Things Grak Hates Page 17

  Once again, Grak attempts to get back to the pressing issue. “Whether or not some find it possible, I find it imperative. Matters are out of control. Chaos abounds. People are openly calling Doran a liar, and it’s bleeding into general disrespect. That makes it harder for me to lead. And that, in turn, puts our tribe at risk.”

  Doran looks around the circle, his eyes full of hurt. “A liar? They do? Who? What have they said?”

  After a short pause, Kando reluctantly breaks the silence. “They’re saying you never saw anything out at sea. That since no one else saw it, there isn’t much chance it actually happened.” He pauses. “And so you must have made it up.”

  Doran’s distress is painful to watch. “But you don’t believe that, right?” He scans each face, ending with Grak’s. “Do you?”

  Grak couldn’t care less, but appearances are vital in weathering this storm. “No, of course not. And that’s why I’m trying to help you. And also why we can’t go making a new map. We have to find another way to stop the panic. Any ideas?”

  A thought flutters into Frolan’s head. “Well, you always say punishment is the best motivator.”

  Grak cradles the man’s cheek in his palm. “Dear Frolan. Sweet boy. Always the bowl to catch my every word. It’s true. I do say that. But we’ve already been punishing people. And it works, yes, but it’s too slow.

  “If we wait until hearing about an incident of rebellion, then it’s already too late. For every person willing to raise their voice, three others stay silent and just think it. So we need more than simple punishments. We need to cut this dissension at the base. Show them their ideas are foolish. So, how do we go about it?”

  Truth be told, Grak had a plan before he called this meeting. It would be far too risky otherwise, as then any opinion might sneak its way in uninvited. Really, the only reason he gathered these people together was in hopes of getting them to suggest his idea. Just in case he needs to redirect blame later. To his dismay, however, all are sitting quietly, straining in thought.

  Thinking shouldn’t be this hard. Especially when the answer is so obvious. It’s a wonder I manage to keep calm when surrounded by such simpletons.

  He decides to get them started. “So, who was the first to champion this idea?”

  “Oh, that was Ruch,” replies Kando. “He’s always opposed our vast ocean theory, so he jumped at the chance to promote the strangers’ map. He’s been at the source of the issue since it began.”

  That’s new information to Grak. He was certain Jafra had instigated this disobedience.

  “Alright, there we go. Ruch is the cause. So what should we do with him?” Grak goes silent, hoping someone might figure it out now.

  I’ve certainly led them far enough.

  But after a long moment, his patience wears thin. “Think about it. Your suggestion of punishment isn’t working for the people spreading this idea. So what should we do to the person who started the idea?”

  Frolan tenses as a thought strikes. “Kil …” He picks up on Grak’s astonishment. “Punish …” He checks for Grak’s nod before continuing. “Punish Ruch. We should punish him. And that would put a stop to this.”

  “Great idea, Frolan!” Grak can take it from here. “If we punish him, he’ll get in line. With enough punishment, he’ll back our ideas. Then imagine how easy it would be to get the rest of his followers to come around. Good work.”

  The brute beams with pride.

  Doran, on the other hand, looks a little sour. “Grak … about that …” His tone brims with trepidation. “I wonder if we’ve been having too many whippings of late. Maybe we should reduce them. It seems they’re causing a great deal of fear in the tribe, and it’s growing by the day. That just doesn’t seem like a good thing.”

  Grak takes offense. “Well, perhaps if you had given me more support in the previous whippings, I wouldn’t have to continue them.”

  Doran nods slowly for a moment, then hangs his head. “You’re so right, friend. This map problem really started with me, and yet you’ve had to deal with the fallout all alone.”

  Grak didn’t expect such swift acquiescence. He decides to choose his own inference. “Good. I appreciate you volunteering to stand with me during Ruch’s punishment. It’s an excellent idea. Shows a strong front and puts minds at ease, all in one simple action.”

