Things Grak Hates Page 5

  Be strong, Grak. They’re more afraid of you, then yo—

  Grak stops. His heart trembles. He didn’t expect to see her here. Sure, if he had taken time to think about it … well, why wouldn’t she be? And yet, her appearance seems worse than most.

  Grak hesitates, debating whether to approach. In the end, sympathy wins out, and he walks over to the woman.

  Groka’s head turns slightly. Weakly. Pitifully. As if to listen for movement in the immediate area. Her neck strains at the effort, even with such a small task. It’s thinner now, less stately: almost stringy. Her jaw trembles as she forces a quiet gurgle through her crusted lips. For the briefest of moments, Grak feels remorse.

  No, Grak! It’s not your fault. Besides, she’ll recover. Frolan almost has.

  Grak resists the temptation to touch her cheek. He doesn’t want to disturb her rest. Also, he doesn’t want to risk catching her ailment. Besides, he has to be about his task.

  She’ll recover. Without a doubt. Not your fault.

  At that, Grak straightens his back, levels his gaze, and resumes his purpose. But the sight of Groka so near to death is now seared in his mind. Even walking does little to scrub it out. Fortunately, he doesn’t have far to go. Distraction soon consumes his thoughts as he rounds a corner and arrives at Frolan’s tent.

  Oh good, the flap’s open. I imagine that’s best in this situation. The smell was getting severe.

  Probably means he’s doing better too. Hmm, though it could just as easily mean he’s doing worse. Hard to tell. He might have opened it to get some air before he died. Yes, quite possible, now that I think about it. Would be unfortunate, if that’s the case.

  It’s true. Grak finds his stomach averse to dead bodies. More than most, in fact, though he’s never determined the source of this unease. Also, custom would name him responsible to haul the corpse away for burning, and that would hamper his plans for the day.

  And yet, without Frolan’s help, his strategy has little chance for success. Grak has no choice in the matter. He takes a moment to prepare his eyes for the sight, breathes deep, then pokes his head in. Relief.

  “You’re looking much better, friend.” Grak isn’t even stretching the truth here: the yellow tinge in Frolan’s skin is almost gone. “How do you feel?”

  “Oh, I feel much better. Thank you. The tooth is still a little sore, but even that seems to be improving.” Frolan pulls back his lip to provide a better view.

  Grak tries to hide a wince. “Yes, you can hardly notice the crack. And the bleeding has slowed as well.”

  Frolan smiles something gruesome. “And I’m thankful for that, let me tell you!”

  “I can imagine.” Grak is just relieved the man is in good spirits.

  He’s taken the meal rather well when you think about it.

  That’s true. Frolan was one of the first to grow ill, and even had one of the worst cases of the illness. Yet he never complained about Grak or even associated him with the malady. And Grak reasons that this positive thinking is why the man’s condition has improved so much already.

  Of course, Frolan doesn’t have much of a choice when it comes to blame. If anyone considers Grak responsible for the tribe’s current woes, then they have to include Frolan for his part in the matter.

  After all, he was the one who got rid of Lago. In a way, I even tried to stop it.

  But all this talk of blame is upsetting for Grak. Besides, he came here for a reason. “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling so well, Frolan. For your sake, of course, but also because I have troubling news that I had to share with someone.”

  Frolan’s concern runs deep. “Tell me, Grak. What is it? Have you fallen ill too? I thought you were looking unwell this morning.”

  Grak is taken aback by that statement. He hasn’t passed any puddles today, but can’t imagine he looks so bad as to warrant a comment like that. Especially from one in such a horrendous state. He decides to check at the first available opportunity.

  Come to think of it, I’ve noticed metal holds a reflection quite well. Perhaps I could find something more permanent than a puddle.

  Grak hides the hurt and stores this reflection idea for another time. “No. Nothing like that. But I believe I may know the cause of this illness. Do you remember how Lago put something in my food several nights ago? To poison me?”

  “Yes …” Frolan seems to be jumping ahead.

