Turning about, he assesses his own security team with a sigh. Brak has the most impressive stature of the group, which isn’t saying much. Worse still, courage seems to be avoiding them as they huddle behind a rock formation at the water’s edge.
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to make do,” he whispers to Lago.
Grak strolls over to join them, reviewing their cover in the process. It’s much smaller than Brownhand—maybe only a third the size—and bears no likeness to any human feature. But all that matters is its ability to provide protection if any arrows come their way, and he deems it “sufficient” in that regard.
Grak reaches the group and settles in. After a moment of silence, he grows bored and peeks over the rocks. The strangers are a little easier to see now, though it’s unclear what they’re doing.
He shrugs. “They seem to be waiting. Maybe they’re lost too.”
He turns to Lago in shock. “What? No! I don’t see how th—”
He’s interrupted by panicked hushes. Brak peers out with an anxious look on his face.
Seeking to calm them, Grak holds a finger to his lips. “Shh! Can’t let them hear us. Not until we strike.” In hindsight, that probably should have been quieter too, but he had to be certain all nine could hear him clearly.
“Grak? Is that you, Grak?” Kunthar’s frantic voice rings out from across the water. “Stop toying with us! Show yourself, Grak!”
Grak considers his options. Now that they know he’s here, choices are limited. If he stays hidden, the strangers might head back to the crossing and spoil the plan. But if he can keep them talking, they might be distracted long enough for Frolan to strike.
Well, I suppose the decision is a simple one, friend.
Grak sighs. Putting on his most courageous face, he stands, straightens his tunic, and steps out.
The early dawn sky is just bright enough to illuminate a discomforting number of people on the opposing bank. But, strangely enough, they’re all looking about in the forest on that side. As Grak ponders what this might mean, a woman spots him and cries out. They all turn in response, wearing complete shock.
Grak gulps. “Hello, Kunthar! Lovely time for a stroll, wouldn’t you say?” He feigns surprise. “Wh … why do you have so many guards with you? And on my side of the river?” He remembers to show a bit of anger. “Are you up to something nefarious?” He gasps. “Were you trying to kill us while we slept?” Not bad, given the lack of preparation.
Kunthar looks about nervously. “No. Obviously not.” He suddenly grows indignant. “But wait. What are you doing on my side of the river? Were you attempting to kill us while we slept?”
Now Grak is nervous too. “What? Why … where would you get an idea like that?”
The two men stare at each other for a long moment, unable to come up with a valid alternative. While Grak considers this a decent method of stalling, he’ll need some noise if he hopes to mask the sound of his approaching forces.
He needs to keep them talking. “Alright, look, enough with the back and forth. Yes, we were both trying to kill the others in their sleep. Can either of us take it back? No. But we need to move forward now. So I suggest we leave all of that behind and start fresh. What do you say to a second meeting?”
Kunthar hardly acknowledges his words. He’s too busy scanning the trees behind Grak.
The man’s tone is full of alarm. “Where are the rest of your people, Grak? I don’t hear screaming, so they can’t be at my camp, killing our innocents. And they’re not at your camp—I was just there. So where are they?”
That takes Grak by surprise. He looks around awkwardly for any excuse to keep the man talking. Brak simply shrugs, providing no help. Lago also seems to be out of advice.
Grak looks down the river, pondering how much longer he needs to stall before his people arrive and attack. “Too long” is his estimation. He turns back to the stranger, ready to give whatever excuse he can muster in the moment. Too late.
Kunthar is looking down the river now. He must have followed Grak’s line of sight. And apparently his line of thought.
A frenzy builds on the man’s face as he bellows to his soldiers, “They’re trying to sneak up on us! As we speak! Move into action! Time is precious! Head down the river to the crossing and attack these cowards!”
Dernue runs to the lead, and the others fall in behind. They’re moving with impressive speed, especially given the stony ground being traversed. Before long, only Kunthar remains with a small team, presumably to guard against Grak’s group.
