Things Grak Hates

by Peter J Story

  He wipes it on his tunic and turns to Frolan. “Skin rake. Nine strokes.”

  Voluilo pleads, but several solid punches quickly knock the vigor out of him. Thoroughly subdued now, he’s dragged to the whipping post and tied up.

  Grak returns to his seat, pleased with the proceedings so far. After a long, thorough stretch, he allows himself a moment to reflect on the day’s accomplishments.

  Satisfactory. Quite satisfactory.

  He leans back, closes his eyes, and breathes a sigh of relief. The rhythmic sounds of the skin rake immediately begin soothing his troubled thoughts.

  Now maybe I can get a little peace.

  “Fire!” comes the shout from many voices at once.

  The alarm sounds again: seven blows to signify “an urgent threat posed by an individual or group.” Grak sighs.

  Maybe we should change the alarm system. Far too complicated as it stands.

  He sighs even deeper.

  Oh, but what does it matter? I’ve lost control, Lago. Eighth fire in five days. And how many unauthorized killings in that time? I’ve lost count. Perhaps you were right. But I was so certain Escha’s announcement would calm things.

  Grak peers outside. He’s learned it’s best to stay in his tent when danger abounds in camp. Too many people running around. Too much violence. He closes the flap.

  Yes, best to avoid it. Frolan will keep us safe in here. Now there’s a good fellow. I was thinking we should invite him over to dine with us. What do you think?

  He looks at Lago in shock.

  Well, that was uncalled for. You know, you’re not exactly the prettiest face in camp either. Though I do enjoy how you’ve recently taken to wearing fresh jasmines in your hair. It’s very becom—

  Grak turns in surprise at the sound of his tent flap opening. He breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh, Kando, it’s you.” Reproach enters his voice. “You didn’t announce yourself … again.”

  Kando shows only moderate concern. “I apologize. I assumed that since you called for me, I was already invited.”

  Grak ponders this reasoning. While it appears sound, his patience for the man’s accidental defiance is growing thin.

  He puts on a cold demeanor. “Then let me make it clear. Even if I invite you, announce yourself outside and wait for me to call you in. Is that understood?”

  Kando nods. “Completely.”

  Hmm. A bit too calm in his response. Seems he should have more fear.

  A voice calls from outside. “This is Frolan, requesting to enter Grak’s tent.”

  Grak gives Kando a pointed look while he waits his customary five breaths. “Enter!”

  Frolan ducks through the flap and nods at the two men.

  ‘Grak’s tent.’ Doesn’t sound very prestigious, does it? Perhaps if I added some flourish to my name. Any thoughts?

  He gives Lago a heartwarming smile.

  Well, thank you. And I think you’re right: ‘The Tent of Grak the Mighty and Powerful Leader’ does sound much better. But I think it’s still missing something.

  Grak scratches his chin. “Let’s mull it over for a few days and see if we can come up with something better,” he says.

  Turning back to the others, Grak notices a strange expression on their faces. Uncertain of its cause, he ignores it for the time being.

  “So, Frolan, what news of the fire?” he asks.

  “I … uh …” The brute gathers his thoughts. “Uh, yes. The fire.” He returns to his usual distant manner. “We’ve put it out, sir. Only one cart was damaged, though beyond repair. One of the new offshoots from the Vast Oceaners is taking credit for the act. I have their leader in custody. We’re awaiting your orders on how to handle the matter.”

  Grak nods. “Very good.” He decides this is a fine opportunity to teach Kando a lesson. “You’re a loyal one, Frolan, my friend. You always wait for my orders and never act behind my back. I appreciate that.” He shoots Kando another pointed look.

  Frolan nods without expression. “Thank you sir. And what would you have us do with him?”

  Grak ponders the matter. “One of the new offshoots, you say? Which one?”

  “I … believe they call themselves ‘Hambo’s Truth,’” replies Frolan.

  Grak scrunches his face. “Not very catchy compared to some of the other ones. But wait, didn’t we execute their leader yesterday?”