  “Well, last night, while I was preparing the dish, I had to leave to grab some …” Grak hadn’t thought of this aspect. He scrambles to fill the void.

  What would you put in food? Tree bark? No, that doesn’t sound right. Rocks? No, that was ill-conceived. Especially the pebbles. Wait, what was Lago looking for?

  “Herbs!” Although Grak’s excitement is inexplicable, Frolan fails to notice. Still, Grak brings it down a notch. “When I returned, Lago was there.”

  Frolan grips his bed roll. Full understanding shows in his eyes. Still, he’s choosing restraint at the moment.

  Grak hesitates at the man’s reaction, but soon continues. “I thought he was just hungry and looking for something to eat. And I felt pity for the old man. So I sent him off with a few days’ rations.

  “And I thought nothing more of it until today—when I regained my strength after the illness, that is. In hindsight, it’s so clear. He must have put something in the food while I was away.”

  Frolan’s anger boils over. “That monster! That—” He grits his teeth in a strained effort to retain some self-control. “He was trying to kill us all!

  “We were right to expel him. But we should have done more. We need to gather a hunting party. To go after that vile beast. To hunt him down like the animal he is!”

  That was a far stronger reaction than Grak had planned for. And completely unexpected too. Though, it really shouldn’t have been. Grak isn’t sure how he failed to realize the obvious response to news like this.

  Must be the nausea. No matter. Think Grak, think. How to redirect this new anger?

  It’s not that he cares for the former cook. Not at all. But that doesn’t mean he wants the man to come to more harm. Grak does have a heart, after all.

  Despite what some people might think. And what do they know?

  Grak’s growing anger over these thoughts makes its way to his face. This incites a new layer of rage in Frolan, and the brute attempts to stand. No, too much, too soon. He swoons.

  Good! That should give me some time to shift focus away from Lago.

  Grak dresses his expression with concern. “You’re in no shape to do anything, Frolan. Just get better. And wait. Lago will still be out there when you’re healthy again. Then we can decide what to do.”

  Frolan settles down a little. He takes a deep breath. “You’re right, Grak. You’re always right. We’re fortunate to have your wisdom in the tribe.”

  Grak tries but can’t restrain a smile. “Well … I mean … true …” He remembers to feign humility. “I suppose. But I’m really just like any of you. I’m not anything more elevated, or a better person or something.”

  Frolan mulls that over, then shrugs. “You’re right. I suppose I got carried away.”

  That’s not desirable either. Grak thinks quickly. “But I imagine you’re right in a way, aren’t you? I should learn to trust your gut feelings.”

  Flattery takes hold, and Frolan smiles. “Yes, I suppose I was right. You’re a hero, Grak. I’m glad we have you.”

  That’s much better. It also presents a fantastic opening for the next phase of Grak’s plan. “Well, since I’ve recovered more than most, I feel the need to gather the healthy and coordinate our efforts. I’ll be busy doing that, so I can’t cook anymore. Which is rather unfortunate, because I was going to make some incredible meals.”

  Frolan perks up. “Oh? Like what?”

  Grak sees clear value in learning to stay on topic while scheming. “Well, that’s beside the point. But since I’ll be so busy with caring for the tribe, I thought I might put so
meone else on cooking. Trying to do both would grow taxing. Then I’d be no good in either capacity.

  “Anyway, I could use your help to spread the word. People seem to notice you. They listen to your opinions.” Grak is careful not to mention how the man's imposing stature might bear responsibility there.

  Frolan’s look of confusion contradicts his nod. “Makes sense. But, wait. A moment ago you told me to stay put.”

  “Well, I meant you shouldn’t go off hunting right now. But you seem fine enough to relay information to others. That shouldn’t be too tiring.

  “And it shouldn’t take you long, either. We have, what, some two hundred people? Around one hundred or so are at the death tents, so that’s a breeze. And the rest are pretty stationary at the moment.”

  Frolan shrugs. “Well, I suppose. If you think I’m well enough, then I trust you. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, friend.

  “Is anyone else— Wait. Death tents?”

