approach. “And are you an enemy of the tribe as well, Cordo? Are you seeking to spare this villain to wreak more havoc on our people?”

  Frolan grows furious. “Grak’s right. We all know of Lago’s guilt.” He takes an intimidating step toward Cordo. “Anyone who questions it at this point warrants suspicion as well! Grak, with your leave, I believe we should apprehend Cordo. Until further questioning.”

  Grak is thrilled with this turn of events. “Yes. Please do. And thank you, Frolan. Wise thinking.”

  The brute nods, obviously satisfied with himself, but holding back a smile. He gives an order, and two of his team place a tight hold on Cordo.

  “And gag him too,” commands Grak. “No sense in letting him harass us while we seek justice.”

  Frolan tears a strip from Lago’s tunic and advances on Cordo. The man puts up a firm resistance, but is quickly overcome by greater numbers.

  Grak gives the council a fierce glare. “Would anyone else care to interfere with tribe security?”

  Kando smiles something slight. Ruch and Zacha consider it, but settle on restraint. The other four simply cast their eyes to the ground.

  Satisfied, Grak motions to Frolan
once more. The brute nods. He unsheathes his knife and passes it over, then steps back several paces to wait in silence.

  Lago starts up again. “No! Please!”

  Grak ignores the man, concentrating instead on the hilt in his palm. It feels different. The weight is nothing new. Neither is the sensation of bound leather on his skin. And yet, it feels different. He hesitates.

  No, Grak. You must. Don’t think about it. Just do it.

  Lago senses the reluctance. “Don’t do this, Grak! Please! You don’t want to do this.”

  His voice melts in terror until it’s nearly a sob. “I’ve always been there for your family. I was like a father to your sister. I cared for Jafra as my own. When it was too difficult for you and your father. I’ve always been a friend to your parents. To your mother.”

  Tears begin to flow down the man’s cheeks. “I wept when she died, Grak. Do you remember? She was like a sister to me. Please! For her!”

  Something unidentifiable clicks in Grak’s mind. Tension courses through his body, moving into the jaw. His left eye tries to blink, but fails. A neck muscle twinges. It strains. Then the pressure begins to recede.

  Ice methodically creeps through his veins, soothing every tension, calming every nerve. His face relaxes, and his eyes close slightly. He finds a keen awareness of his body, yet none at all. His limbs are numb, but still fully responsive.

  He focuses on the weight in his palm. It’s still there, but the sensation is passing through someone else’s skin now. He can’t truly feel it anymore. He can’t feel anything. Grak extends his hand, pressing the blade to Lago’s throat.

  “No … please …” Lago closes his eyes. “Please …”

  Grak orders his arm to move. It obeys with a curious force, dragging the knife hard across the man’s neck. The sobbing ends abruptly, replaced by a far more disturbing noise: a gurgling, wheezing sound.

  Worse than that, Lago’s eyes have opened in response to the sting. They’re flooded with countless emotions. Grak can recognize a few: shock … pain … terror … sadness. And more. So much more.

  Lago’s eyes begin to fade. As do the emotions. Slowly. Ever so slowly. It seems an immeasurable amount of time. Finally, life abandons the man.

  Lago’s captors toss his limp body to the ground. His eyes fall on Grak, but they’re not the same. They’re empty now. And this sends a shiver up Grak’s spine—a sensation he can fully perceive, no longer as though through someone else. Feeling has returned, uninvited and unwanted. And it’s far more brutal than before. This disturbs him more than he’d care to admit.

  Calm, Grak. Calm.

  He takes a deep breath, effectively soothing his fraying nerves. Looking around, he notices that most have averted their eyes.

  Probably wisest. Not a pleasant sight. Most people don’t have nerves like mine.

  He looks down at what used to be Lago, now an empty shell bleeding out. The pool of blood creeps toward Grak. He steps back to avoid it, but realizes the effort is futile: his boots are already drenched. As are his trousers. On further inspection, he’s hard pressed to find an area not dripping with the stuff.

  No! Of all the things that could go wrong. I just had Brak clean this set of clothes!

  Rage takes over, and he looks around for someone to blame. To his dismay, few options present themselves.

  Maybe Jafra. If she were here. Or maybe—

  A new fury enters Grak’s mind. “Groka!” He scans the dell. “Where’s Groka?”

  Everyone looks around calmly. A few shrug, obviously missing the significance. There’s only one reason she’d slip away in secret.

  To warn Jafra. To help her escape.

  14 - And Sore Losers

  Grak reserves a special place in his heart for the unique disgust he has toward sore losers. “Pathetic” is his preferred description for such individuals. And if time allows, he’ll elaborate with details and hyperbolic impersonations. Though, to his dismay, the tribe grew tired of these displays after a mere eleven days.

  The council was more accommodating, but after another six days, a number of them began complaining too. “Poor taste,” said some. “Far too graphic,” complained others. “Contains too many clay figurines to follow,” mentioned others still.

