Things Grak Hates Page 19

  Grak makes another pass through his food. He nods. The remaining cuts meet his standards. Now he can eat in peace without the distractions of fat and gristle.

  So, how to categorize the day’s events? On the one hand, I ended up getting what I wanted—both in punishments and decisions. That's definitely good. But I also had to give in a little. That's definitely bad. But the tribe is on my side for the most part. And that's also good. And those who oppose me should grow more loyal if my plan works out. Also good. Perhaps ‘satisfactory,’ then? Hmm, might be a bit too pessi—

  Grak is interrupted by the unmistakable rumpling of someone opening the tent flap. It’s his only warning before a deep, cutting wind signals a visitor.

  He grips his furs. “Brak! How many times must I tell you? Call out before entering so I can prepare for the cold! Do you need another lesson in protocol?”

  He turns to face the man in hopes of increasing the weight of his words with a fierce glare. But his look takes an abrupt turn toward shock at the sight of Jafra inside his tent.

  “Hello, Grak.” She seems timid, avoiding eye contact.

  Appropriate, yet insufficient in excusing her presence here.

  Grak gathers himself and channels his fury. “How did you get past security? And what makes you think you can just walk in here like that?”

  He opens his mouth to call the guards, but stops short, unable to remember their names at the moment.

  Well, that’s not good. Though I imagine that was part of her plan. Trying to make me look the fool, like I’m not in control of my own men. Well, I won’t give her that satisfaction.

  Grak puts on a casual air. “But, I’ll still allow it. Mercy and all. So, why are you here? Explain yourself. And be quick with it.”

  Jafra advances nervously with her head down. “Yes, well I’ve …” She notices the discarded scraps. “Oh dear.” Wincing from her fresh whipping, she stoops and gathers the pieces. “Brak needs to be more careful. Food’s especially precious right now.” She brushes off the meat and hands it to Grak.

  Unsure how to respond, he accepts the chunks and places them on the table by his bowl. “Yes … I’ll be sure to speak to him about that. But don’t change the subject. Why are you here?”

  “Well, it’s really the same subject.” She finally musters the courage to meet his gaze. “I’ve come to discuss the food situation.”

  Grak’s face twists into anger. “Did you not learn your lesson at the whipping post? You won’t change my decision on the matter.” A new advantage springs to mind. “Besides, the people’s council has spoken.”

  Yes, they’ve given me an unexpected gift, haven’t they? That group of dolts might just be useful after all. They do my bidding, and should my children grow upset, I just point to their representatives. A double win if I’ve ever seen one.

  “Look, I didn’t …” She averts her eyes again. “I don’t want to cause you more pain.” She begins pacing nervously. “And I didn’t want to say anything before … but now the situation is too desperate. The tribe can’t recover … not unless something changes.” She stops at his statue table, gazing intently at the carving Frolan made so many days ago. “Our people need food, and if you won’t provide it … well …”

  Grak grows impatient. “Spit it out Jafra. Is this your feeble attempt at a threat?” He smiles, confident in his newly discovered power. “Do you seek to defy not only me, but the entire tribe and their chosen representatives as well?”

  Her tone grows in courage. “The council only bent to your will today. As everyone has for some time now. As I have too. But nothing was resolved. I’m sorry, Grak. I placed my trust in you previously. Truly. Partially because I believed in you, and partially … well … partially out of guilt.”

  Grak sighs. “This again?” He rubs his brow. “Always trying to find a way to wiggle out of blame, Jafra. Can’t you take responsibility for your actions? Just once?”

  “That’s just it, Grak. I do take the blame for what I did to you.” She’s on the verge of tears now. “I know her death was my fault. Even after so many snows, I still feel the guilt.” She takes a breath to steady herself. “But I can’t let that force my silence any longer.”

  Grak is confused. “So, you’re here to convince me of your guilt? Because you really don’t need to waste my time. You know I’ve always agreed. It’s Sando that needs convincing.”

  Something else she said suddenly clicks. “And what silence? What madness are you up to now?”