Brak tugs frantically at Grak’s sleeve. “Sir! Should we warn our people? Should we sound the alarm?”
Grak is peeved, both that he forgot such a simple responsibility and that the man reminded him. “Yes. Patience, Brak! I was just waiting. For the right time.”
He pauses for another long moment. “Now would be a good time. Go ahead.”
Brak nods. He pulls the horn from his belt and presses it to his lips, sounding a single, long call. Grak sighs.
It’s up to Frolan now.
Grak peers across the river again, thankful for the morning sun providing a clearer view. The strangers aren’t doing anything active over there, but he still doesn’t trust them.
Grak spots an eye peeking around Brownhand. “I see you there, Kunthar! And if you’re planning something, you should know that we’re ready for it!”
Kunthar’s head bobs as he shouts, “How could you be ready if you don’t even know what I’m planning?”
“Oh, don’t think I don’t!” That sounded better in Grak’s head.
The strangers’ muffled voices carry across the water as they discuss something among themselves. Grak is tempted to describe their tone as “excited,” but prudence suggests holding off on such a bold claim just yet.
He looks at Lago. “What about you, friend? You have better hearing. Can you make out what they’re sa—”
“Sir!” Brak points excitedly. “A body! There in the river. It’s heading this way.”
Grak is indignant. “Did no one ever teach you simple manners! We’re in the middle of a conversation!”
Brak looks around awkwardly. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t … um … sorry.”
Grak raises his hand to strike the man, then abruptly turns toward Lago. A moment later, his arm lowers.
He turns to Brak. “You’re fortunate he stayed my hand. You should thank him for that.”
Brak looks even more disturbed now. “Uh, yes sir. Thank you.”
Grak rolls his eyes. “Did I say to thank me?” He gestures toward Lago. “Him. Thank him!”
Brak gulps slowly and looks up at the staff. “Thank you … Lago …”
Grak nods. “Good. Now, what was so urgent that you had to interrupt our meeting?”
Brak’s voice trembles. “Th … there’s a … um … a body … in the water, sir. It’s floating this way.”
Grak whirls about excitedly and squints down the river. Yes, he can see it now. That certainly seems to be a body, but at this distance it’s impossible to tell who it might be.
He turns to Brak. “Do you think you can reach it? As it floats by?”
The bald man shakes his head. “No, not without leaving the safety of our cover.”
Grak rolls his eyes and lets out an exaggerated sigh of annoyance. He turns to Lago for a moment in relative silence with lots of nodding and an occasional shrug.
With a final nod, he turns to Brak again. “He’s right you know. We’re all making sacrifices for the tribe. It wouldn’t hurt you to make one yourself.”
Grak glances at Lago and shrugs. “Well … that’s true. Alright, so it might hurt, but it wouldn’t be in vain. We’ll remember you for this, Brak.”
The man casts his eyes to the ground. “Yes sir.” He pauses. “If I don’t make it, though, please tell Loren that I love her. And if she doesn’t make it back from battle either, can you see to Oli—?”
“Brak!” Grak rolls his eyes in frustration. “We haven’t got time for
this nonsense. The body will be here any moment!”
Brak nods and chokes back his tears. He crouches in preparation, waiting as the body creeps closer.
“Grak!” Kunthar’s voice rings out. “What do you say to a … cessation of hostilities … of some sort? Just until we can grab that body and verify which tribe it belongs to.”
Brak breathes a sigh of relief. Grak turns to Lago for several more silent nods and shrugs.
He shakes his head and calls back, “I’m not so sure that’s necessary!”
But Brak interjects, full of hope. “Sir, if we do, it’ll ensure that we can grab the body. Otherwise I might be shot trying to retrieve it, and then we’d never find out who it is.”
Grak turns to Lago. “What do you think?”
He shrugs. “Yes, well of course. But his cowardice aside, he does bring up a good point.”
