Things Grak Hates Page 12

  “And even if he didn’t cause it, the attack showed how weak our security has gotten. We’ve let our guard down. We’ve grown weak from having peace for so long. And both the meal and the lions show that clearly.”

  “But, we’ve always had peace,” Ruch interjects.

  Need to teach the fool not to contradict me in public. And to better hide his chipped tooth when speaking; it’s quite the eyesore.

  Nonetheless, Grak has mercy on the man. “Yes, and that’s a long time. But please remember to raise your hand.”

  Jafra’s hand shoots up.

  Grak hides his nervousness. “Unfortunately, we’re stopping questions at this time. Too many points to cover before we lose the sun.”

  Jafra looks saddened by this announcement. Her hand drops.

  Grak ignores her, focusing instead on the crowd. “Chief among these points is the need to increase security. To that end, I’m creating a tribe protection team and will personally oversee their training.

  “This group will patrol the camp at all times, watching out for Lago and other signs of danger. If they find anything suspicious, they’ll report it back to me. Through this, we’ll have forewarning of potential threats: both internal and external.”

  A mixed murmur rises from the crowd, but Grak presses on. “I’ve just spoken with Frolan, and he and his hunting team have agreed to take on this duty. It’s a big step up for them, but I’m sure they’ll do a fantastic job.”

  Grak pauses, hoping for some sort of positive reaction. Instead, the crowd appears unsure. More importantly, Doran missed his cue. Grak motions to him.

  The man steps forward hastily. “Oh, yes. I agree on this issue. What we need most during this time of such sorrow and fear is the feeling of security. We need stability. Perhaps more than ever before. This team should help with that.”

  The idea sends minor conversations rippling through the crowd. A majority are nodding. They seem agreeable. But as the conversation dies down, a hesitancy still hangs heavy in the air. Grak finds this infuriating.

  Doran and his poor timing! They wouldn’t be so indecisive if he hadn’t missed his opening.

  Grak takes a calming breath before attempting to salvage the announcement. “I think Doran makes a good point. Like you, I was shaken up by this tragedy. And yet, for the good of my people, I’ve set aside emotion and kept us together for the remainder of our travels.

  “And now I ask the same of you. To put aside your emotions for the good of our people. Trust that I know what’s best for the tribe. And before long, you’ll see how this benefits us all. We’ll be able to sleep peacefully at night, knowing we’re protected.”

  Judging from the crowd, an example is needed to drive the point home. Grak spots an easy one nearby. “Loren, don’t you want what’s best for Olive Fifty-three?”

  The woman is surprised at being called upon. “Uh … well, yes. That’s true. It does sound like a good idea.”

  Grak smiles to the crowd. “There. See?”

  “Although …” she continues, “I do wonder about something. That team is already quite good at what they do. And experienced. And it would take time to train a new group of hunters.

  “And we’re almost out of meat right now. We barely made it through the move, and wouldn’t have survived if they hadn’t been hunting the whole time. Might it be best to wait on this switch? Or maybe train another team to handle camp security?”

  Hmm, not such a good example, after all. Someone a bit more agreeable next time, Grak.

  Cordo cuts in. “It’s true.” He’s rising fast on Grak’s list. “I don’t see how we could ever replace Frolan. He’s our best hunter. By far.”

  Grak’s temptation to refute that superlative is supplanted by caution. “You’re right. Frolan is the best hunter. And that also makes him the best suited to protect our tribe.

  “Also, I trust him. I know I can depend on the man. And when the leader has faith, the people can have faith.”

  Grak tosses that sentence around in his head. Yes, he’s quite pleased with it. He makes the gesture, and Opa’s lean fingers etch it into wet clay.

  “And really, Grak’s the best hunter.” Frolan doesn’t notice Grak’s cautionary look. “Once he teaches his strategy, anyone will be better than I am.”

  The oaf needs a lesson on not volunteering the tribe’s leader for hunting duty.

  “When will you teach us, then?” Ruch calls out from the side of the crowd.

  This sort of talk deeply concerns Grak. Too many are intent on causing trouble, and they’re creating problems faster than he can solve them.