  Grak is running out of options, and he’s beginning to worry. Doran wasn’t home or at any of the spots he tends to frequent in camp. He wasn’t even at “the recovery area,” as Grak is attempting to rename it.

  If he isn’t down at the shore, then … well, then I have no idea where he might be. Did he wander into the forest during his dementia stage? Did he go out to sea, searching for his cra—

  Grak is snapped away from thought by a glimpse of someone moving about behind the row of shelters to his left. He squints. Nothing’s there.

  Did they hide? Who was it?

  The figure was too short to be Frolan, but no one else has been able to move their legs yet. One possibility pops to mind.

  Might it be Lago? Returning for revenge?

  Grak shudders at the thought. He scrambles for a plan. “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

  Hmm, not a very robust idea. Certainly less so than many of my others. Is it possible that I’ve used up my planning abilities for the day?

  The flap on one of the smaller tents moves a bit, as though bumped by someone lacking proper hiding skills. Grak readies himself to run should the cook’s bald head appear. But no need. Relief floods in as a woman steps out.

  “Jafra? What are you doing up? I mean … You’re feeling better? That’s … nice.” Though he can think of others more deserving of good health.

  “Hello, Grak. Yes, I was so tired after the hunt that I went to sleep without eating. And now I’m glad I did. Not only was the extra rest helpful, but I also avoided this sickness.”

  Grak analyzes if that was meant as a personal attack.

  Hmm, unclear. Still, best to assume as much when dealing with Jafra.

  He attempts to refute it by shaming her with altruism. “Well, I’m not sure that’s important right now, Jafra. I think we should concern ourselves with getting the tribe healthy again.” No sense in wasting a good opening, though. “And since I was the first to recover, I’ve been trying to organize everyone’s care.”

  Jafra nods enthusiastically. “Yes, Frolan told me.” She switches abruptly to sorrow. “And he told me about Lago too. It saddens me to hear the old man was behind this. I wonder if we pushed him to it. If we were too harsh in forcing him to leave.” She pauses to consider that for a moment.

  Or perhaps she’s pausing for effect. Yes, much more likely. Definitely a veiled accusation, now that I think about it.

  Grak considers his options. After careful deliberation, he decides against saying anything just yet. If she’s allowed to ramble on without hindrance, she might reveal her ploy.

  Jafra shrugs. “Well, I suppose there isn’t much we can do about it now.” It appears she’s sensed his trap somehow. “And we have more important matters to deal with.

  “I’ve been checking in on people the best I can. And I sent Frolan back to rest. He wasn’t looking steady on his feet. But good thing I bumped into you, since you’re organizing everything. What can I do to help?”

  Grak hadn’t considered the possibility that coordination might require making decisions. He struggles to come up with a sensible task that reflects competence.

  Should also be something tiring. And it should require a great deal of her time. To keep her out of my hair for as long as possible.

  “Death tents!” Far too much excitement, given the context. Also, mistakenly called. “I mean, the recovery area. I’ve changed the name to inspire hope.”

  “Of course. Sounds wise. I could finish setting them up and get those poor people out of the dirt. Good thinking, Grak. Thanks so much for stepping in to be there for the tribe. I’m glad we have you around.”

  Grak is shocked by that comment. “W … well … yes …” is all he can muster in reply.

  Sounded sincere, but it might just be an attempt to deceive me. She’s such a devious one.

  Grak tries to fill the silence lest she wrest control of the conversation from him. But alas, no words come.

  Worse still, Jafra takes the opportunity. “Well, I’d best be about it then. Thanks again, Grak.” She pecks a quick kiss on his cheek and strolls away.

  Wh …

  Grak is even more stunned than before. It happened too fast to raise protest.

  What, in all the land, could she be up to?

  Fearing the further loss of time, Grak resumes his mission, pondering the matter as he climbs the hill. Strangely enough, he’s finding himself mildly impressed by her schemes. But also frightened. Clearly, this falls under both “urgent” and “imperative.”

