Things Grak Hates Page 13

  Grak stares at the woman’s raw back, still attempting to fight feelings of sorrow. To his shock, she struggles to her hands and knees. As Frolan steps toward Cordo, Zacha rises to her feet, determined to resurrect her mask of bravery.

  Remember they deserve this. What does that stubbornness gain her? Remember they deserve this. What did it gain Mother? Remember they deserve this. It gained her nothing. Bravery is the mark of fools who refuse to yield.

  This provides some relief, but Grak needs more. He reaches for further distractions.

  What duties remain for the day? Not many, really. I can have Brak oversee the unpacking for me. It’ll be nice to get that off my shoulders. I’ll need to begin training Frolan’s team. That promises to be a challenge.

  Grak checks his shadow. The meeting is running too long.

  Such a time-consuming process. Must be tiring too. But you wouldn’t think it to look at Frolan. Yet another reason why he’s the best choice to lead tribe security. A truly impressive stamina.

  I don’t think I could have finished with Ruch before pausing for a breath and some water. Well, maybe I could have finished, but then I certainly would have had to take a break. Don’t know if I would have been able to finish with all—

  As it so happens, Grak is pulled out of this thinking by the sudden sound of Frolan calling for water. The lashes are done, and several from the crowd have come in to tend the wounds of the offenders. After careful consideration, Grak decides to allow this.

  I suppose it’s understandable. Their punishments have come to a close, after all. There’s no need to keep them in pain.

  The brute sits on the ground, leaning against the cart’s wheel, catching his breath. He’s still clutching the branch, though it’s now battered beyond use. Which isn’t surprising. Grak wonders how the thing lasted as long as it did.

  I must have picked a good one. Which isn’t surprising. I’ve always had an eye for quality.

  A cup soon arrives, and Frolan drinks it down quickly. Once finished, he sets it aside and leans his head back, staring off in thought. But there’s a growing sadness in his eyes, and this troubles Grak.

  Hmm. That could be a problem. I’ll need to settle the matter before it turns against me.

  He walks over and squats down in front of Frolan. But only then does Grak realize he has no words for the man. Or actions. He reaches back in his mind for a sample of Doran’s comfort in times past.

  Grak places a hand on the brute’s shoulder. “Well done, friend. You’re keeping us all safe, and that’s not easy. It never is. But that’s what our duties ask of us. So I’m proud of you. And the tribe is proud of you too. And thankful. Look around.”

  Frolan surveys the crowd. “It looks more like fear, no?”

  Grak thinks quickly. “Well, sure they’re afraid. They’re afraid of Lago … and lions … and probably other things. But they’re giving you that fear to take for them. Because they see your strength.”

  Frolan tilts his head. “I suppose you’re right. I just …”

  The man’s words fade out of focus as something new catches Grak’s eye. His attention follows after, drawn to the person supporting Cordo as he hobbles away.

  Jafra! I knew she was responsible for Cordo’s defiance. But what’s her aim with all of this?

  8 - And Hunting Strategies

  Grak is irate about having to teach hunting strategies today. Though in hindsight, it was inevitable. Soon after the tribe settled in at their new campsite, the request became persistent. Demanding, even. And he could no longer ignore it.

  But Grak did try to deflect it. Initially, he insisted the strategy would only help qualified hunters. Thus, he reasoned, the new team had to first learn the basics without such distractions.

  This was the best scheme he could muster at the time, given the other pressing concerns taxing the plotting portion of his mind. And to his surprise, it succeeded. Though only for twenty-nine days.

  After that, Grak was forced to rely on improvised solutions. But at times like these, when he’s backed into a corner, he’s often known to do some of his best work. Thus, through sheer brilliance and quick wit, he managed to delay the request for another twenty-four days.

  But, as with all good things, Grak’s ideas eventually came to an end. The constant demand for rapid thinking drained his mental stamina, and the schemes simply dried up.

  He’s also fairly sure the consistent lack of food contributed to his demise. Not that he went hungry, of course. But too many in camp did, and this caused a sharp increase in their demands.

