Things Grak Hates Page 18

  I suppose thirty-five kills might have been a lot to ask of them. Though it certainly seemed like a solid idea at the time. Besides, what other option did I have? Thirty? Such a repugnant number! Not while I still live and breathe. And don’t get me started on thirty-one! No, clearly not your fault, Grak.

  And he’d like to believe that. Truly. But the nagging feeling just won’t go away. At the least, he wonders if it was necessary to whip them the few times they actually did make enough kills.

  Hmm, yes, could have done without that. Well, hindsight’s always a clearer view. Good to remember for next time.

  “Our food problems aren’t going to just fade on—” Cordo gasps from that lash. “They won’t fade on their own. We need to take action. We need—” Another strike causes him to swoon slightly, but he quickly regains strength. “We need to institute rations again until we can replenish our reserves.”

  It’s not that the man’s point is flawed. It’s actually fairly sensible. But Grak can’t relent now. That would look like weakness to the tribe.

  Never should have listened to him about moving here when we did. Should have trusted my original thinking. Really, I was just reacting to everyone’s fear of the snows. Tried to keep all my little ones happy. But look where that got me. Only made me look weak. And now no one’s happy.

  That couldn’t be truer. Grak has been hard-pressed of late to find someone who isn’t eager to voice their displeasure. Even Frolan’s loyalty has come into question. Just yesterday the man made a remark about feeling hungry and suffering from dizziness. The conversation took place in private, yes, but that didn’t lessen its ominous nature.

  And worse still, Grak’s efforts to hide the lack of supplies from public view are becoming more obvious by the day. His method so far has been to strategically refuse feeding certain individuals so the rest of the tribe can eat to their content. Unfortunately, the further they go into the snows, the more he has to withhold for everyone else to eat their fill. Additionally, each time someone misses a meal, the next day they seem all the more hungry, pleading for extra food.

  Whiners. You’d think they would have learned from my lead.

  That’s true. Grak did make an earnest effort to lead the way in sacrificing for the better of the tribe. Once they completed their move, he reduced his meat consumption to just above what everyone else was allowed. Of course, his growing waist also played a part in the decision, but he prefers to leave that point unmentioned.

  Still, despite Grak’s sacrifices, this pesky food shortage has lingered on. And it doesn’t look like it’s going away anytime soon. After all, they’ve been at this campsite for fifty-five days now, and the problem has only gotten worse.

  But it’s certainly no famine. Not yet. No matter what Cordo would try to have us believe.

  Grak reviews the details of the situation.

  Well, maybe a slight famine. Very mild. Really, if ever there were a mild famine, this is definitely it.

  But not according to their complaints. Odd, really. You’d think they’d be used to a lack of food by now. But nooo, they always find something to whine about. And who do you blame when you’re in a bad mood? Well, the leader, of course. Why not?

  “Seventy-nine!” Brak calls the final lash.

  Frolan sets the whip aside and signals for water. Zacha hurries forward with a smile and hands him a cup. He smiles in return, and the two head into the crowd, chatting casually together.

  Ah, youth and their love. Good to see it blooming.

  Grak stands and makes his way forward. He shoots Brak a stern glare, and the bald man scuttles over to keep the chair warm.

  An obedient fellow overall. Just needs some prompting to get him going.

  Grak takes his position in front of the whipping post, careful to leave room for all to view Cordo’s limp and bloodied form.

  Sometimes you just have to whip the rebellious streak out of them. Too much energy builds up, and it takes a poor course. Really, that’s probably what’s causing this defiance.

  Though I’m sure that grotesque mole on his face also lends a hand. Must be awful to live like that. I imagine it would get annoying. Almost makes his defiance understandable. Almost.

  Grak gathers his focus and directs it toward the crowd. He raises his hands to silence the din. “My children. Be at peace.” The noise drops off abruptly. “It’s true that these snows have been hard so far—”

  “Not for you!”

  Grak furiously surveys the sea of faces for the source of this interruption. “Who said that!” he yells.

