Things Grak Hates

by Peter J Story

  Grak shrugs.

  At least I won’t have to endure another packing day. So, that’s one positive outcome from this whole execution thing.

  Kando quickly jumps to his next point, seeking to keep the remaining momentum alive. “And for those of you wondering where we’ll be moving, take comfort. That was discussed too. And in great detail. Many factors were taken into consideration, including growth, shelter, herd size, and herd predictability. And, in the end, we decided that the best choice was to head for the hot springs and follow the travel patterns of my old tribe.”

  More absentminded cheers rise up. Clearly, the crowd feels that the important announcements are over. Now they’re just hoping to disperse soon.

  Kando pauses for a moment, then switches to a grimmer tone. “And now for the two closing resolutions. To dispense justice and attain finality for recent events and abuses.”

  He turns and points at Grak. “Grak! Step forward! Receive the tribe’s punishment!”

  Grak gulps as fear threatens to take over. All the formalities are making this far more difficult to bear. He takes a deep breath, which proves calming.

  No matter, Grak. It’ll be over soon. Just one more task. And a simple one at that.

  He takes a step. Then another. Surprisingly, walking to his death is far easier than he imagined. Before long, he’s at Kando’s side.

  The man whispers, “Seven feet, Grak.”

  It takes him a moment to realize what Kando is referring to, but when it finally clicks, Grak nods. He moves back to the required distance and hangs his head, waiting for the pronouncement.

  Kando turns to the crowd. “Grak! For your abuses of our people and wanton destruction of our way of life, you deserve nothing less than execution!”

  A hearty cheer erupts, which stops the speech. Kando attempts to gesture for quiet, but to no avail. He’s forced to wait it out.

  After another moment, the noise dies down enough for him to proceed. “And many wanted that execution. In fact, many even pleaded with me to let them be the ones to do it.”

  More elation rises from the crowd, though it’s much easier to stop this time. “But many didn’t. In fact, a significant number insisted that we not execute you.” He shrugs. “For some reason. Not entirely sure why.”

  This elicits some dissension, though not as much as Grak would have expected. But that really doesn’t concern him right now. Instead, he’s occupied with what this might mean.

  What, in all the land, is the fool getting at? Could there be a chance to keep my life? To stay? To make amends? And new friends? Would I even want that anymore?

  Kando continues. “So we discussed it at considerable length—nearly all of our meeting time, in fact. And after hearing the desires of our people …” He’s noticeably disappointed now. “We’ve decided …” He sighs. “Grak, you will not be executed.”

  Grak’s eyes go wide with shock. All he can manage is to stand there in bewildered silence. The crowd, on the other hand, shouts their vehement disapproval. Apparently, anyone who defended him isn’t prepared to declare it openly.

  Kando holds up his hands in a vain effort to calm the tribe. “But wait. Don’t worry, my children. There’s one more! A ninth and final resolution!”

  The noise drops enough for him to be heard clearly. “Those of us who demanded his execution only relented in the face of an alternative punishment. So, without further hesitation …”

  He lifts his voice even louder and adds a commanding tone. “Grak! For your abuses of our people and wanton destruction of our way of life, you are officially expelled from this tribe. Additionally, you are banned from ever returning, on pain of immediate torture and execution!”

  The crowd takes a moment to ponder that one. A cheer slowly builds as they realize its significance. But Grak understands too. His stomach sinks.

  Hadn’t thought about that possibility. Not much better, really. Rather than a quick and painful death here, slow and agonizing starvation out in the wild on my own. Hunting will be too difficult without a team.

  Grak gulps. It’s a highly unpleasant prospect, to be sure. Much to his dismay, however, he’s clearly not in a position to negotiate the matter.

  But what else can I do? Nothing. Nothing at all.

  Grak’s head slowly lowers under the weight of this new burden. He sighs something deep and pitiful.

  Grak looks around at the gathered crowd. It’s a measly showing. And fairly discouraging as well. Though he does take heart that two tribe members just arrived.

  Perhaps more will come. Perhaps.