  Thus, for the last eleven days, Grak has been relying on a new strategy: hiding. But the plan’s brilliant simplicity was also its most glaring flaw, and his fortune could only hold out for so long.

  Sure enough, early this morning, Sabo wised up. The man noticed Frolan carrying a bowl of stew as he wandered off into the nearby rock hills to “relieve himself.” Believing that to be a strange accompaniment for such an expedition, Sabo followed. Upon finding Grak, he alerted others, and they immediately began their usual request.

  But this time, Grak had no way of escape. Which is why he’s now improvising a hunting strategy in this small clearing in the nearby forest.

  “Like this?” Frolan takes a deep, controlled breath.

  Grak feigns annoyance. “Yes, but talking defeats the purpose. Now you have to start over. Back on the ground.”

  He looks about for other ripe scoldings. “As usual, Jafra, you’re doing it all wrong. Hold the branches higher.”

  She grimaces. “I’m sorry. It’s just … my arms are really aching now. I don’t think I can manage to hold them any higher … or much longer.”

  Such incessant whining with this one. And she fails to see how it only makes her more disreputable.

  Grak sneers. “Oh, I didn’t realize I was inconveniencing you. I suppose I’ll just have to tell our people that their starving children don’t matter as much as your comfort.”

  Jafra replies with a frown. Grak smiles to himself.

  Well done. One of your better exchanges, to be sure.

  But he has no time to enjoy the victory, as the smell of dung is already growing too powerful. He steps farther away from the woman.

  “Is it supposed to bleed so much, Grak?” Cordo asks meekly. “I fear I might be losing too much blood. I can’t even feel the pins any longer. Or that portion of my leg.”

  “Yes. That’s how you know it’s working.” Grak replies, lost in thought.

  He’s growing concerned about Cordo’s weakening fortitude. It took a noticeable dip after his punishment, and has yet to return. Of course, the man’s subservience has improved, but that’s still not ideal. Grak would prefer to have both available whenever he needs them.

  Cordo nods at the answer. “I was wondering something else too. And please, keep in mind, I don’t doubt the value of these exercises. I’m only curious … but, well, would you explain how any of this will help? It just seems we’ve been here for quite some time without any results. And I fear we might lose the light before catching anything.”

  Grak sees a teaching opportunity. “You fear too much, Cordo. Especially the dark. Before we can properly hunt the deer, we have to think like the deer. Are they afraid of the dark? Or of anything?” He leaves the subject there lest he accidentally reveal too much about his admiration for the creatures.

  Fierce. Undaunted. Majestic. If only our tribe were more like that. We could learn a thing or two from those animals.

  Frolan offers his mind on the subject. “They run from us … and lions.”

  Grak silences the man with a gentle touch on the lips. “Shh, friend. Be the deer. Enter his thoughts.”

  “So, what about the ropes?” Jafra points to the elaborate cross-rigging among the trees. “I don’t remember those when you last hunted with us.”

  “The Great and Pivotal Hunt of Awe, you mean?” The name still doesn’t sound right. Grak will have to tweak it further. “You’re right, th
ey weren’t there. The ropes are a new idea. But they won’t be useful until you all learn to think like deer.”

  He remembers to be angry with her. “And you, Jafra, are disrupting that process. How is anyone supposed to think like a deer while you’re asking so many questions? I’m taking your speaking privileges.”

  Jafra nods and casts her eyes to the ground. “Ok. Until when?”

  Grak is astonished by her defiance. “Do you not understand the concept of lost privileges? You’ll be notified when you have them back!”

  She certainly shouldn’t be missing the point. Grak made the policy quite clear and has reiterated it a number of times since. She gives a slow, sad nod to signify repentance.

  Or rather, to feign it. Insists on questioning my leadership, this one. And while I’m trying to teach her something new. So ungrateful! But even if she can’t be helped, I can prevent her defiance from spreading to these others.

