Things Grak Hates Page 8

  And in many ways, this packing day is shaping up to be Grak’s worst ever. The perpetual complaining and rampant lethargy are weighing on him to no end. It seems he can’t go more than a moment without someone grumbling about lacking “strength” or “feeling in their limbs.” And while Grak has tolerated the charade so far, it now portends to slow the tribe’s travel—a risk he’s unwilling to take.

  Thus, he’s made it a point to loudly and publicly shame anyone he catches slacking off. Of course, this requires greater effort on Grak’s part, which is clearly less than ideal.

  But there’s no avoiding it. A ‘necessary duty,’ I’d say. Just part of leading the tribe: forfeiting energy and time for the betterment of all.

  He is dreading, however, that this increase in work could end up stretching late into the night. If that occurs, it would rule out his final chance at a hot spring dip until they pass this way again in the next heats. And it goes without saying that he intends to avoid that outcome by any means necessary.

  Still, despite his many hardships, Grak is trying to be positive about his situation. In fact, he’s even found a few minor details about this packing day that make it “less awful” than previous ones. Doran’s generous exaltations, for example. And Brak and Loren’s increased appreciation as well. In fact, Grak has even noticed a resulting improvement in the tribe’s perception of him.

  Though I imagine my superior leadership at the shore yesterday is what brought that about. And it’s about time they appreciated my true value. Long overdue, I say.

  Better yet, Grak’s new recognition has earned him some authority in the day’s duties. He hasn’t even been asked to carry anything yet. All he’s had to do is stand here in a decisive manner with his hands on his hips. “My leader posture,” he calls it, and none have refuted him.

  To the contrary, people have been flocking, requesting direction. And while Grak generally doesn’t know what response to give them, he’s found that asking for their opinion does the trick. They give it, then he confirms the plan and gets the credit. It’s a resounding win for him. Like a double win, really.

  I’m not being lazy, though. Just haven’t had the chance to do anything else. If anyone thinks I’m being lazy, then they’re just ignorant. And uncouth. After all, I’m obviously working hard at leading.

  “Grak, where should I put this?” Loren sets down the barrel, then tightens the harness strapping Olive Fifty-three to her back. The child peers over her shoulder and locks eyes with him.

  There’s the blank stare again. Dead stare, really.

  Grak shudders. He shuffles away from the youth, leaning down to inspect the cask as a disguise for his actions.

  “Well, I think that would depend on what’s in it, don’t you?” Grak grins as he glances up at Loren.

  Her stern look and firm ears reveal that his playful wit was lost on her. “It’s—”

  She’s interrupted by Grak’s sudden recoiling. The smell is unmistakable, even through the barrel. “Never mind. Clearly olives.”

  Loren nods. “Yes. So where’s the food cart?”

  “I suppose it might be that cart there. The one with all the deer carcasses.” Grak adds a smile, certain this one should get a laugh. Still nothing. He’s getting annoyed by everyone’s poor sense of humor today.

  “Ah, there it is. Thanks.” Loren hoists the drum onto her shoulder and turns in the appropriate direction.

  “Actually. Wait for just a moment, would you, Loren?” Grak holds a hand to his mouth while resting the other on his hip. This is another posture he came up with today as a means of showing how hard he’s thinking.

  Every time we travel, olives end up sloshing around and spilling on the normal food. And then every meal stinks like the awful things for days after. So what other options do we have available?

  “Yes, Grak? Do you need something else from me?” She sounds impatient.

  Grak has been noticing that in a number of his people today, and it’s growing irritating. He decides to convey displeasure in his voice. “Just give me a moment, please.” That should calm her down.

  So what other carts have room? I suppose that depends.

  He softens his tone with a dash of mercy. “How many barrels do we have? Of olives?”

  “Eh … five … I think.” Her voice is oddly shaky.

  Hmm, a change in tone. I wonder why. Is she hiding something? Is she questioning her support? Can’t risk that right now. Best to rein her in before it’s too late.

  “You think? We need to be certain, Loren.” He didn’t want to, but was forced to add a healthy amount of disappointment there.

  She sets down the barrel with a loud huff. “Sorry. Let me think.” That chiding must have done the trick; the tremor in her voice has receded. “Yes, five. There are definitely five barrels.”

  Grak smiles in the most comforting way he can manage. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” While he’s annoyed at the waste of time, he takes comfort in knowing that the woman learned a valuable lesson.

  He takes up the thinking posture again. “Alright, yes. That should fit perfectly with Jafra’s things. She’s been designated to that cart over there. Next to the large rut.”

  Loren looks confused. “You mean where Sando’s sitting? Or the one with rotted wood?”

  Grak is surprised he didn’t notice the man. And embarrassed that someone could be slacking off right under his nose. And furious since he’s already warned Sando about this twice today. He’s tempted to take action immediately.

  No. Best to wait for Loren to leave. Don’t want anyone jumping to defend the lazy, decrepit twit like earlier.

  “Yes. The one with rotted wood.” He’s careful not to add pleasantries, lest it charm her into lingering.