  He thinks quickly. “Alright, look, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. First, we have to tighten our security. I have to oversee it. And we have to mourn our fallen brethren. Who else will organize that?”

  Despite sincere efforts, Grak can’t seem to stop rambling. “Also, I have to get the camp settled. We’ve been traveling for twenty-three days. That’s a lot of days … so lots of settling to do.”

  The people appear uneasy in the absence of a solid answer. Grak catches his breath and reaches for something to appease them. “But never fear, I’ve already thought of a solution. Cordo will head up hunting now. He has experience. And so does Jafra. She’ll be going with him.”

  Hmm, not a bad idea, I must say. That should keep these two thorns out of my side for the time being.

  Jafra is confused. “I will? Then who will cook?”

  Grak dons a look of indignation. “See, there you go interrupting me again, Jafra. Let me speak, and you’ll find out.” He’s just stalling for time now. Unsure, he goes with a simple option. “Brak is taking your place.”

  Now Brak is confused. And shocked. And even a little scared, it seems. “I … am?”

  Grak gives him a quiet rebuke. “Now’s not the time for second-guessing me, Brak.”

  The bald man goes silent and looks to the ground with contrition.

  Grak turns back to his opponents. “So, as you can see, I’ve thought of everything.”

  Best to move on quickly. Before these simpletons ask more questions.

  He dons a somber demeanor. “Next, we need to discuss a troubling matter.” That proves an effective silencer. “I regret having to bring this up, but the events of the trail demand it.”

  Grak allows a short pause while those words sink in. Once he has their full attention, he proceeds. “When traveling, you should never leave without the leader. So, I have to ask, who was the first to suggest leaving without me?”

  Most of the crowd looks around blankly, hoping to spot the culprit raising a hand. Several, however, have fervency in their eyes.

  Grak dons his most comforting smile. “Come on. I can tell some of you have a name on your tongues. You’re afraid to say anything. I understand that. But don’t worry. No one will be in trouble. I just need to correct the issue.”

  Still nothing.

  Grak rolls his eyes. “Was it Jafra?”

  Groka lifts her voice. “Cordo,” she says, turning her eyes to the ground in shame.

  Cordo stares disapprovingly at the side of her head. “Yes, I was the first to suggest leaving.” He steps forward, brazenly claiming his guilt. “I wanted to avoid losing any more light. And I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  Grak is stunned to find the man’s treachery running so deep. He grits his teeth and attempts calm. “Well, there you go. Thank you for being honest with me, Groka. And Cordo, well, you don’t get any praise because you waited until your errors had been revealed.”

  Grak turns to the crowd. “So, can anyone see the mistake Cordo made?”

  Every face wears confusion. But Grak decides to be patient with them. He waits.

  After a long moment, Frolan slowly speaks. “He was wrong?”

  Grak shrugs. “Well … true. But that goes without saying. I mean, just look at what occurred as a result. Two deaths are on his head now. I imagine he’ll have trouble sleeping at night.

  “But that w
asn’t all. Something far worse. Anyone? No? Out of ideas? Or not trying? I’ll give you a hint: he thought he knew …”

  Olive Thirteen makes a cautious attempt. “He thought he knew what was best?”

  Grak is legitimately impressed. “Very close. He thought he knew what I was thinking. And since I’m leader, what I’m thinking is what’s best for the tribe. So, in that sense, you’re right.”

  She’s beaming now, staring up at Grak with an interesting look.

  Admiration? Maybe. But not the same as when Groka gazes at Jafra.

  Grak stores that thinking for another time. “Now, that’s pretty bad on its own. But there’s more. If I had been riding at the front of the line, I could have warned everyone and rallied a proper defense. But it took me far too long to get there. And do you know why?”

  Jafra attempts an answer. “Because you told us to spread out wider on the trail?”

  “What?” Grak is stunned by the accusation. “When did … I never said that!”

  Jafra seems confused. “Yes, the second day out. Remember? You told us to stop riding in such a thin line. You said it was taking too long to move between your lead position and the food cart.”