  Grak lifts his voice to address the whole group. “So many questions from all of you today. But that won’t help you think like a deer. Do they ask questions? Of course not. They just kno—”

  A sudden wind blows Grak’s hat off. That’s the fourth time today, and he’s starting to get annoyed. Even more so, given this embarrassing disruption of his speech.

  In many ways, Grak feels the thing is almost too tall now. Though he really doesn’t feel he has a choice in the matter. Further copies in camp threatened the height of his previous cap, forcing him to have Frolan make another one several days ago.

  But Grak was tired of having to replace his hat every few days, so he also decided to enact a “height limit” policy. In it, he took care not to mention head coverings while also avoiding any ambiguity in the wording. And he’s quite proud of that feat. “My clever policy,” he calls it.

  Of course, Grak also made it clear that this policy only applies to “standard members of the tribe.” Which, of course, does not include him. He reasoned that anyone wishing to find him for help or directions should be able to spot his hat from any distance with ease.

  But despite the thorough nature of this announcement, confusion still arose. Many felt the wording might mistakenly ban future members of the tribe who have natural height tendencies.

  As a result, Grak considered altering the policy. But in the end, he settled instead on suggesting that such members crouch “for the sake of all.”

  Besides, it’s not even realistic. Frolan is the closest in height, and he’s still a good two hands shy. Maybe if he mated with an exceptionally tall woman. Or a bear.

  Grak allows himself a chuckle at that thought, oblivious to the concerned stares from everyone around him. He picks up the hat and returns it to his head. To his chagrin, he finds that perfect positioning requires both hands, forcing him to loosen the grip on his cloak. The cold seizes this opportunity and wafts in, sending a shiver through his entire body. He hurries with the cap, then renews his grasp on the fur.

  Doesn’t seem like it should be this cold yet. There’s still quite some time until the snows. I hope. That would be a truly awful addition to all my other troubles. If the snows began earlier than usual.

  But either way, that’s far from his most urgent responsibility at the moment. His focus returns to the hunters. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Think like a de—”

  “Wait! I can hear them!” Frolan’s ear is pressed to the ground, and he’s wearing an excited grin.

  “What?” Grak hides his disbelief. “Good. Good.” He’s stalling while deciding how to proceed. “You’re learning.”

  Maybe I’m actually onto something here.

  “I can hear it too!” Sabo is holding an ear to the wind.

  Jafra assumes the man’s pose for a moment. With sudden realization, she nods and points excitedly.

  Should probably remove the rest of her communication privileges as well.

  “No, Jafra, you’re doing it wrong. You have to place an ear to the grou—” Grak freezes. He hears it too: a noise in the distance, growing louder, clearer.

  All have stopped their exercises now to gawk at what this might be. The sound grows louder. And louder. It quickly grows into something akin to a heavy thunder. Memories of a similar noise tickle the back of Grak’s mind, begging for attention.

  “That’s the herd!” Cordo points to the far line of trees where dense brush is waving violently.

  “Stampede!” Jafra sounds the warning as the deer break into view.

  Grak recognizes the opportunity to lead. “Cordo, kill some! You too, Jaf—”

  The wind rushes out of his lungs as Jafra crashes into his chest. She pulls him behind a nearby fallen tree, and they stick tight to it. Surprisingly, this does the trick. Deer race by the spot, but hooves never touch either of them. It’s over faster than Grak realizes.

  He opens his eyes and peers around. The tail end of the stampede is disappearing through the next line of trees. To his left, Jafra rises to a seated position, staring at him as though expecting congratulations.

  For her error? Such gall!

  Grak decides on a loud voice to make matters clear to the others. “Jafra! I had a plan! We could have killed some deer.” He rises to his feet. “But now we have nothing. Nothing but hunger.”

  Grak turns away, but can’t resist one final comment. “And just so you know, you stink! You weren’t supposed to use that much dung. It’s one mistake after another with you.” He didn’t want to have to resort to personal attacks, but his anger got the better of him.

  “I’m so sorry.” She averts her eyes. “I was trying to keep you from danger.”