  Alas, the instigator’s shout was too quick, making it nearly impossible to find his location now. Regardless, several of Frolan’s security forces are moving among the crowd, making threats as they go. It’s doubtful they’ll find the offender, but at least they can discourage further outbursts.

  Contented with their progress, Grak continues. “As I was saying, these snows have been hard, and they’re far from over. And I know you’re tempted to think Cordo might be right. After all, he seems to be presenting the easy way out. But his ideas only look good on the surface. In truth, his methods would just cause greater difficulties.

  “No, we must stick with my plan. We have to see it through. Trust me, when this is over, you’ll all look back and marvel at the wisdom. And that’s all I ask. Just trust me, my sweet children. You won’t regret it.”

  “But look where that’s gotten us so far,” says Ruch.

  Frolan moves to grab the offender, but the man walks forward of his own volition.

  Is the fool actually eager to join Cordo? This thirst for punishment is getting out of hand. Not to mention this crazy idea that I’m somehow at fault here.

  Grak pushes his mind for an immediate way to redirect blame. “My children, please understand. The true cause of our current difficulties was the strangers. We were too nice to them.

  “We never should have accepted their feast invitation. That’s where it all started: having to leave our meat behind when we evaded their ambush. Perhaps that was their plan all along.

  “And they caused the subsequent unrest with their stupid map. And that distracted us when we should have been storing up meat for winter. Plus they killed much of our herd while they were camped nearby.”

  “That’s true,” Frolan interjects. “We met them when Grak was teaching us the strategies. They were hunting our deer and nearly killed us with a stampede.”

  Grak had forgotten that point. “You see? It was only a matter of time before we felt the full effect of their malevolent behavior.”

  To his surprise, this actually seems to be working. Agreement runs through the crowd along with numerous affirmations of the strangers’ treachery. Grak can only hope this anger holds out until a lasting solution suggests itself.

  Zacha steps forward and lifts her voice. “But that doesn’t do anything for our current problem! We still need to ration our food if we hope to survive.”

  With a look of apology, Frolan lays a gentle hold on the woman’s arm. She begrudgingly acquiesces and walks with him to the whipping post.

  On second thought, Zacha might not be the best focus for young Frolan’s affections. Too rebellious. Might just turn him against me in the end. I suppose I’ll have to find other possibilities for the oaf.

  Grak stores that in memory and turns to the crowd. “I stress again, rationing would not be a wise idea.”

  “But why can’t we decide on this with representatives?” asks Groka.

  When did she grow so defiant?

  Frolan moves to grab her. Grak considers it for a moment, then raises a hand to stop him.

  But only because this is her first offense. Not because of my feelings for her. And if she thinks I’ll excuse further dissension, she’s sadly mistaken.

  “That’s an interesting idea, Groka, but it wouldn’t work.” Now to figure out a reason. “If we were to do that, then where would it end?” Sound enough, given what he has to work with. Now for some sarca
sm to finish it off. “Then what’s to stop us from having representatives counsel me on all the issues?”

  “Oh, that sounds like a good idea!” Opa’s statement is reinforced by quite a few in the crowd.

  Grak reacts hastily, managing a modest concealment of his nervousness. “No, that was a joke, dear Opa.” He gives her an understanding smile and raises a hand of mercy. “That wouldn’t work. Remember Lago … and the lions … and the strangers. That’s what happens when I’m hindered in my leadership. And representatives would be nothing but a hindrance.”

  “But it worked well enough at the shore,” interjects a shaky Cordo. “You weren’t hindered, and we made the best decision in the end.”

  The tribe finds that point agreeable. Numerous conversations pop up to discuss its merits.

  That fool! If Cordo can speak, then clearly he’s strong enough for more lashes!

  Grak calms the growing tremor in his stomach. “But look. The shore … that was a special issue. And I made the final decision on that one. And that’s the only reason why it ended up working … for anyone.”