  Kando cuts in. “If I might. I believe that was the leader of ‘Hambo’s Faithful.’”

  Grak remembers now. “Ah, quite right. Quite right. Hard to keep track with so many popping up.”

  He pauses in thought. “Now, Kando … I seem to recall putting you in charge of the Vast Oceaners for the purpose of bringing order. But these offshoots of your group … well, they’re far from orderly.”

  Kando shows slight nervousness. “Yes, but my group is the very definition of orderly. And fanatically loyal. The increased punishments and executions have done wonders to bring that about.”

  He pauses for affirmation that never comes. “And … well, I certainly can’t be expected to keep everyone in line. Can I?” His eyes grow more furtive. “I mean, the offshoots can’t be considered a part of my group any more than they can be considered … well, horses.”

  Grak remains skeptical. “Hmm, perhaps. But I don’t have time to deal with you right now. Consider yourself fortunate.”

  At least I managed to make the man sweat a bit. Good to know we still have that effect on people, eh Lago?

  Grak smiles and shakes his head with a playful eye roll.

  Oh, please! You’re too kind, old friend! We both deserve equal shares in the credit. And that’s all I’ll say on the issue.

  Grak dons a somber expression and turns to Frolan. “Take me to your captive. I’d like to speak with him.”

  “Doran never would have approved of this madness!” shouts Umo to the cautiously gathering crowd.

  Grak raises an eyebrow, pondering the young man. He’s close to Grak’s own height, though a shred shorter. And while he lacks any real muscle or other visible claim to authority, something about the fellow begs intrigue. Something almost mesmerizing.

  Perhaps it’s just his backdrop: a smoldering cart with smoky haze swirling about. Or maybe it’s the soot around his piercing blue eyes, showing a willingness to handle the dirty work personally. Or perhaps those elements only stand out in contrast to the complete absence of the marks of age.

  Hardly could have seen more than seventeen snows. Couldn’t possibly be coming up with such seditious ideas all on his own. Could he?

  Grak turns to Lago and nods in thought for a moment.

  Hmm, good point. And good idea.

  He motions to Frolan, who punches the youth again. This one sends Umo into a daze. He tries to stand, but only achieves a wobbly imitation. The two guards holding him steady are the only reason he’s still upright.

  Grak waits until the young man regains coherence. “Where did you get these ideas? Who put you up to this?”

  Umo shakes his head resolutely. “No one. Truth is evident enough to be seen without prompting.”

  Hmm, just the lie I would give in his position. He’s a clever one. So who’s he protecting?

  Grak looks at Lago with shock.

  Well, I never thought of that possibility. I think you might be right, friend.

  He searches the crowd and spots the man. “Doran! Come here this instant!”

  Doran breaks out of thought at the sound of his name. After a brief moment of uneasy realization, he quickly limps over.

  Grak dons his angry face. “Doran. Did you put this idea in Umo’s head?”

  “Well … not directly, no.” His voice trembles. “Though … I suppose when I was still in charge of the Vast Oceaners, I did say that often.” He raises his hands to protect his face. “But I’ve already been punished for that … please.”

  The youth cuts in. “It’s true, sir. These are my ideas. Mine and my group’s. We know what Doran originally intended, a
nd it was not this chaos.” He raises his voice as these types always do. “Nor did he intend for us to be stuck on the exact dimensions of the shoreline! Hambo’s theory never opposed Doran’s ideas! Doran would have understood that!”

  Doran nods to himself. “That’s true. I never really wanted any of thes—”

  Grak smacks him on the back of the head, and the man recoils in apology.

  Umo grows even more emboldened. “Doran meant for us to understand that the shoreline stretches farther out. That the ocean is actually very small. And that the water truly is in danger of disappearing completely!”

  Doran’s expression is one of shocked disagreement, but he opts to hold his tongue at this point.

  A voice from the crowd yells out, “Doran meant for us to remain by the shore! Wanda and Tabo had it right!”

  Doran’s concern overpowers his fear. “Well, not really. That’s certainly not … you know what, though, I’m still here. I can just tell you what I meant.”