  “That’s it! Your speaking privileges are gone for twice as long now!”

  The stubborn fool. She forces these punishments on herself.

  Grak glares at Frolan. “And why weren’t you there to keep me from danger? Isn’t that your job? Maybe if you had been doing it, Jafra wouldn’t have messed everything up so badly. It’s good to know I can count on you both when it matters most!”

  Frolan winces as Cordo pops the brute’s shoulder back in place. “Sorry.” He rotates his arm timidly. “I should have been closer. It won’t happen again.”

  Grak is taken aback. He hadn’t expected quite so much obeisance. Nor did he imagine his fury would fade so quickly.

  Well … he seems sufficiently penitent. Perhaps kindness is in order. Or at least a change of subject. No sense dragging him through it when he’s already lear—

  A sudden commotion seizes Grak’s attention. Several hunters are making their way toward a badly wounded deer some twenty paces off to the right.

  Oh my …

  It only takes Grak an instant to realize his opportunity. He races off to join the others, arriving a moment later and in desperate need of air.

  “Good …” He breathes deep. “The strategy worked …” Another breath. “Of course, we could have had more kills. I gave you a perfect opportunity, after all. Don’t know how you failed to take advantage of it.” Unsure of what other criticisms to level at them, Grak lets the topic trail off and seeks out a new point of focus.

  He looks down at the injured creature. Judging by the two broken legs, it must have missed a step and taken a bad fall. The deer blinks at Grak and attempts to stand, but its legs give way, and the animal collapses. Still, this doesn’t deter a second attempt. Or a third.

  Grak has to turn away from the sight, masking his emotion with indifference. “Some—” He clears his throat. “Someone finish it off.”

  Jafra steps up. Her ax falls swift and heavy. The resulting sound sends shivers through Grak’s body. He’s never gotten used to it. Or the resulting splatter—some of which is now coating the leg of his trousers.

  “Jafra!” Grak just had Brak remove a pesky grass stain. “Have you no contr—” He goes silent and ducks down, motioning for the others to follow.

  While confused, the team obeys. Grak raises his head just far enough to see over the tall grass. His people look to each other, hoping someone else mi
ght have an idea of what’s going on. Frolan tries to follow Grak’s line of sight off to the far tree line, but only ends up more confused. Grak pushes the man’s head down farther.

  With his view gone, Frolan resorts to whispering. “What is it, Grak?”

  “People.” Grak’s whisper is more of a loud, rasp. He’s never been able to get it quite right. “Strangers. Over by the trees. I saw them just a moment ago. They appear to be hiding now.”

  Frolan abandons the silent approach. “Oh, I thought it was something dangerous.” He begins to rise.

  Grak shoves him back down. “It is dangerous, you buffoon!”

  Frolan takes that surprisingly well. “Oh, sorry.” But he looks confused again. “Wait, why is it dangerous?”

  Grak fails to find suitable words for this flagrant ignorance. In the end, he settles on thick sarcasm. “Does the name ‘Lago’ mean anything to you? And he was a part of our tribe. We knew him. Why would we assume anything other than danger from someone we’ve never met?

  “And why am I telling you all of this? You’re the chief of tribe security! And my personal buffer of protection! A fine mess you’re making of that job so far.”

  Frolan looks ashamed. “I’m so sorry, Grak. Twice I’ve failed you today. I understand if you need to choose someone else to take over my position.”

  Grak rolls his eyes and calms his tone. “Look, Frolan, I didn’t me—”

  “Hail there! You with the pointy hat! Are you alright?” The group of strangers has emerged from the trees and is heading their way.

  Grak’s team looks to him for orders. He replies with a rapid series of hand gestures. But to his dismay, their confusion reveals that they’ve already forgotten those lessons.

  Grak attempts his whisper again. “Just follow my lead.” He’s both surprised and pleased at managing something quieter this time. “Be ready to attack if I give the signal.” He receives earnest nods all around.

  “What signal?” Obviously, Sabo was bobbing his head for no reason whatsoever.