  Grak shakes his head indignantly. “W … you’re not even making sense. Yes, I was hungry and suggested a wider line, but I didn’t mean it should block the entire trail.”

  He really didn’t. And he finds it unfair that she would misunderstand and make such an accusation.

  Nonetheless, Grak gathers himself enough to replace annoyance with vigorous disdain. “Obviously, that would defeat the purpose. And stop butting in, Jafra. Or you’ll end up with the same punishment as Cordo.”

  That catches Cordo by surprise. “Wait, what? Why would I get punished?”

  “For your disobedience. And for bringing about the deaths of two of our tribe!” Grak emphasizes this point with a look of disgust. “I would think that much is clear.”

  This new information has Groka worried. “But you said no one would get in trouble. I’m sorry, Cordo. I never would have said anything.”

  Hmm. I suppose I did. And I don’t suppose the tribe would be forgiving if they mistook it for deception.

  Grak attempts a humble look. “Well, you didn’t let me finish. I’m not punishing him for misleading the tribe. I’m punishing him for the next point I was trying to make. He got in my way as I was trying to get to the lead. And my shouts went ignored as I tried to get by.”

  “You knew the lions were attacking?” asks Frolan.

  “Well, no … not exactly …” Grak fumbles for an explanation. “But I had a sense that danger was near.”

  Brak cuts in. “It’s true. When we got to the road and saw you were gone, he said something about that.”

  Well. He’s finally learning to be more assertive. And I couldn’t ask for a better time. Or a better cause.

  “But Zacha and I were in your way too,” says Ruch, jumping to Cordo’s defense.

  Grak considers the man’s point. He had forgotten about that, but he’s glad for the reminder. “Yes. You were. And that’s what I was getting to. You’re all three to be punished for that.”

  “Why are you talking about punishments like we’re children?” Cordo is getting frustrated now. “I’ve seen several more snows than you have, Grak.”

  Well, he’s certainly grown stubborn. And to a level previously only held by Jafra.

  Grak stands his ground, refusing to be harassed. “You were directly responsible for the deaths of Farzo and Lumo. What madness would we be living in if we simply allowed people to kill others without retribution? Should we allow that for our most hated enemy? Hmm? If Lago returns, should we show him mercy?”

  “Well, I’ve been trying to make that point for some time now.” Jafra once again speaks without permission.

  “Jafra! I warned you!” Grak takes a calming breath. “This is your last chance. Believe me, you won’t want to be punished like the others.”

  “But why should Jafra get punished?” asks Frolan. “She’s not responsible for any deaths.”

  Grak finds an answer with ease. “These others also thought they knew better than the leader, though. Didn’t they? And their arrogance put the tribe at risk. That’s what deserves punishment.”

  “It wasn’t arrogance,” Ruch pleads. “We didn’t hear you. It was an accident.”

  Grak ignores the man’s groveling. There’s too much at stake here. “But that’s not the sort of accident we can allow, Ruch. Just look at Lago. Perhaps if he had been punished sooner, he wouldn’t have tried to kill us all. Perhaps we wouldn’t even have needed to exile him.”

  Grak builds momentum, drawing inspiration from his own speech. “So would you prefer that? To end up like Lago? And what about the tribe? Do we want that? Should we just let you off with a warning and wait for the next deaths to occur?”

  Astonishment runs through the crowd. Many are wearing concerned looks as they nod in earnest agreement.

  Even Ruch seems touched by those words. His face shows deep sorrow now. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to get out of trouble. We’ve done something wrong. We deserve a punishment.”

  Grak smiles. “Good! I’m glad to see you coming to your senses. Frolan, have your men bind these three to that cart. And find a good switch.”

  Ruch’s face shows confusion and fear. “No … wait. I thought you meant extra duties or someth—”

  “You’d give us a child’s punishment on top of it?” Cordo’s face scrunches in disgust, causing his mole to stand out more than usual. “Are you simply looking to humiliate us?”

  “You should learn to yield before it’s too late, Cordo!” Grak calms as an idea comes to mind. “But fine, I can be gracious.” He smiles.