  Grak strikes the man again. “I will inform you when you’re allowed to spe—”

  A single horn call echoes through the air.

  Grak makes no attempt to mask his frustration. “Stop that awful, ridiculous, abrasive alarm! We have the fire under control!”

  That got him more worked up than he would have expected. He pauses to calm his breathing. Much to his delight, the noise seems to have stopped.

  “Well, that was fast.” Grak considers waiving punishment, given the immediacy of their obedience.

  But Frolan shows great concern. “No sir. I don’t believe it was meant to be an alarm for the fire. That came from Brownhand. One horn. Urgent danger. Someone’s threatening the tribe. And our water!”

  The brute races off with many of the guards following close behind. Grak stands in stunned silence, bewildered at the speed of the man’s reaction. He gathers his wits and assesses the situation.

  Well, I’m already outside, so I suppose it can’t get any more dangerous. And I still have nine guards. Should be relatively safe either way, whether I return to my tent or follow Frolan. And I am the leader, so I might as well see what’s going on.

  Grak gives Lago a comforting look.

  What? No, of course not. You’re such a worrier. We’ll stay far enough back. Trust me, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

  Grak signals to his guards and calmly leads them toward the river. Lately, he’s found himself favoring a leisurely walk over a hasty jog. It’s not that he minds the exercise, of course. In fact, with the excess weight all but gone, his knees have been hurting much less these days.

  No, it’s just … well, why bother? Alarms are such a constant thing now. I don’t know. It just … well, I guess it just grows tiresome. I can spend all my time rushing to the next problem, or I can simply get there when I get there. You know what I mean?

  He looks at Lago and nods thoughtfully.

  Yeah, I thought you might.

  Grak holds his breath while passing the river barrier: a row of corpses tied to trees marking where the restricted zone begins.

  Hmm. I seem to remember the bodies being spread out more. Yes, I’m certain a few of them are new. Definitely not executions I authorized.

  Or did I? Can’t quite remember anymore. Still, probably wisest to err on the side of caution. Remind me to reprimand Frolan, would you?

  The trees are starting to thin out now. They must be getting close to the water. Grak breathes deep. It’s safe to do so out here, as the camp’s odors almost never make it this far. That’s one of the reasons why he likes coming here: it feels like a completely different place.

  And I feel like a completely different person. Something about Brownhand that just melts the weight of leadersh—

  “Sir!” comes a whisper from just ahead.

  It’s unclear which of his guards spoke, but they’ve all stopped. Grak pushes two of them aside to clear a view. He freezes.

  They’ve reached the riverbank and have a direct line of sight down to the water. The alarm was accurate: the situation is urgent. Grak’s guards have their bows trained across the river at a force of equal size doing the same. Tension hangs in the air; the slightest misstep is all it would take to spark a panicked bloodbath.

  The opposition’s leader notices Grak’s arrival and calls out, “Hello, my friend! Why don’t you come and join us? The water’s lovely in these heats!”

  Grak’s eyes might be poor, but there’s no mistaking the strong, throaty sound of those words.

  Kunthar!

  17 - And Nosy Tribes

  Grak abhors people who stick their noses in his affairs. And he’s all the more furious when strangers do it. Which explains his current rancor toward Kunthar’s presence here at the river.

  He’s obviously just being nosy. What other reason would he have? Just passing through? Not likely. They must know something about the water shortage. And about our current troubles.

  Really, their timing couldn’t be more suspect. And it puts Grak in a very awkward position. The last thing he needs right now is to lose more of his people in battle. The tribe is already in a state of regular panic, and that could set them off to no end.

  Seems like there’s no way around it, Lago. We’ll have to handle this one peaceably. At least for the time being. Until we have an opportunity for a fairer fight.

  Grak whispers to his guards, “Advance. But slowly. And keep your current formation. And keep it tight! No spaces except this one for seeing across the way.”

  They obey, and the group descends the riverbank, reaching the water’s edge in a matter of moments. As they draw near, Kunthar gives a hushed order, and his guards respond by forming a similar grouping around him. Grak chuckles at this.

