Things Grak Hates

by Peter J Story

  Apparently moving wasn’t bad enough. We also had to get stuck in endless transit. And all because Hambo couldn’t keep his mouth shut about the shortage.

  That’s true, more or less. Once the shortage was common knowledge, Hambo did make it worse by expounding on the theory. And his numbers sounded realistic enough to create an ambiguous sort of fear in people’s minds. Even more so when he concluded that they only had five snows left before running out of fresh water. Apparently, he failed to anticipate how great a panic his findings would cause.

  Unnecessary panic really. Idiots and their idiotic concerns. They don’t even know what true worry is. A few night terrors? A handful of children with fear paralysis? That’s nothing! They should try my problems for a while. Then let’s see what they have to complain about.

  Of course, Grak is only venting. He wouldn’t actually want that, as the problems go hand in hand with the title. He sighs and shakes his head.

  So much pain in leading. Why didn’t anyone bother telling me? If I had known, I would have refused. Even when they begged me to be their master.

  At least I have a few competent people by my side. Or rather, fools with a shred of ability who are willing to relieve some of my burdens.

  He’s mainly thinking of Escha here. She came along just in time with a theory that calmed a portion of the hysteria before it got too far out of hand. By her reasoning, since the river emptied into the ocean, they’d be better off staying as far away from the sea as possible. Thus, she suggested the water could be prolonged by two more snows if they didn’t move any farther north. And since her numbers also seemed realistic, the idea was accepted.

  Sound logic, I suppose. And yet, such an unfortunate side effect. But I can’t blame her. It’s Hambo’s fault. Him and his incessantly wagging jaw. He’s the real reason we’re stuck here. Doomed to a chaotic, horrendous, excrement-filled, sorry excuse for a campsite.

  Grak isn’t even embellishing much in that description. Due to the cramped nature of the river trail, and in order to leave a path for basic movement, they were only able to fit one long row of tents. But it soon became evident that smells took a considerable amount of time to dissipate in such a narrow space. Especially toward the middle of the line.

  And things only got worse when Grak’s “tales of Jafra’s depravity” began to spread through the tribe. Everyone became fearful of the woods after that, and started relieving themselves on the edge of camp instead. Thus, with the heats gaining strength, the aroma has grown pungent. Now it’s almost impossible to avoid. Even here in his tent, removed one hundred paces from the rest of the tribe, Grak can still smell it.

  Not that anyone cares. They’re all too panicked to bother seeing what I want.

  He sighs.

  Nothing but panic and chaos these days. And even bloodshed, of all things!

  That’s not an exaggeration: a surprising number of fights have broken out over the shortage. But when the death count reached three on the first day, Grak realized he had to clamp down.

  His solution was to ban all access to the river except at the official watering point. To enforce this restriction, he positioned nine guards along its banks. And much to his delight, only two more were killed before people stopped trying to sneak unauthorized drinks. However, much to his dismay, violence within the trail camp is still rampant.

  What’s gotten into these people? Used to be calm and peace-loving. So different now. I can’t believe how far they’ve gone. Can you?

  He looks to Lago, but receives no reply. His adviser has been silent of late. This also adds to Grak’s irritation.

  Oh, who needs you? I have other friends.

  That’s partially true. Olive Thirteen and Kando are both here. Of course, some might say they’re simply early for the council meeting, but Grak knows better.

  They’re just eager to spend time with me. As it should be. If only more of my friends were this thirsty for my companionship.

  He sighs, recalling the old days. The nightly impersonations. Doran and his crab. Frolan and his bear.

  That one hurts most of all. The brute grows more distant on a daily basis. He still shows the utmost respect, but that’s where it ends. He hardly even looks Grak in the eye anymore. And he certainly doesn’t show interest in spending time together. Or talking about each other. Grak sighs once more, beginning to wonder why no one is asking if he’s alright.

  Friends are supposed to talk about each other. Maybe … maybe I just need to get things started.

  He looks up eagerly, reaching for the first topic that comes to mind. “So … this is a nice staff, isn’t it? Nicely decorated and all. Very little smell.”