  But reality doesn’t bode well for Grak. Around half of those present are soldiers, and it’s unclear whether they’re here to protect him or the tribe. The rest are mostly strangers, clearly here out of curiosity alone.

  At least some of my friends showed. Former friends, I suppose.

  Grak attempts his best smile. Frolan gives no response, save for a slight nod. Brak and Loren reply with awkward avoidance. Even Olive Fifty-three seems to be ignoring Grak.

  Can’t blame her. Can’t blame any of them. At least they dressed up for the occasion. Obviously tried to wash out those blood stains recently. I imagine that was for my benefit. I hope.

  Brak finally manages eye contact. “Well, I suppose this is it, Grak.” There’s no warmth there, but neither is there any hate. “I won’t be needing this anymore.”

  He passes a wadded piece of soiled leather, his eyes trying not to reveal emotion. Grak unfolds it for inspection, though there’s little doubt what’s in his hands. He gently dusts off the cap and puts it on, careful to flatten the point.

  He turns to Brak and smiles. “My good hat. Thank you.”

  Brak shrugs, a touch of compassion showing in his eyes now. “You’re welcome.”

  Grak would like to say something, but he’s certain his voice would crack if he tried. Besides, it’s too late. Brak and his family are already leaving.

  Grak shakes his head thoughtfully.

  Can’t blame any of them.

  He looks to Frolan now. The man softens slightly, and the faintest hint of a sad smile forms.

  He pities me, I suppose. Can’t blame him for that, though. I imagine I look quite pitiful.

  Frolan unwraps the bundle he’s been carrying, revealing the statue he made for Grak so long ago. Several recent nicks and gouges are present in the otherwise rich, red wood, but aside from that, it’s still in good shape.

  He passes it over. “This belongs to you. Even if you didn’t earn it.”

  Grak nods. “Thank you.” He clears his throat. “I … um … I never told you how much I appreciated the effort you went through to carve this. But I did. And still do. So, thank you.”

  Frolan nods in reply, then breathes deep and sighs. “I suppose this is farewell, Grak. Can’t say I disagree with the decision … but I will miss you. Sort of. A part of me. We had some good times at least.” He pats Grak on the shoulder.

  “Frolan … I … well …” Grak digs through his memory for an example of how to say this sort of thing. “I probably should have handled things differently. I’m sorry. I hope you can get on in the tribe without anyone holding a grudge. Because of the things I ordered you to do, that is.”

  Frolan’s smile is gentle and warm now. “Well, I suppose I forgive you then. But don’t worry about me. I’m leaving too.”

  Grak’s eyes light up. “Really …?”

  Frolan responds hastily. “Well, not with you. I’m sorry, Grak, but that wouldn’t work. I can’t really trust you. But I don’t trust Kando either. Never did. I always felt he was just seeking power. And Dernue isn’t any different. I fear bad times are coming for our people. I hope not, but …”

  He shakes his head. “Anyway, I’m going with several of the old hunting team. And Opa. We’re sort of … together … now. So that’s nice. We’ll see how it turns out.”

  Grak smiles, sincerely happy for the man. “Well, congratulations, Frolan. She certainly has good hand
s.” He looks around. “She … um … didn’t want to come, then?”

  Frolan shrugs. “Well, no, she did. Sort of. Just, Kando has been keeping her busy. You know, maps and such.”

  The man looks about awkwardly, then suddenly gets excited. “But Doran said he’d be here.” Realization hits, and he frowns. “So, I don’t know why he didn’t show. Suppose Kando might have him busy too. With something.”

  Grak nods sorrowfully. “I see.” He pauses for a moment. “I … um … don’t suppose you know about … well … Jafra? Do you thin—”

  Frolan shakes his head. “No. She’s … I don’t think she’s ready to see you. Certainly not while she’s still grieving. Maybe if you give it more time.”

  Grak nods. “Well, thank you. For notifying me.” He pats the man’s shoulder. “And for seeing me off.”

  The two stand in awkward silence for a moment. Finally, Frolan nods his farewell, then turns and ambles off. Grak sighs at the man’s retreating form.