  Stupid fool. Has to copy me. Can’t even come up with an original formation of his own.

  Kunthar calls across, “Glad you could join us, Grak! As I was trying to tell your people here, we’re not looking for trouble. Simply came down for water and intend to be on our way quickly.”

  Grak projects a laugh across the river. “You expect me to believe you? If that’s true, then why did you come fully armed with bows at the ready?”

  Kunthar takes on a defensive tone. “Just being cautious. Can’t be too sure these days.”

  Grak finds that response unsettling. He looks to Lago.

  Can you see anything from up there? Anything of importance? Unusual behavior? Or better yet, anything to give us an advantage? Oh, sorry.

  Grak raises the staff to give his friend a better view. But to his dismay, the report he gets back is basic, only consisting of four points:

  1 - The strangers are around thirty paces away in a tight line on the opposing bank.

  2 - Their numbers are slightly greater than Grak’s own.

  3 - They’re all wearing familiar pointed caps.

  4 - Kunthar’s hat is the tallest by far.

  But still not as tall as mine, eh? By a whole hand, it seems. The fool. Can’t even copy me accurately.

  Grak looks to Lago, his smirk fading into realization.

  Hmm, good point. It might be shorter as a show of reverence. Though there’s no doubt he’s copying me.

  But never mind all that. Those points are obvious from down here. What other information can you gather?

  Grak gives his friend a skeptical look.

  What? How can that be all? Look around some more!

  He’s getting frustrated now.

  Well, no. I just don’t think you’re really trying. All I’m hearing from you are excuses.

  Grak has had enough. He’s truly upset now.

  Really? That’s your response? Oh, what’s the use? You’re awful at reconnaissance. You know that, don’t you?

  Grak lowers the staff. After a tense moment of silence, he takes a calming breath.

  I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. You’re nervous. I understand. Who wouldn’t be? Given the situation.

  He gives his humblest nod.

  Well, you’re
right. I guess I’m not. But really, I mean other than me. My experience and fortitude are rare. They help me stay calm during moments like this.

  But I shouldn’t expect you to be skilled in reconnaissance. You’re an adviser. That’s your specialty. You were never trained in the art of reconnoitering. Though it might be good for you to learn. Given your height and subtle nature.

  Grak smooths Lago’s hair, careful not to disrupt the jasmines. That’s when realization hits: their usual aroma is absent. He leans in for a sniff.

  When did they lose their scent?

  He dons a warm expression.

  What? Then why didn’t you tell me days ago?

  Grak puts on his comforting face.

  Oh, of course it’s no trouble. Not at all! Please, tell me sooner next time. I won’t let it be said that I don’t take care of my friends.

  He chuckles. “Good point. And an apt observation, I might add. Well, remind me to replace them as soon as we get back to camp.”

  One of the guards shoots him a nervous glance. Grak ponders the man for a moment, but ultimately attributes his strange behavior to the tense situation.

  Which reminds me. Enough about jasmines. We need to settle this stranger problem immediately. Any thoughts?

  He looks at Lago with equal parts surprise and fascination.

  Hmm, well, that’s a gutsy plan.

  Grak shrugs. “Can’t hurt to try it, though.” He lifts his voice. “Well, Kunthar, I don’t know about you, but I could use a swim. Though I’d be more than happy to let your people jump in first. You know, being our guests and all.”

  Kunthar considers the offer. “No, we’re fine here, thank you. But you can go ahead and jump in. We won’t stop you.”

  Oh, he’s a clever one. Thinks he can get us to drop our bows. We’ll need to keep a wary eye on him.

  “No thanks,” is Grak’s simple response.

  “But I thought you wanted to swim?” replies Kunthar.

  Grak admires the man’s keen strategy there. “Yes, but …” He reaches for an explanation. “But the wind shifted. And now it’s cold. So I’m not interested anymore.”

  Kunthar huddles with several of his people. Grak can only recognize Dernue, though she’s tough to miss, given the width of her nose. Still, he scolds himself for not gathering more information about the strangers last they met.