  Olive Thirteen is her usual cheerful self. “That’s true. Yado did a great job.”

  Hmm, but no mention of my creative eye. Not a good indication.

  Grak has noticed that trend. Conversations often go the route of talking about others, even saying good things about those people. It’s not such a concern most of the time, but it gets annoying when he wants to talk about himself.

  Though maybe that’s just how the simpler types communicate. They don’t really know any better.

  He gives it a try. “So, Olive Thirteen … I’ve noticed you have …” He should have thought this through before speaking. “You have long hair.”

  No matter. She’s thoroughly pleased with the compliment. “Why, thank you, Grak. I’m quite happy with it myself.”

  Intrigued by his newfound power, Grak thinks of one for Kando. “And you have a strong nose, Kando. Like a hawk’s beak.”

  The man nods. “Thank you.”

  Hmm, not as good a reception. Still, it’s something at lea—

  Grak’s attention is snagged by the tent flap suddenly opening. His spirits lift at the sight of Frolan entering, but hope fades when the remaining council members follow the man in. Grak sighs.

  Just punctual. Not here to see me.

  He pushes the thought aside and attempts to prepare his mind for the meeting. These sessions have been causing Grak deep sorrow of late, and he’s hoping to avoid it this time. Why they evoke that emotion, though, is beyond him.

  Perhaps it’s more of that loneliness. Like the council’s just too small these days.

  After losing Ruch and Zacha, Grak found no new replacements suited to their positions. Except Doran. But that was more for social reasons, as he hoped it might serve to repair their old friendship. So far, the effort has been unsuccessful. Grak allows himself one final sigh, then attempts a more positive demeanor.

  He adds a jovial tone for good measure. “So, let’s see if we can resolve this whole issue, shall we?”

  Doran and Kando make a show of looking away from each other. The rest of the council watches in discomfort, obviously feeling awkward about having to witness the tiff.

  Grak expected this, though, and he has a new approach ready for just such an occasion. “So, Kando. Why don’t you tell Doran what you told me yesterday? It made a lot of sense.”

  Kando rolls his eyes. “I had a good reason for it,” he mutters.

  Grak puts on a commanding, but gentle voice. “Come on, Kando. I know you can do better than that. Why don’t you try sitting up and looking at Doran?”

  Kando slowly obeys. “I had a good reason for it.” His voice is much clearer now, so that’s an improvement. “He had to be stopped. And it’s not like I did anything wrong. Grak approved it.”

  That’s partially true. Grak did approve it, but only after the act was committed. Of course, he certainly wanted it done; he just had some reservations to sort out first. And when he learned of Kando's decision, he couldn't let word spread that the man acted without approval. Thus, it seemed best to retroactively authorize the matter and brush the remaining details to the side.

  Doran clenches his jaw and mutters something incoherent.

  Grak senses frustration in the man. “Doran, you’re obviously unhappy about the situation. Can you tell me about that?”

 
Doran straightens in his chair and turns to face Grak and Kando. “There was no reason to execute him,” he replies.

  Grak is confused. “Execute whom?”

  Doran’s eyes bulge with incredulity. “Hambo! Who else would I be talking about? Have you executed anyone else recently?”

  Kando opens his mouth to speak, but Grak gives him a subtle shake of the head. Wouldn’t be prudent to delve into that topic at the moment. Not until Doran’s nerves cool a little.

  Grak puts on a soothing voice. “I just wanted you to say his name. It helps with the healing process.” He quickly changes topics. “So tell me, Doran, why does Hambo’s execution bother you so much?”

  Doran stifles his frustration. “Why does that question even need to be asked? What’s going on with the tribe? And with you? And with you, Kando? You’ve both changed! And so has the tribe!”

  Grak doesn’t like this kind of talk. Especially not from one of his council members. He puts on his stern demeanor. “Watch yourself now, Doran. You might be an old friend, but that doesn’t give you leave to speak against me. Remember the Cordo.”