Grak nods, then lifts his voice for a reply. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
Kunthar’s reply comes without hesitation. “Here’s my proposal. We’ll each send out one person. Whoever can grab the body, does so. If it’s not from that tribe, just push it toward the other side of the river. Once the body is with its rightful people, everyone can go back behind their rocks, and the hostilities can resume.”
Grak looks to Lago for a moment, then shouts, “Very well!” He nods to Brak.
The man flashes a wide grin before abruptly switching to a somber expression. He takes a deep breath, then creeps out from behind their cover. Caution soon fades as he makes his way forward unharmed. A moment later, he reaches the river’s edge. And just in time too. The body is close, and it’s drifting straight toward him.
Brak calls out, “It’s one of ours! It—” He goes silent.
Grak peeks out to check on the man’s status. He’s still there, staring down at the water.
Brak lifts his voice again. “Sir! I think you should see this!”
Kunthar calls out, “What are you up to, Grak? Just pull the body behind your rock, and let’s get on with this fight!”
But Grak is just as perplexed. “I … uh … don’t exactly know either,” he replies. “What are you up to, Brak? Just pull the body behind our cover, and let’s get on with this fight!”
“I have the body, sir.” Brak’s enthusiasm is growing. “But you should see the water. It’s higher now.”
Grak is confused. “Why would I car—”
He turns toward Lago with a look of surprise, then turns back. “Oh, the water, you say? How much higher?”
Brak yells, “It’s higher than the mouth, sir. By maybe a foot or so.”
Kunthar calls out, “What, in all the land, are you two talking about?”
“Kunthar!” shouts Grak. “I propose an alteration to our agreement. I need to see the water with my own eyes. Just to confirm that my man isn’t hallucinating. If you wish to join me, you can. As soon as I have verification, I’ll return to my cover, and we’ll continue.”
After a long pause, Kunthar yells, “Agreed! I’m coming out!”
Grak peeks around the rocks and spots his opponent doing the same. After a moment, they both step out and cautiously approach the river, scanning for danger as they walk. When he reaches the water, Grak kneels down next to Brak and peers across at his old, peculiar rock. He’s forced to squint from so far away, but still manages to see the thing clearly.
Grak is stunned. “He’s right, Lago! It’s higher now! Lapping at the rock’s mouth! What might be causing this?”
Kunthar calls out, “Well? What’s going on?”
Grak is speechless. All he can do is kneel there, pondering the situation for a moment.
Finally, Brak speaks. “Do you suppose the water just goes up and down?”
Evidently, Kunthar heard that. “It suddenly strikes me, Grak. What’s this water shortage theory of yours based on?”
Grak calls out, “Well, the water was at a certain point previously, then when we checked later, it was significantly lower. But now it’s back up. Even higher than before. It’s the most peculiar thing, no?”
Kunthar pauses in obvious frustration. “That just sounds like the tides, Grak!”
Now Grak pauses for a moment. “The what?”
Kunthar is furious now. “That’s the tides, Grak! Our theorists have known about them for some time. The water gets lower, then it gets higher. It’s just what happens. Are you telling me we’re fighting over the tides? You fool! You bumbling, moronic idiot!”
Grak is insulted by the man’s crass choice of words. “Well, when you put it that way, anything can sound dumb. How were we supposed to know? Did you bother sharing your information with us? Sounds to me like this is all really your fault!”
Kunthar’s voice is full of fury. “You’d better get behind your rock, Grak! Our agreement is over! You mind-numbing moron!”
Fairly certain of the man’s intent to follow through, Grak scrambles for cover. And just in time too, as several arrows whistle through the air an instant later. After another moment, Brak comes around the corner in a panic, dragging the body with him. He’s shaken, but unharmed.
Grak bites his lip thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I would count that as good news.”
Brak settles down, breathing heavily and glaring fiercely. The other guards also show clear annoyance, but no one speaks.
Grak shrugs and looks to Lago. “Any ideas on what to do next?”
Brak rolls his eyes. “We need to send a runner, Grak! To inform the tribe. To stop this idiotic battle! To tell them we’re fighting over nothing!”