  Thus, for the past ten days he’s been forced to express himself solely in the presence of his personal guards. Reflecting on last night’s showing, Grak allows himself a chuckle.

  Frolan pauses, glancing around at the council in confusion. “Um …” He’s clearly disquieted. “I suppose it’s somewhat humorous. I mean, at least he didn’t die from it. So that’s good.”

  Grak can tell he’s missing something here. He looks around the tent. The council is expressing shock—that much is clear. And they’re directing it at him—also clear. He ponders these details and deduces that the topic must have been one they deem important.

  Grak gathers himself. “Yes. Sorry, who did you say this was?”

  “Yado,” replies Frolan.

  Grak had hoped the brute would provide a few more details. “Yes, Yado …” He tries again. “And so, given the aspects you’ve already explained, how do you think the injury occurred? Specifically, I mean.”

  Frolan cocks his head slightly as he attempts to comprehend the question. “Well, I suppose it happened … um … specifically … when he hit the ground. His weight and the distance of the drop must have applied too much pressure on his leg, and the bone gave out.”

  Grak nods in deep thought. “Hmm, yes, I see. And where, specifically, did this occur?”

  Frolan is prepared for that one. “Well, if you’ll refer to the map I passed out, you can see it was about a half-day’s journey north. By the way, thanks to Opa for making these copies so quickly.”

  She nods and gives the council a timid smile, then resumes her work of recording the meeting.

  Grak looks at the tablet on the floor to his right. He had been wondering what that was for. He picks it up and studies the surface. That brings him up to speed nicely.

  He turns to Opa. “Fine work. As always.”

  She replies with another modest smile before once again returning to her duties.

  Grak turns back to Frolan. “And have you spoken to Yado yet? About not wandering off on his own? Especially near dangerous drops?”

  Frolan looks about awkwardly. “Well … no … Given that the rest of our team was nearby, I didn’t feel he was wandering off on his own.”

  Clearly, Grak is still missing something. “And what was the rest of your team doing at the time of his fall? Uh, specifically, of course.” He almost forgot that last bit.

  Frolan cocks his head once more. “Specifically … we were walking in a line, spread out as you ordered, twenty paces apart.”

  That sounds familiar. Yes, Grak remembers ordering that better method of search. So they must have been looking for Jafra and Groka. Now he understands the whole situation.

  Grak shakes his head knowingly, mercifully. “Sweet Frolan. You’re missing my point, friend. While the spreading out was good, Yado should have been more focused. He shouldn’t have been wandering off in his mind while on the search. Be sure to speak to him about that.”

  Frolan nods. “Yes sir.”

  With that confusion cleared up, Grak presses the main issue. “So, did you find them?”

  “No sir. The search was unsuccessful once again.” Frolan averts his gaze and sighs. “I apologize.”

  Grak suppresses a groan, though his expression shows clear annoyance with the team’s failings. Fourteen search parties have gone out so far, and fourteen have come back empty-handed.

  Of course, this nonsense wouldn’t even be necessary if they had done their jobs initially. How the fools let Jafra escape right under their noses is beyond me.

  Grak considers the brute and sighs. “I suppose I can find the mercy to spare you from punishments. And your team.” He rolls his eyes. “Again. But my patience grows thin, Frolan. I want those two brought to justice.
”

  Frolan nods, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Yes sir. I understand. I won’t fail you again.”

  “You would not want that … to hope …” Grak trails off. Best to think that sentence through and try again later.

  Truth be told, he’s been finding it difficult to get upset over the matter. Obviously, Grak never wanted the women to escape, but at the same time, he sees clear value in their continued freedom. With Jafra replacing Lago as “Chief of All Enemies,” the tribe’s fear has only grown, which gives Grak the liberty to lead as he sees fit.

  And then some. A good time to be me, that’s for sure. And it doesn’t hurt that I’ve managed to drop a bit of weight too. I think that’s what really elevated me to the next level in their eyes. Not just a hunter or even a father anymore. A protector. A guardian. A savior, really.

  Grak notices the numerous stares and realizes he’s taking too long with his reminiscing. “So, what other business do we have?”

  Brak stands and clears his throat. “As the tribe’s newly appointed Master of Activities, I have a proposal. My idea is to have a regular event with music, dancing, art displa—”

  Grak waves a hand and rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes. We get it. Have your festivities, Brak.” He adds even more impatience to his tone. “Does anyone else have points to discuss?”

  “Yes, I do,” says Kando with clear excitement in his tone. He stands and passes out a stack of clay tablets. “I have the details of yesterday’s theories meeting here. As usual, I’ve ordered the ideas by importance.”

  His enthusiasm rises as he reviews the list in his hands. “Now, this first one is a fascinating concept presented by Escha. She observed that leaves tend to face the sun, leading her to believe this is how they get nourishment. Remarkable notion, isn’t it? So she’s looking into ways we might gather that nourishment for our own use. Incredible potential there.”