  Grak points to his new tent decoration. While the smell certainly hasn’t grown on him, he finds it more pleasant than what’s been wafting through the air of late. Also, it provides a certain amount of clout during meetings. Even the mole adds a fair bit of intimidation, which is the only reason he hasn’t removed the thing.

  Doran looks at it and swallows. A clear bead of sweat drips down his forehead. Grak can’t tell if it’s from nervousness or the heats.

  Best to assume nervousness. At least until there’s proof otherwise. And that’s good. No one should be so comfortable as to think they can defy me.

  He gives Lago a look of exaggerated surprise.

  What’s that? Oh, now you’re speaking to me? I don’t appreciate the silent treatment, you know. That’s not the way to behave with friends.

  Grak is pleasantly surprised to hear such a heartfelt response.

  Well, thank you for that. It must have been difficult to say. And I forgive you, old friend. Honestly, I can’t stay mad at you. It’s just good to hear your laughter again.

  Grak combs his fingers through Lago’s hair, ignoring the strange looks from the council. He doesn’t understand why people get so uncomfortable when he does this, but neither does he care. The habit soothes him, after all, and if it also happens to intimidate, then that only adds to its usefulness.

  Doran’s jaw trembles. “I … um … I think …”

  Grak moves a finger to the man’s lips. “Shh. Peace, friend. It can be hard to express ourselves.” He gives a stern look to the others, inspiring affirmation from them. “Don’t worry so much about what you think. Try using ‘I feel’ terminology. That might help.”

  Doran gulps and nods. “I apologize. It’s just … well … I feel … or, I felt … it was important to find out more about Hambo’s theory. About the water shortage. And … I feel … that it discourages further theories if we kill off our theorists when we dislike one of their ideas.”

  Grak gently strokes Doran’s hair. “There, see? That was very good. And easy, no?”

  He waits for a nod from the man. “But you’re wrong. Hambo wasn’t executed because his idea was disliked. He was executed because it was too dangerous.

  “See the chaos his thoughts have already spread? How can I let that continue among my children? Would you have me not protect them? Would you have me weakened?”

  Grak waits for the man to shake his head. “And I don’t see why you’re not troubled, Doran. Hambo’s views directly opposed your vast ocean theory, but you didn’t do anything to help me. And you’re still not doing anything.”

  He pauses for effect. “And if you refuse to help, then I can’t let you lead your group any longer.”

  Doran seems offended. “Well, I never actually wanted to start it in the first place.”

  That’s not the answer Grak wanted. He imagined there would be a little groveling at least. Some sort of oath to do better would also have been nice. But agreement was the last thing he needed.

  Unfortunately, Grak can’t go back on his threat now. “Good. If you don’t want the honor, then I’ll give it to Kando. He’ll head up the Vast Oceaners in your place.”

  Grak waits, but gets no reaction. “Besides, I was thinking of giving it to him anyway. He has some bold new plans for your group. Ways to calm this water shortage scare. I like his future-oriented thinking.”

  Still nothing. “And as for you … well …” Grak regrets having to do this. “Frolan, seize him.”

  Doran struggles, but is soon detained.

  “Fifty!” Brak calls the final lash.

  Grak prefers the skin rake under normal circumstances, but it would be unnecessary here. Doran’s an obedient one by nature, and responds well where the more stiff-necked continue to resist. Besides, this punishment is really just for show. Grak isn’t actually mad at his friend.

  A little hurt by him is all. But not mad. How could I be? We’ve had so many experiences together.

  He turns to Lago and chuckles, pushing the man’s face away playfully.

  Don’t make me laugh. I have to look serious at these things. For my children.

  Grak takes a moment to regain his composure, then stands and strolls to his spot in front of the crowd. After waiting the required nine breaths, Kando walks forward and takes a position three feet behind Grak. As opposed to the standard seven. Grak considers saying something, but shakes it off.

  He’s too valuable. No sense risking offense over such a small matter.