  Doran takes a moment to ponder how he managed to offer himself up for that. Unable to figure it out, he settles on silence for the remainder of the meeting.

  “One hundred!” Brak calls the final lash.

  Grak scrunches his face in skepticism. “Are you sure, Brak? I only counted ninety.”

  The man appears torn on whether to incite Grak’s anger or look like a fool. He sighs. “Sorry … I must have miscounted.”

  Wise choice.

  Frolan nods and renews the punishment.

  Hmm, though I did lose focus for a while there, didn’t I? Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Still, it really didn’t feel like one hundred. Better to err on the safe side.

  “One hundred!” Brak calls out.

  Grak gently scolds himself for failing once more to count the strokes. He considers intervening again.

  No. Three times would be too many. Even Brak can’t mess it up thrice in a row.

  Grak nods as he stands and makes his way to the front. Brak breathes a noticeable sigh of relief and returns to his place in the crowd. Even Frolan seems pleased by the decision as he sets down his whip and signals for water.

  An impressive tool in Grak’s eyes, that whip. Though he’s even more impressed by how quickly the brute took to it. It’s only been nine days, and yet his use has become so fluid that an outsider would think he was born holding the thing.

  Though I’m sure my superior design deserves most of the praise. So simple, yet so elegant.

  Grak isn’t wrong about the whip’s uncomplicated nature. It’s just nine strips of leather braided into a grip at one end with jagged bits of iron tied at the other. He thought it up after running out of thorny branches, and had Aza get right to work constructing the thing. “My time-saver,” he calls it, barely noticing the resulting cringes from those around him.

  Not that I care what they think. What would they know about managing their time? Lazy beyond belief, this bunch.

  He’s gently coaxed out of his reverie by the sight of Doran’s approach. The man takes his position just to the left of Grak and a pace behind.

  No, that spot won’t do. I swear, the fool grows more frustrating by the moment. No. Patience, Grak. He’s useful. Simple, but useful.

  He takes a calming breath, then motions for Doran to step farther back and to the side. This is Grak’s preferred formation when delivering speeches with others. He finds that it not only gives him the prominence he desires, but also provides the crowd with a clear view of the whipping post.

  With that misunderstanding cleared up, Grak begins. He decides to open with some gentle humor. “Well, that whipping certainly took long enough!”

  The crowd stays silent. Somewhere in the back, a woman coughs.

  Grak clears his throat. “So, let this be a lesson to you all. Ruch’s initial defiance only brought him more lashes. Do not repeat his mistake!”

  He walks over to the man and leans close, keeping his voice raised for the crowd’s sake. “So, Ruch, do you have anything to say?”

  Ruch dangles from the post, wrists bleeding from his vain struggle against the ropes. He works up the strength to mumble something incoherent.

  Grak shrugs. He’ll take what he can get at this point. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. I’ll repeat it for those of you in the back.

  “Ruch said he never actually thought our maps were wrong, and he’s very sorry for leading anyone astray, let alone so many. He was just bored and wanted something to do.

  “At the same time, he always knew the other tribe was lying because they lacked the character and honesty of our people and … what’s that?” Grak leans in and coun
ts to three. “And because they lack my leadership abilities? Oh, well thank you.

  “And thank you for being candid with us, Ruch. Your repentance is an honor to our tribe. How about a cheer of congratulations?”

  The crowd responds in wooden obedience. Grak waits for the noise to die down before nodding to Doran.

  The man immediately hits his cue. “So, with that being said, let’s put this whole ordeal behind us. Let it be known that our tribe unequivocally rejects all outside maps. And this includes the one going around camp recently.

  “Our official policy is to receive authorization from Grak before a map can circulate. And the only maps currently authorized, other than the tribe’s original map, are the theories Kando and I have put forth. All others are hereby denounced, and any promotion of such ideas will be met with a minimum punishment of one hundred lashes.”

  Gasps and other signs of shock rumble through the crowd. Grak allows this for a moment, then leads the tribe in reluctant applause.