  Jafra picks up his statue. “This. I can’t keep silent about this anymore.”

  Grak rolls his eyes. Now it’s clear where she’s headed. “Yes, I know. But it’s not like Frolan has much experience working with wood. And it’s really rather boorish of you to make fun of the fellow over it. Besides, I’d like to see you do better. Might do you some good to thank me for all I’ve done for you. And all I’ve done for the tribe.”

  “No, Grak.” Her tone hints of frustration. “The arrow.” She takes a calming breath. “I can’t keep quiet about the arrow. Not with the entire tribe’s well-being at stake.”

  Grak is lost again, but wherever this is heading, it doesn’t sound good. “Wha …?” He swallows and regains his composure. “What do you mean?”

  “This was my arrow, Grak.” Her tone is almost cold now. “I noticed the gray streak running through the shaft when I nocked it. And I watched this arrow fly from my bow straight into the deer’s neck.”

  Grak thinks quickly. “So? Then I must have been mistaken. Mine must have been another arrow.”

  “There’s more, Grak.” Her voice takes on a measure of obstinance. “I saw you that day. I was watching you, trying to make sure you didn’t fall asleep again. Didn’t want the team teasing you like they had the last time—I know how teasing hurts you. When we all fired, you had no clue what was going on.”

  “Th …” Grak swallows again, but his calm doesn’t return in full this time. “That’s not true. Not at all. If you were focused on the hunt, then how could you have seen what I was doing?” He’s rather proud of such a swift defense.

  “I was standing behind you, just to your left, no more than three paces away. I had a clear view of you and the deer at the same time. I took my shot just before the others. While you were still hunched over that puddle, staring at your reflection. You were mumbling to yourself, checking your beard, fidgeting with spots on your face: the usual. You never left my sight. Even when I fired. You never even drew an arrow that day.”

  Grak reaches for any other defense. “But …” Nothing comes to mind.

  This only emboldens her further. “When the tribe finds out your hunting strategies were all a lie, they’ll see there’s no reason to trust you with our food anymore. And the council will see we need a new approach.”

  Grak gulps. This could be bad if he doesn’t handle it immediately with grace and wisdom.

  “You’re so stupid, Jafra!” He springs to his feet as his voice rises. “You always have been! And you don’t know anything!” A furious rasp rises with it. “You’re just guessing about that day! Because you can’t stand how I’ve become so loved!” A bit of a shriek now.

  “So now you’re trying to ruin this for me! Just like you always have!” He no longer has control of his voice. “You ruined my life by being born, and you’re trying to ruin it again! You ruin things! It’s all you’ve ever done and all you’ll ever do! And I hate you!”

  Frolan and two of his team rush in and assess the danger. “Grak!” Finding nothing of apparent concern, the brute’s voice gentles. “Are you alright?”

  The interruption breaks Grak’s focus, bringing a semblance of calm to his thoughts. As does the severe strain in his throat. At least, enough to think about the next move.

  Careful now, Grak. Breathe. You’ve solved much trickier problems than this before. You can easily do it again.

  Grak lunges at Jafra, remembering to close his fist before striking. The blow lands square on her left chee
k, causing her to stumble back. But to his dismay, she seems more confused than injured by the attack.

  Grak strikes again. This time it dazes the woman and gives him a clear angle for her neck. He grabs firmly with both hands, pressing his thumbs to her throat. Her frantic pulse pounds against his grip in stark contrast to his own steady heartbeat.

  His body feels alert, strangely good. Especially his arms, as though he’s never used them to their full potential before. He flexes harder, tightening the squeeze. Aside from her feeble grasps at his forearms, she puts up no defense.

  In that moment, Grak gives in to it. The feeling of raw strength flowing through him. The sensation of pure, unopposed control.

  Frolan is unsure how to react. “Grak? What’s the matter? Grak?” His voice grows noticeably concerned. “Grak! Y … you’re killing her, Grak!” He moves to intervene.

  Grak’s head slowly turns toward the man, revealing a penetrating, insidious glare. “Back … away.” No need to add a menacing tone; his voice is cold and terrible on its own.