  Grak turns to the crowd. “Now, I’m sure many of you are wondering why I just had Doran whipped. And that’s a fair question, so long as it’s not expressed in public. Or out loud. But, in my mercy, I’ve decided to answer it both in public and out loud.”

  Grak pauses, waiting for a cheer. After a moment of silence, he decides to just move along. “The answer is simple. Doran was whipped because of his dissension. He’s fortunate it wasn’t defiance, though. The punishment wouldn’t have been so light if that were the case.

  “But even a minor amount of dissension cannot be tolerated. And no trace of it can be allowed in any position of importance in camp. As a result, he can no longer be trusted to head the Vast Oceaners.

  “From this time forward, Kando will lead the group in his stead. He’s been at Doran’s side the whole time, and I’m sure he’ll do a fine job with it.”

  Kando interrupts. “Thank you, Grak. And if you don’t mind, I’ve prepared a little something I’d like to say.”

  Grak is thrown off by this request. And fairly upset.

  The dolt wasn’t supposed to speak! Calm, Grak. Calm. He’s not defying. Simply asking. And his influence is too valuable. Not such a big deal to allow him this one thing.

  Grak takes a calming breath. “Yes, I was just going to see if you had anything to say. But be brief. We haven’t got all day for you to drone on.” He chuckles and slaps the man on the shoulder.

  Kando nods and turns to the crowd. “I simply want you to know how honored I am by your confidence in me. Grak’s right, of course. I have been by Doran’s side the whole time. But I’ve also been by Grak’s side, and I’ve learned much from him about leading. As a result, I’m confident in my ability to succeed.”

  Grak cuts in. “Succeed in leading the Vast Oceaners, that is. Just to clarify.”

  Kando nods, but gives no further support to that clarification. This troubles Grak. Deeply.

  Calm, Grak. Calm. I’m sure he’s loyal. The man’s a friend, after all.

  He turns to Lago with a look of concern.

  Hmm, you’re not wrong there. I suppose it would still be wise to speak with him.

  Grak nods emphatically.

  Oh yes, of course. I’ll be very polite. Just have to make sure he understands the importance of clarity and showing me due respect.

  Grak puts on a stony voice. “Thank you, Kando.” He chooses not to reque
st applause for the man.

  That should teach him. Now where were we?

  He gives Lago an appreciative nod.

  Ah, thank you. I swear, sometimes my mind just gets so cluttered. But you never lose focus. I tell you, I don’t know what I’d do without you, old friend.

  He gestures, and Frolan walks forward, supporting a badly bruised and hobbling Escha.

  Grak switches to a lighthearted tone. “Hello, Escha. I hope you’ve been enjoying the day’s activities.”

  She seems confused about the direction his voice is coming from. “Yes …?” Her good eye finally spots him, and she nods.

  Grak chuckles with as much good nature as he can muster. “Well, enough with the simple pleasantries. Tell us, Escha, what news on Hambo’s water shortage theory?”

  The woman strains to project her voice beyond the first row of attendees. “We’ve found …” She coughs. “We’ve found conclusive evidence that the water shortage theory was untrue.”

  “Then why are we rationing our water?” shouts a voice from the crowd.

  The guards are quick to identify the offender, despite his attempts to hide. They soon drag a nervous Voluilo forward.

  Oh good. If anyone deserves a punishment, it’s him. Been a long time coming for that fool.

  Grak puts on his calm face. “It seems fortune is with you today, Voluilo. Before I pronounce your punishment, I will have mercy and respond to your question. The reason we’re rationing water is just so we’ll have it if we ever do run into a shortage at some point in the future.

  “If you’ll recall, the famine we experienced was caused by Cordo’s opposition to rations until it was too late. And because I care about you, my children, I refuse to leave such important matters in someone else’s hands this time. So I’m forcing these water rations until we can build up a surplus.”

  Other than a few questionable murmurs, the tribe seems mellowed by that response.

  Well, a little mellowed. Good enough for now, at least. Well done, Grak. Well done. And you too, friend. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.

  Grak nudges Lago’s chin, creating more debris than usual.