  Cordo’s response is instant. “But this seems like an even more important situ—”

  “Yes!” Grak has to settle this before it gets away from him. “Again … you know, I don’t know why everyone’s always cutting me off.” His tone rises in frustration. “Letting me finish would do wonders for your understanding.”

  The crowd slowly quiets.

  Glad to have any improvement, Grak presses on. “I want your opinions. I do. In fact, I was already planning on creating a group to help me decide on this rations issue. I wanted to wait on announcing it, but I suppose that’s ruined now. Thanks, Cordo. And Jafra!” He nearly forgot to blame her.

  “Just to decide this matter?” asks Jafra, seemingly ignoring his rebuke.

  There’s a back begging for fresh stripes.

  “No, didn’t you hear him earlier?” replies Opa. “He said we’d help on all issues.”

  Grak’s furs are growing sweaty. “No. No. Remember, that was a joke.”

  “Yeah, don’t you get humor?” Frolan is quite proud of himself for finally catching Grak’s sarcasm. “He said it’ll just be important issues.”

  Grak rubs his brow. “No, wait—”

  “Who decides which issues are important?” interrupts Ruch.

  Grak jumps at the chance to regain control of this conversation. “I would. An—”

  “A simple majority makes sense to me,” replies an eager Olive Thirteen.

  Grak is quick to refute that. “No, tha—”

  “See, that’s where I would disagree,” says Jafra. “A two-thirds majority seems more perfect to me. It prevents us from being too evenly split on an issue.”

  Grak’s mouth gapes, unable to move. His heart pounds feverishly. He’s watching his power slip away, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

  No, Grak. You won’t lose all that you’ve built. Take hold! Now!

  Grak takes a deep breath and bellows with all his might, “Silence! I will have silence!” A bit too shrill for his liking, but effective; all eyes now rest on him. “I will not have outbursts and chaos!” His voice is growing strained. “That only leads to danger, and I will not allow my children to see danger!” Severely strained.

  Grak pauses to rest his throat. “But you needn’t worry. Not only will I keep you safe, but I’ll also listen to you and care for you. In fact, I brought you here for more than to witness punishments. I called this gathering to announce my new policy.

  “That group I spoke of earlier? They won’t just help me with this matter. They’ll be my council. And I’ll seek their advice before making a decision on all important issues. Starting with this one.”

  That causes a small stir of joy in the crowd. Grak sighs with relief.

  Too close, Grak. Can’t let it happen again.

  “I suggest Kando be on the council,” shouts an overeager Doran.

  A wave of disapproval and derogatory comments ripples through the crowd. This is fairly common of late, as Doran’s reputation took a severe hit after he laid out the map policy. People just couldn’t get past the severity of the punishments compared to the offense.

  But the man still holds deep sway with a few, and Grak needs that. “Yes, Doran, I was just thinking to name Kando. He has a solid head on his shoulders.” He leaves out any mention of the man’s nose. “But I’ll thank you not to interrupt me. Need I remind you that I’m the one deciding?”

  “What about Cordo?” blurts Aza. “He’s got a good head on his shoulders too.”

  Grak doesn’t even need to think about that one. “Definitely not! We can’t have defiance on the council. We wouldn’t get anything done.”

  Although … while Cordo’s definitely a thorn in my side, this could be a great way to keep him close. Perhaps even make him loyal. If he thinks his opinions are being heard, then he might calm down. It’s settled then.

  Grak puts on his gracious voice. “But, in my mercy, I will give him a chance at redemption. Cordo, you’re on the council. Congratulations.”

  “What about Jafra? She’s wise!” Groka is beginning to strain his patience.

  “No!” shouts Grak. He catches himself and softens his tone. “This is getting out of hand. We can’t trust just anyone with such an important position. And let me remind you once more that I alone will choose. If anyone else hinders the process, I’ll be forced to abolish my new council policy.”

  The crowd promptly falls silent as all eyes fix on him, awaiting his decision. Grak could even swear some are holding their breath. He’s pleased to still have that power at least.