  Grak’s focus returns to Jafra, his eyes aflame with hatred: pure, passionate, and remorseless. He renews his grip, though it makes little difference at this point. The woman’s defense wanes further, as she struggles now just to stay awake. Her eyes slowly roll back.

  Then it clicks. Now he sees it. Sando always said she bore a strong resemblance, but Grak never noticed before. Now it’s unmistakable. Especially from the nose up.

  And the same expression. The same as … as when she died. Mother.

  Grak releases her, and she drops to the ground with a heavy thud. He takes a few steps back and turns away, mustering all his strength to stem the oncoming tears. Frolan rushes to Jafra’s side and cradles her head, gently rubbing her brow.

  Get control of yourself, Grak. She’s your enemy. And an enemy to your people. She’s trying to take them from you. That’s been her game all along. But you can’t settle it this way. Everyone would call you brutal. Especially at a time like this, when tensions are already so high.

  Grak straightens his chair and sits. He picks up the bowl and leans back. His gaze remains fixed on Jafra as he resumes his meal.

  “Is she alright?” His tone is eerily void of emotion.

  Frolan’s eyes never leave her face. “Yes. She’s breathing. I think she’ll recover.” There’s a clear relief in his voice.

  “Good.” Grak takes another bite. “We can’t go whipping someone who’s already unconscious. Would lose its effect if my children couldn’t hear her screams.”

  He takes another bite, chewing slowly this time. “Liven her up and get her ready. One hundred lashes. And gag her. Can’t have her arguing like Cordo was.”

  12 - And the Devious Jafra

  Grak can’t even begin to describe the level of pure, deep, passionate, utter, profound, blinding, roiling, unadulterated, righteous, ardent, blistering, fervent, lofty, gut-wrenching, seething, liberating contempt he feels toward Jafra. He hates her even more than olives. By far.

  Like nine thousand olives. Rotting. In a pile of manure. Covered in vomit. And decaying corpses. Such is Jafra.

  And every word leaving the woman’s lips inspires greater hatred in his heart. “Furthermore, Grak’s charade of hunting strategies only dug us deeper into starvation. It was Cordo’s planning that brought us out. Through his plan of volunteer rations combined with steady hunting, we were able to survive the snows with no loss of life.” This elicits a spotty cheer from the crowd.

  I should have seen the signs. Why was I so blind? I let her build power until it was too late. And now she’s coming after mine.

  Why did I spare her wretched life? What was I thinking? I had her throat in my hands! And I just let her go … Too merciful, that’s what it was. That’ll be my downfall.

  “I don’t have to stand here and take these ridiculous accusations!” Grak raises his voice even louder, just to be sure everyone in the back can hear him clearly. “Is this why you gathered the tribe, Cordo? So Jafra could have a rapt audience while she slings insults at me and sings your praises?”

  Cordo crosses his arms. “Just listen, Grak. Please.”

  Grak clenches his jaw. It’s all he can do to hold back an outburst. That wouldn’t go over well at the moment. Not with his opponents all showing total calm.

  Listen? That’s all I’ve been doing! Listening and waiting. Eighty-four days now. Eighty-four days of subversion. Eighty-four days of loss. Loss of power and control and … and everything! Eighty-four days since Jafra began spreading her lies! She’s incapable of truth. Incapable of civility!

  Even when the cold stretched longer than usual, Grak clung to the hope that warmer air might somehow bring a measure of respite. But it didn’t. If anything, the complaints grew once the ground thawed.

  His next hope was that moving to this middle campsite might grant him the break he sought. Of course, he didn’t know why he thought this would help. He simply had a vague notion that a change of surroundings might bring a change of outlooks. But, again, this proved no more than wishful thinking.

  With that final expectation crushed, Grak sank into fear and despondency. “Desperate” is how he describes his current predicament. He needs some sort of positive outcome—any sort, really—and he needs it soon.