Grak is caught off guard by the man’s tone. “What’s with this childish grievance against me? Huh?” He looks around at the other angry faces. “I never said there was a shortage in the first place. That was Hambo. I ordered his execution. I said there wasn’t a shortage. So if everyone had listened better, maybe this whole battle wouldn’t have been necessary!”
“Listened better?” Brak’s tone is uncharacteristically frantic. “Listened better?” He’s almost shrieking now. “We’ve done nothing but listen to you, Grak! Listen and follow!”
He pushes Grak. “And you’re the one that broke the water shortage news to the entire tribe in the first place!” Brak shoves him again. “And you’re the one that told the strangers!” Again. “And you’re the reason why my wife is fighting for no reason! In fact, you’re the reason—and the only reason—why we’ve even been having troubles at all!”
Brak gathers his weight and sends a powerful kick into Grak’s chest. Stumbling backward from the blow, Grak trips and tumbles uncontrollably. He scrambles for a grip or foothold—any stability would do right now—but none comes. He loses orientation, followed by sense, then hits the water hard. Liquid rushes in before he has the chance to hold his breath. His vision begins to fade from lack of air. Panic sets in.
19 - And Hotheads
Grak describes hotheads as both “irrational” and “infuriating.” And they’re consistent classifications too. So regular, in fact, that he once considered creating a new category combining the two. Fortunately, prudence triumphed in the end, and he decided that would be far too brash a move. The kind only a hothead would make.
A hothead like Brak. That vile, stinking rat, Brak!
Grak once again attempts to banish that line of thinking and concentrate instead on the task at hand. After all, conventional wisdom would suggest that one focus on avoiding drowning in a situation like this. And yet, as reasonable as that sounds, plans of vengeance continue to force their way back in.
Though, if he’s being honest, such thoughts aren’t altogether unwelcome. In fact, Grak might even describe them as “comforting.” And he’s fairly certain they’re helping him stay lucid at the moment. However, the lack of air still seems to be prevailing in that particular struggle.
Need … air. Need … surface.
Completely disoriented, Grak makes his best guess at the surface and scrambles for it. He slams into m
ud and rock, taking the brunt of the impact on his face. The pain is nearly overwhelming, but on the bright side, his bearings are now firmly established.
With clarity and strength rapidly waning, Grak quickly reorients and kicks off the riverbed. In a moment that feels unending, he struggles against both a lack of air and the strong current. Suddenly, he breaks free. Then he’s under again. And above again. And several times more before his wits recover enough to stabilize himself.
He looks around for the nearest shore. It isn’t far off, but the water is moving too quickly. Worse still, the surrounding land is unrecognizable. That is, until the river begins to bend west around a hill. Grak panics at the realization of his location.
“Hurry!” he sputters. “We have to make it to shore … before we reach the strangers beyond the hill! Bu—”
It dawns on Grak that his friend is missing. “Lago! Lago!” he shouts between breaths.
No! Pull yourself together, Grak! For Lago. For your children!
He spots a rock jutting far out into the water. The river should sweep him close enough. If he can just grab hold. Grak reaches.
Yes!
But also, no. The current shifts unexpectedly, slamming his chest into the rock’s face. This creates two substantial challenges: staying conscious and maintaining a grip. Yet, despite remarkable weariness, he somehow manages both. Better still, these successes prove rather invigorating.
With renewed energy, Grak slowly pulls himself, hand over hand, toward shore. His arms burn with strain as he battles the river. Some stretches require long moments to move a mere foot, yet he presses on. The rocky ground beneath his feet is an ever present remin—
Hmm.
Grak stands. The current is still strong, but the water only reaches his waist. A nagging feeling tells him it’s been this way for some time. He ignores that thought and slogs the remaining distance to shore.
Once there, he collapses onto his back, sucking in as much air as he can manage. But breathing feels ragged. And it sounds even worse. He tries for a deeper breath, but finds tremendous pain. He attempts to push past it, but only meets resistance.
Things Grak Hates Page 30