  Can’t blame him, really.

  He looks around. No other familiar faces. Except for Lakar among the soldiers. That reminds him.

  Grak approaches the man. “Did you happen to hear anything? About my request?”

  Lakar shakes his head. “Sorry. I haven’t. Kando’s been busy, so I don’t even know if he was able to review the matter.”

  Grak nods. “Of course. Of course. Well, just thought I’d try. Thank you, though. For carrying the message.”

  The soldier replies with a kindly nod, but says nothing. No matter. Grak has nothing more to say either. And nothing more to do. Not here at least. With a heavy heart, he shoulders his pack, turns, and slowly walks away.

  Well, can’t really blame them. Can’t blame any—

  “Grak!” calls an unmistakable voice.

  Grak whirls in excitement at his old friend’s shout. What he finds, however, takes him by surprise. Doran isn’t alone. He’s leading Patyr along behind him, the pony’s fur glistening from a recent wash.

  And a brushing too, if I’m not mistaken.

  The man dons a reserved, yet friendly smile as he approaches. “Hello, Grak. I’m glad you didn’t leave yet. Or rather, we’re glad you didn’t leave.

  “Sorry about the timing. It took me a while to push your request through. Kando felt apprehensive about granting you anything. He thought it might reflect negatively on his leadership. But I pointed out that we don’t need the pony. It actually gets fairly neglected around here.” He shrugs. “Also, I know how much you love this little fellow.”

  Tears stream down Grak’s face. He gives the man an earnest embrace.

  “Doran … I … um …” Grak digs through his memory once again. The words come easier this time. “I’m sorry … I’m so sorry. I treated you poorly. And you were always a friend to me. Even when I was treating you so poorly. I don’t know how I could have done that. You were the only one, you know. Who never called me names.”

  Doran nods sadly. “I know, Grak. I know. I would have liked things to turn out differently. Truly. But, this is the tribe’s decision. I hope you understand.”

  Grak nods. “Yes. I do.”

  He ponders whether to ask. “So, Doran … I don’t suppose you … um … want to com—”

  Doran slowly shakes his head. “No, Grak. I can’t do that. We don’t have the friendship we once had. It would take a lot to get back to that point.”

  He shrugs. “Besides, Kando’s asked me to head up the Vast Oceaners again. Well, under him. He’s still leading them, but says I can be his supporting lead for the group. So that’s nice.”

  He pauses for another awkward moment. “A lot of interesting new theories. More fracturing, of course, but Kando’s fine with it if they’re all reporting to him.

  “I’m leaning toward one group called the Earth Talkers. They’re proposing that the thing in the ocean was the earth itself, reaching up out of the water to communicate with us. We have a few followers so far. Sounds like it makes sense.”

  Confusion spreads across Grak’s face. “Oh … I see. But don’t you know what you saw?”

  Doran shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t really remember anymore. It’s been a while.”

  Grak nods, and the two men hang their heads in silence. And even though this quickly grows awkward, it somehow seems better than parting ways. At least for now.

  Doran clears his throat timidly. “Well … I have to get going. But with any fortune, perhaps we’ll see each other again. If you stay in the area, I might be able to find you the next time we pass this way.”

  Grak nods. “That would be nice … friend.”

  The two embrace one last time. With obvious hesitation, Doran turns and slowly walks away. And that’s when Grak feels it. A wave of overwhelming sorrow suddenly washes over him as he watches his oldest friend depart.

  Should have handled things better. Should have done things differently.

  He strokes Patyr’s head, hoping the distraction might avert oncoming tears. The pony gives a sympathetic look in reply, which brings a smile to Grak’s face. A sad smile, but it’s something.

  “Well, friend,” he whispers with surprising skill. “Seems it’s just you and me now.”

  Grak exhales in frustration. He checks his shadow. It’s been far too long already. He was hoping to have this fire started before nightfall, but that’s looking less likely by the moment.