  “Grak has consistently shown a poor ability to lead.” Jafra’s face is all concern with only a trace of remorse touching her dominant eyebrow. “We saw that clearly throughout the snows. And the subsequent famine. And now that we’ve made it safely through, we need to decide who we want to lead us going forward.”

  “Why do we need anyone leading us?” shouts someone unidentifiable toward the middle of the crowd. “We never had a tribe leader before, and things always worked out well.”

  Grak attempts to answer that, but Cordo gets to it first. “And look what happened. We had Lago attacks and lion attacks. Clearly we need leadership. But a new sort. A better sort.”

  No, Grak! No more interruptions. This ends. Now.

  Grak’s fury is hardly masked. “I don’t have time for this nonsense! I have a tribe to lead. To lead properly as I always have. A tribe to protect and provide for, just as I’ve always done.

  “This meeting is finished! Frolan, whip Jafra! End this absurd display of defiance! One hundred lashes!”

  Frolan moves haltingly, glancing at the council with uncertainty.

  “Don’t look at them!” Grak is nearly speechless with rage. “This is a matter of tribe security! It falls under my authority alone!”

  Cordo holds up a hand, and the council discusses the matter among themselves. Grak hates when they do that—more because of the feeling of exclusion than anything else, really.

  And even though he can’t hear them right now, things don’t seem to be going his way. Kando appears to be offering his customary disagreements in Grak’s favor, but he’s doing it alone this time. Worse still, the conversation is already coming to a close.

  Far too quickly. That’s never a good sign.

  Cordo lifts his voice for the crowd’s sake. “The council disagrees with you, Grak. The ‘correction and mercy’ policy says it requires our assent for ‘every punishment.’ The only exception stated is when a tribe member is in ‘immediate danger.’ Clearly, that isn’t the situation here.”

  Grak hates that policy. The council was crafty enough to push it through as their first action, and he’s regretted giving his consent ever since.

  Although, if he’s being honest, Grak feels he was deceived in the matter. The only reason he allowed the guideline was because he thought it would display his merciful nature. Well, he also assumed “immediate danger” was a loose definition open to his interpretation. As it turns out, he was wrong on both points, and the policy has since proven to be the single greatest hindrance to his plans.

  Besides Jafra, of course. Devious, devious Jafra.

  Despite its consistent failure, Grak gives his usual objection, though with a slight alteration. “But if
this continues, we’re opening ourselves up to chaos and confusion. And that’s exactly how we came to feel the pain of Lago’s attack in the first place. And the lion attack too. And don’t forget the strangers’ deceit. Thus, we’re in immediate danger of suffering future problems if we don’t act now.”

  The addition of that last sentence seems to have thrown the council off. They return to whispering, though with greater disagreement this time. Olive Thirteen, for example, seems to be squarely on Grak’s side now.

  There’s a loyal one. She could teach Groka a thing or two. That one’s been teetering on the edge of betrayal lately. Constantly in Jafra’s presence and yet to support me on even a single issue.

  Though what pains Grak most is how Groka always finds convenient excuses to avoid even speaking to him these days.

  Jafra’s fault as well, I’m sure. Devious, devious Jafra.

  More surprising than Olive Thirteen, though, is the sight of Loren arguing with Cordo. Of course, she does tend to support Grak on most issues, but what’s bizarre is that she would come to his defense on a matter like this. After all, the woman usually opposes what she calls “cruel and undue punishment.”

  A nebulous term, really. Open to even greater interpretation than ‘immediate danger.’ Still, at least she’s backing me here. Always a pleasant occurrence. And more so, given her added vehemence today. A lot of aggression on display in those ears.

  The discussion concludes, and Cordo steps forward. “The council would remind you of the ‘definitions’ addendum to the ‘correction and mercy’ policy. It describes ‘immediate’ as ‘happening or existing now.’ Clearly, this danger you speak of does not meet those criteria.” He hands over a clay tablet.

  Grak slowly turns his head away, careful to make an obvious show of the slight. Nothing that man has to offer is of interest. Nor is it needed in this case, as Grak has every tribe policy and addendum committed to memory. He simply hoped the council wouldn’t remember such a small detail as that definition.