  And now to raise their spirits. Best to do this part alone.

  He nods to Doran, who takes his place with the rest of the tribe.

  Can’t have my little ones thinking Doran’s responsible for the good things.

  “Well, with that problem solved, it seems we have cause for celebration!” Grak pauses in hopes of receiving some form of cheer. More explanation must be needed. “A celebration and a feast!”

  That did something. Obvious excitement now hangs in the air. But to Grak’s dismay, the only manifestation is a sparse applause.

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea!” shouts Jafra.

  Grak fumes as he mercilessly scans the crowd for her face. There, in the back and to the left. He gives Frolan a stern look, and the brute moves quickly to apprehend the woman.

  She drops her deer in a slight panic. “I mean … we’re low on meat … would that be our best move right now?”

  Frolan reaches her and lays hold. Grak can’t tell from this distance, but the man’s usual brusque manner appears lacking at the moment.

  I’ll need to deal with that. But later. In private. Can’t be seen at odds with my security team. Even if they’re fools who follow emotions above orders.

  Grak suddenly realizes the danger of punishing just her. “The rest of the hunting party too! Since they can’t keep her silent, they’ll share in her fate!”

  Her team lets out a collective sigh. They drop their kills in resignation as Frolan’s men grab hold.

  Now there’s a proper grip. All around, really. If it doesn’t leave minor bruising, you’re doing it wrong.

  Ruch is dragged away as the newcomers are shuffled to the front and tied to the whipping post. Once they’re secured, Grak raises a hand to halt the process, then turns to the crowd. He assumes his leader stance, hands on hips, and waits for silence. To convey even greater weight in the coming words, he slides his hands up until they rest on his ribs.

  Once he has their attention, Grak lifts his voice. “My children! I know you’ve all been concerned about the lack of meat lately. And I want you to know that I’m concerned too. It’s tough to cut back, and we’re all having to do it.” This elicits some agreement from the crowd.

  “But there’s only one reason for our current rations,” he continues. “This team consistently brings back far too little from their hunts!” He points at the captives derisively.

  “But are they on rations while hunting? No! And have they improved? Have they utilized my hunting strategies? No! If anything, they’ve gotten lazier. Even to the point that their recent trips have kept them out for considerable lengths of time. And the rest of us have to manage while we wait. This is why we’ve all been on strict rations for so long now.”

  Cordo interrupts. “No! I told you days ago. The herd’s moving again. And they’ve already gone too far south. This is the cause of our extended hunts.

  “We need to move with them, Grak. To our final campsite. Immediately! Before the first snow. Before travel grows too harsh for our weaker members. It’s no longer a matter of rebuilding our supplies. We have to move or we won’t survive the snows!”

  A troubled murmur races through the crowd. This is bad. And it promises to be worse should Grak allow it any longer.

  Think quickly, Grak.

  He turns and strikes Cordo with the back of his open hand. This stings. Quite a bit, really. And while he does a moderate job of hiding that fact, he’d rather do without another go. Also, he’s fairly certain he touched the man’s mole in the process, and that concerns him to no end.

  Can those things spread? Best not to find out.

  Grak rubs his hand on his tunic, then turns to Frolan. “Hit him again.”

  The unorthodox nature of the order startles the brute, but he quickly gathers himself and obeys. His strike lands hard on Cordo’s cheek, causing the man to reel back and nearly lose consciousness.

  Oh, curling the hand into a fist. Of course. Well, I was trying to take it easy, but perhaps I was being too merciful. So, how did he do it exactly?

  “Again.” Grak watches closely this time.

  Ah, much better. Yes, I could make that work.

  With that punch, Cordo’s senses leave him, and he crumples, dangling from his restraints. Frolan looks to Grak for further orders.

  Grak nods. “That should do. Wake him up, though, so he feels the whipping.”

  He turns to the crowd. “I’m sorry it had to come to that, but this level of insolence will not be tolerated. Not only is the hunting team lazy and failing to bring back proper food for our tribe, but they also think they know better than me.