  With a sigh, he turns to gaze back at the camp. His hilltop position provides a clear, almost serene, view of the tents below. But the sight tugs at his heart. And at his memories. The dull sea of mottled brown leather with patches of grey smoke reminds him of so many snows gone by.

  Of mother. And father. And Jafra.

  The forest surrounding him now, while relaxing in its soothing greens and gentle browns, is too sharp a contrast. It feels almost like the detainment tent, separating him from the people he once called his.

  I wonder if I could get someone to help me with the fire. No, that’s right—the whole ‘on pain of immediate torture and execution’ thing. Can’t blame them, really.

  Grak sighs. He thought it would be best to sleep nearby tonight as a practice of sorts before the tribe leaves. But so far, it’s only been a reminder of what he’s losing.

  He turns to Patyr. “That’s probably why I’m having trouble with the fire. Just distrac—”

  A branch cracks somewhere off to the left. It sounded like a footstep. Grak’s spine tingles as he peers intently through the brush. Nothing.

  He tries calling out, “Hello? Who’s there? I have a knife! It’s very sharp!”

  That’s not entirely true. The council did give him a knife, but the thing is old and rusted and obviously hasn’t been considered sharp for quite a few snows.

  Still, he was grateful for it after losing Slicer. Initially, they considered letting him keep the longer blade for his travels. But in the end, they deemed the thing “too foul to exist” and destroyed it, giving him the knife instead.

  A familiar voice calls back, “Put that away. I’m not here to hurt you.”

  A woman steps into view, freshly washed with a new tunic and trousers. She’s carrying a sack and doesn’t appear to have any weapons at the ready. Grak’s mind races at what this might mean.

  He clears his throat. “Olive Thirteen?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Please … for the last time, Grak. Can you just call me Olive? I’ve never understood this nonsense with the numbers.”

  He nods in shock. “Alright. I can do that. But … what …” He clears the crackling in his voice. “What brings you here?”

  Olive smiles. “I thought we were friends, silly.” She pauses. “Or was I wrong?”

  Grak smiles tentatively. “Well … yes … we were … are. But … don’t you hate me? Like everyone else?” He shakes his head. “Can’t really blame them.”

  Olive looks him over inquisitively. “I don’t think they truly hate you, Grak. Not for the most part. Look, you did some awful things. And you
caused a lot of pain. And when people are hurting, they tend to react with strong emotions.

  “The tribe may think they hate you, but it’s just their reaction to the pain. Give it time. They’ll soften. Maybe not enough to let you return, but enough to stop hating you.”

  Grak nods, still somewhat confused. “And you?”

  Olive raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t I just say we were friends? I think I know the real you.” Her expression turns to concern. “But don’t get me wrong. You know how adamantly I disagreed with most of your policies. Especially the ones that hurt people.” She shakes her head. “Those were … terrible.”

  Grak digs through his memory. “You did? I … can’t seem to recall that.”

  Olive’s expression turns to shock. “Of course I did! Though I’m not surprised you don’t remember. Listening was never really one of your strengths. And your memory has always been rather selective.”

  Grak nods in shame. “I suppose you’re right.” He grows puzzled. “But, that still doesn’t explain why you’re here. Even less so. Seems like I should have driven you away. Given how horrible I was. Am.”

  Olive pauses in thought. “Well, Grak, you did a lot of terrible things, that’s true. But I always felt you did them because you were blinded by selfishness. Disgusting, yes, but something you can change. And something I can forgive. It doesn’t have to be a part of you any longer.” She shrugs. “So if you’ll work on not being such a selfish prick, I’ll keep trying to see the good in you.”

  Grak clears his throat again, though it’s far more challenging this time. “And you would do that? You would forgive me? And …” He looks at her pack. “And come with me?”

  Olive nods and smiles something warm. “I would. And I do.” She shrugs. “And the way I see it, we’re both better off away from the tribe. I don’t really trust Kando. Never did. He always struck me as someone who was just out for power. That’s why I was always warning you about him. Not sure why you ignored those concerns.” She thinks about it. “Though, I suppose your listening skills might have had something to do with it.”