  Does she know the meal was my fault? Er … rather … Does she think the meal was my fault? Because it wasn’t. No matter what she thinks. Still, can’t take any chances. Not with her. Best to handle this immediately. Well, once I find Doran and get his backing, that is.

  Grak reaches the summit and surveys the view below. Waves gently lick the sand while several dunes and a few pieces of driftwood laze about on the otherwise empty shore. And a shrub of some sort, just next to one of the larger dunes. He hadn’t noticed the thing at first, but squinting separates it from surrounding shapes.

  Wait a moment, the shrub’s moving. Yes, clearly human.

  Comfort washes over him as he realizes that it must be Doran. Well, most likely. Despite the person’s proximity, they still appear blurry. Grak trots down for verification, hopeful that one weight might lift from his burdened shoulders.

  As he draws closer, the color of the hair poking out from behind the dune becomes distinguishable. Grak’s spirits rise. It’s the same shade of light brown as his friend’s.

  “Doran?”

  “Yes? Here I am. Is that you, Grak?” Doran’s goofy smile is a pleasing sight as it pops into view.

  “Yes, it’s me. I’m glad I finally found you. I must have searched every tent in camp.”

  “Oh, sorry to worry you, friend. I found the waves so peaceful … and the air so refreshing. I felt compelled to linger last night. I must have fallen asleep by accident. I even failed to eat. Come to think of it, I’m famished. I don’t suppose there’s anything left from yesterday’s serving?”

  “So that’s why I’ve decided to lay aside my passion. The camp needs my organizational ability right now more than it needs my food.”

  While Grak is annoyed at having to fill the man in, he’s glad for the opportunity to adjust the story more to his liking. He considers the new telling “positive overall,” though he wonders if he went too far with some of the alterations.

  Doran slowly shakes his head. “Oh my. This sounds dire. And I just slept here! How could I? When my people needed me.

  “Well, Grak, I’m glad we have a person as sensible as you to … well … to lead us, I suppose. Like the lead rider while we travel, but instead, you’ll lead us while everyone recovers. If there’s anyone I’d choose to lead us through this ordeal, it’s you, friend.”

  Grak likes the sound of this word. He hadn’t thought of it that way previously.

  But I guess it’s true. Everyone will look to me. And everyone will follow me. V
ery much like the lead rider while we travel.

  He allows himself a slight smile and a moment to savor the feeling.

  But Doran is unaware of Grak’s morsel. He’s already on his feet, brushing the sand off the rear of his trousers. “So who will cook in your stead?”

  Grak stands too, still relishing the feeling in secret. “I’m not sure. Do you know how?”

  Doran sets a quick pace for their return trek. “I’ve never tried, but I’m willing. Is it difficult?”

  Grak struggles to match his friend’s speed. “More than you’d imagine,” he sighs. “Better to find someone with experience, if we can.”

  Doran nods. “Well, from the sound of things, Frolan isn’t up to it yet. Even if he knows how, he shouldn’t be on his feet at the moment. It was good of you to insist he rest. I imagine more sleep will do him some good.”

  Grak reviews that alteration. He estimates it’s “unlikely” to come back and bite him. “True. Very true. So that leaves Jafra. Unless someone else is on their feet by now.” He ponders the woman. “You know, she might be a decent choice.”

  In all honesty, Grak has no idea if she even possesses the skill. He just hates the task and the woman with roughly equal disdain. Thus, he assumes they would pair well together.

  Doran tosses the proposal around in his mind. “Well, I would agree with you under normal circumstances, but it sounds like she’s not at her best today. Her current callousness might prove dangerous if applied to cooking. With the tribe in such a dire state already, she might make matters worse.”

  That alteration may have gone a little too far. Grak adjusts it to be more in line with the original. “Well, I may have been too hard on her. What I meant was that she’s being somewhat rough in her care of the ill.”

  That doesn’t appear to have helped. Doran is still apprehensive. “Sounds like a great deal more than being ‘a little rough.’ I can’t even imagine why someone would yell at an unconscious person.”