  So, who to pick? Ruch and Zacha might also turn loyal if their opinions are heard. But they might feel empowered too, especially with Cordo already on the council. Still, the simpletons aren’t exactly hard to sway. And I always have Frolan’s help when things get too tense. Really, with him around, what’s the worst that could happen?

  He shrugs in response to this thought. “Ruch and Zacha as well. To show just how great my mercy is.”

  Grak surveys the crowd. “Groka, I think you’ll do well.”

  He considers further possibilities. Proximity proves a reasonable deciding factor. “Sabo, you can be on it too.”

  But not Voluilo; Grak has always hated how hard the man’s name is to pronounce. Also his lips are far too flat and disturbing. “Unnatural,” Grak calls them.

  “Olive Thirteen. Aza.” He moves past Olive Seventeen to avoid redundancy. “And Loren.”

  Grak counts the group.

  Nine. A good number, but already pushing the bounds of propriety in this context.

  “And that should do it.” He considers having the crowd applaud.

  No, they might get confused and think they’re cheering for the appointees. Best to move things along.

  “So, with that out of the way, on to the matter at hand. It seems to me there are really only two sides to represent here. Should we cut off food as Cordo suggests?” Grak needs to push it over the edge here. “Or will you trust me, your leader and greatest hunting strategist? And trust my proposal to require more of our hunting team?”

  Cordo responds immediately. “Well, I think it’s a bit more complex th—”

  “Yes, yes.” Grak waves dismissively. “We’ve heard this already. I’m simply summarizing the issue. To save time. That’s all.”

  Jafra joins in again. “But why only two sides? Seems like we should let all the ideas be represented.”

  Grak laughs. “Like we did at the shore?” Pockets of the crowd chuckle nervously. “Let people suggest making floating carts? That would be productive. No, I think two is all we’ll need.”

  Hearty laughter rises from the tribe, and Grak waits for it to die down before proceeding. “So let’s get on with it then. All those opposed to food, please stand with Cordo at the whipping post. And all those who agree with me that we should work hard and prevent death, come and stand behind me.”

>   Even with the simplified options, the representatives are still confused. After several moments of intense thought, they begin to trickle forward. Soon, the two groups are fully formed.

  Most side with Grak, of course. In fact, only Ruch and Zacha have joined Cordo at the whipping post. Though it could be argued that they were already tied to it.

  “Well then. See? When we follow my instructions, matters work out simply and efficiently. Then it’s decided. We won’t force starvation on you.” Grak spots Cordo’s mouth opening again and moves to stop it. “So let’s hear it for food!”

  The crowd erupts in adulation, causing Cordo to breathe a sigh of defeat.

  Grak smiles with satisfaction. “So, with that out of the way, let’s get back to the punishments!”

  Grak’s tent guards open the flaps for him, and he hurries past to get out of the cold.

  Inside, Brak is just setting out the afternoon meat bowl. “Oh hello, Grak. Sorry about the nip in the air. I raced back here as fast as I could after the gathering, but most of the logs were still damp. Which reminds me. I know you don’t want to keep them in here, but perhaps we could move them to a tent of their own. Just so they’re not outside in the snow.”

  The man waits for a reaction, but gets none. “Anyway, I started what little fire I could, and it should be warm enough to remove your outer furs in just a bit. And I have more logs drying, so you should end up with enough to last you through the night.”

  Grak gives a menacing glare, but ultimately decides on mercy. “Very well. Though I’ll expect you to plan for such an event in the future.” He waves a hand in dismissal.

  Brak nods and scuttles by nervously. Grak wraps his furs tighter, bracing for the coming chill at the man’s exit. Fortunately, it passes quickly.

  Finally, a moment of peace.

  Grak sighs and settles into his chair. He picks up the bowl and digs through its contents.

  The fool always buries the unappetizing pieces. Does he think I’ll just eat them without checking first?

  Grak plucks the unsatisfactory bits and tosses them behind him toward the entrance.

  Brak can pick all that up this evening when he comes for my steam bath. Having to clean up his own mess should teach the fool not to try and deceive me.