  Ruch looks relieved. Zacha as well. Even Cordo seems to be breathing a little easier now.

  “No children’s punishments for you.” Grak walks over to a vicious-looking thatch of brambles. “Adults need more than a simple switch.” He looks it over, checking for thickness, flexibility, and high thorn count.

  “This one should do.” He cuts a particularly nasty-looking branch and passes it to Frolan. “And since they’re adults, take it to their backs.”

  Frolan’s men grab hold of the offenders. Ruch and Zacha struggle moderately, but are no match for the overwhelming numbers against them. Cordo, on the other hand, walks willingly to his fate.

  While his men bind the three offenders to the cart, Frolan removes his tunic and wraps a portion of the thorny stem with it. He pauses, staring at this new tool of pain. There’s reservation in his eyes. And concern.

  He glances over at Grak. A stern look is returned, conveying the message that such thinking is unwise. Frolan nods. In an instant, he wipes away all traces of his previous emotions.

  “How many, then?” he asks.

  Hmm, good question. Seventy? No. Might be too many. Can’t seem cruel. Sixty? Still round, but a rather heinous number in general.

  “Fifty should do it. Each.”

  New pleading pours from Ruch and Zacha, but Grak has already grown tired of their groveling. “Start with those two. Stop their yammering. Save Cordo for last, since he thinks he’s so tough. Let’s see if watching the pain he’s caused helps him realize the error of his ways.”

  Frolan nods. He walks over to Ruch and takes a firm stance. Slowly, the brute raises his arm, as though readying for an ax swing. He hesitates for an instant, then lowers the strike.

  And again.

  And again.

  Frolan soon finds a steady pace. Grak would even say it’s almost “melodic,” only disrupted by Ruch’s intermittent cries of agony. And those are easy enough to ignore for the most part.

  Though what’s not so easy to avoid is the sight of blood. There’s quite a flow of it. Much more than Grak expected. So much, in fact, that somewhere around twenty lashes in, his stomach becomes uneasy. He attempts to settle it by occupying his eyes elsewhere.

  On something nearby, pr
eferably. Can’t have anyone thinking I looked away. That would appear weak.

  A rock just next to Frolan’s foot suggests itself. And it proves especially useful for Grak’s purpose. That is, until a particularly heavy stroke splatters blood all over it, forcing him to find a new focal point.

  Still, he manages to move from one item to the next with considerable success. And it becomes even easier when Ruch’s wailing fades from a lack of strength. Finally, after what seems an unending length of time, the rhythmic snap of branch to skin stops.

  Grak looks back. With no energy left to stand, Ruch is dangling from the cart, whimpering quietly. His body is bloodied, though not so bad as Grak remembered it from moments ago.

  Not so bad at all, really. A few cuts. Some blood. And some bone? Not sure about that one. Either way, no reason to get ill.

  Frolan moves over to Zacha. He takes several deep breaths, then resumes his pace as though fresh to work.

  Unlike Ruch, Zacha does her best to stay silent, perhaps considering it more dignified. But she doesn’t last long. Her determination is soon overpowered, and she begins to groan in pain.

  But these groans are of a different sort than Ruch’s were. And not just because of the amplification that comes with the woman’s abnormally large mouth. No, these are more heart-wrenching. From deeper inside, as though forcing their way through a failed show of courage. These hit closer to the heart for Grak.

  They echo of his ninth snow: his mother’s last. He had made the case against disrupting a good thing, but she and Sando wouldn’t listen. Complications had delayed the second child for too long, and they were blinded by their own happiness. A cruel irony that the baby should be so unkind to her.

  As Grak reflects on this, empathy threatens to rise up for the woman tied before him.

  No, Grak. Be strong. Your people need you to be strong. Mother was Sando’s fault. The man was too lazy. This is different. These ones deserve pain. For the good of the tribe.

  Remember they deserve this, Grak. Remember they deserve this. Remember they deserve this.

  Grak considers the possibility of leaving, but shakes that off. It wouldn’t look right. Fortunately, Zacha’s strength soon fails, and her voice quiets. Not long after that, her chastisement ends as well.