  “And while it’s true that they’ve prevented us from replenishing our stock, we’re not in danger. I’ve planned things perfectly. And I’ll prove to you just how superb my planning has been. And just how superb it will continue to be. I hereby declare that not only will we feast tonight, but rations will be doubled from this point forward!”

  The people cheer at that announcement, though fear obviously motivates this as much as joy.

  “You mean normal rations, then?” Brak asks.

  The fool! He’s just flirting with being on my list.

  Fortunately, the crowd is too busy cheering to hear the man’s question. Grak takes advantage of this by raising his own voice. “Our days of strict rations are coming to an end! I want to thank you all for having shown such discipline and fortitude during that time. Trust me, my children, all will be well!”

  The tribe believes his words. Their applause grows even stronger.

  Grak’s pleasure at the day’s events can no longer be hidden. “Frolan, if you would, please.” He gestures toward the offenders, doing his best to hold back a smile.

  “One!” shouts Brak above the crowd’s continuing celebration.

  Grak returns to his chair and gets comfortable. Or as comfortable as it allows.

  No matter. At least these punishments tend to be relaxing. A time free of pressure to ponder the urgent issues.

  Like the tribe’s rations. How do I make them stretch over daily feasts?

  And moving—there’s another urgent matter. Definitely need to get going soon, but how to do it without the tribe thinking I’ve bent to Jafra’s will? Mayb—

  Grak’s thoughts are abruptly shoved aside by the feeling of extreme cold on his nose. Startled, he reacts by rubbing the spot. His finger returns with a drop of moisture.

  Oh dear … No!

  Grak looks up and holds out a hand. Another spot of cold hits his wrist. Another touches a finger. He squints. Several more land on his face.

  There! Definitely saw it! Oh dear …

  The flurry thickens until a thin, steady veil of white pours from the sky. The snows have begun.

  11 - And How There’s Always a Group of Whiners Any Time the Air Turns a Little Cold

  Grak abhors whiners. He would even venture to place them alongside the lazy on his list of hates. Or maybe a little lower, if he’s being honest. In fact, they’re
the main reason behind his theory that some people have no value in life.

  But it’s when their complaints pile up that he really gets upset. And even more so when the focus of their grumblings is a trivial matter. At that point, the whiners become truly putrid in his sight.

  A little cold, a little snow, and suddenly everything’s falling apart. They forget how to walk, how to hunt, how to work. And suddenly they need more food and less time working outside? What kind of a simpleton do they take me for?

  Sure the cold can be difficult. I should know. I used to complain about it too. But that was so long ago. In my youth. Adults just deal with it. That’s part of growing up.

  Besides, it’s not even that cold. Certainly not as bad as these whiners make it out to be.

  He opens his furs slightly to let in some air, then motions for Brak to move farther away with the wheeled fire pit. Grak is quite proud of that innovation: simple, yet exceptionally useful. It consists of a small, wooden cart supporting a flat stone about the length of his arm with a shallow bowl hollowed out of the center.

  And contrary to Grak’s expectations, its construction was no easy task. Finding the perfect rock proved the most challenging aspect. He had to give up several full days of much-needed relaxation to oversee the search teams.

  Though that reminds me. I really should take those days soon. All this whining I’ve had to endure is draining me of vigor.

  “I’m just concerned about the tribe,” Cordo pleads.

  “Thirty-eight!” Brak is having trouble shouting above the man’s protests.

  Speaking of whining … chief among whiners, really. A shame. I would have expected more from Cordo. And even worse, he’s so bold about it! Clearly, he doesn’t understand obedience. Either that, or the fool’s growing numb to pain.

  It’s true, the man’s boldness has returned of late. And regardless of the reason, it doesn’t bode well for Grak. In retrospect, he admits it may not have been the wisest decision to whip the hunters every time they failed to bring back enough meat. It also might have been more prudent to set a smaller quota.