  And it works. She gives a slight nod before picking up the barrel once more. Without another word, she strolls over to the cart and unloads her burden.

  But to his dismay, she follows this with a slow, elaborate stretch that Grak finds unnecessary. Still, it doesn’t last too long. And after a dawdling check of the harness knot, Loren finally heads back the way she came.

  Grak takes a deep breath, thankful that his patience held out. Now, with all obstacles to his leading eliminated, he heads over to confront Sando, gathering his anger along the way.

  I swear, this dullard takes more of my time than the remainder of the tribe combined. Some people think they can get away with anything. Laziness just comes naturally to them!

  Not me, though. Even when it looks like I’m not working, I’m still hard at it.

  As Grak draws near, Sando spots him approaching. The man sways to his feet, then begins rummaging through some nearby sacks.

  “Sando! Still with the sacks? How long ago did I give you this task? And you’re still not finished? If I have to tell you one more time …” Grak suddenly realizes he doesn’t know how to follow that up. “I’ll be very displeased.”

  Grak’s quick thinking discerns that the man might assume this moment lacks disapproval. “Even more displeased than I am now. I’m upset now … but my level of anger … it’ll be much higher.” Not quite enough deprecation yet. “If you don’t load those this instant!” Yes, now he’s satisfied.

  Sando rubs his wispy, white hair. “I’m sorry. I felt faint for a moment, but I’m better now. It won’t happen again. Please, forgive me.”

  “That excuse again? You can’t even be bothered to come up with something better? Well, you’re right, it won’t happen anymore!”

  Grak looks around for the nearest person. “Zacha! Come here!” She wouldn’t be his first choice, but no other option is close enough at the moment.

  It’s the woman’s wide mouth that troubles Grak. Always has, ever since he was a boy. “Greater inclination toward biting,” was his reasoning. And while the fear dissipated over time, he still feels uneasy around her.

  Though, I suppose if I keep enough distance, all should be fine.

  Unfortunately, the woman is approaching a
t a speed just slower than he’d like. Still, he’s learned to limit the number of people feeling his wrath at any given time. Otherwise it just gets too tiring. So he waits. Patiently. At last, she arrives.

  Grak swallows his annoyance toward her and takes a subtle step back. “Zacha, I need you to work with Sando for the rest of the day. Keep him busy. If he tries to slack off again, you have my permission to do whatever’s necessary to motivate him. I’ll check back later to see if his attitude has improved.”

  A moment of pity passes through her eyes, but is quickly replaced with acceptance. “Alright.” She nods, then turns to the elderly man. “Well, come on, then. You heard Grak. Let’s get to it, Sando.” She gives him an arm to lean on as they pick up the final few sacks.

  Grak monitors their progress for a moment. He soon realizes, however, that he has no reasonable standard for determining if their work is sufficient.

  I suppose ‘acceptable’ might be awarded here. Hmm, more like ‘good enough for now.’ Yes, I think one more stern warning might be in order.

  Grak turns slightly, as if to leave, then pauses. For added effect, he puts on his grim voice. “Don’t forget, I’ll be checking up on you.” He waits a brief moment while his words sink in, then abruptly turns and heads back toward his leader spot.

  Might need to keep a closer eye on Zacha. Can’t have Sando’s laziness spreading to anyone else. Maybe I should make an announcement. A policy of some sort. For the whole tribe.

  Yes, that could work. But it would have to be done just so. Can’t give Jafra any room to undermine it. And she would t—

  “Grak!” Frolan’s approach grabs his attention. A sizable hunting party wearing dopey grins trails behind the man.

  What are they up to? Always something more to handle. I doubt anyone understands how much work it is to lead.

  “Frolan? Why haven’t you left yet?” Grak remembers to add exasperation to his voice. “I thought I made it clear how critical this hunt is. The tribe doesn’t have enough food to survive the trip, Frolan!”

  All are frowning now. Frolan removes his hat and hangs his head. A pitiful sight, to be sure. It even evokes a twinge of remorse in Grak.

  No. Don’t feel bad. You have to be impartial. Sometimes getting upset is necessary. Can’t even let friends get away with lethargy. That’s the burden of leading. Be strong, Grak.

  Frolan’s tone is properly contrite. “Sorry, Grak. I just wanted to finish this before I left.” He offers up a small statue. “I wanted you to have it before you set out tomorrow. Maybe it’ll bring fortune in your leading. And in your travels.”

  Grak takes the chunk of wood, giving it a cursory inspection as he turns the thing over in his hands. It’s been crudely fashioned into the shape of a man, around one foot in height, with an arm stretched above its head. That hand is holding a rather ordinary arrow, though its standard size dwarfs the carving in comparison.

  And yet, disappointingly lackluster overall.

  Frolan braves a smile. “Do you like it?”

  Grak hesitates. “What is it?”

  “It’s you, Grak! And your arrow from our last hunt together.”

  Grak considers it for a moment. “Oh … alright …”

  He inspects the statue. Not much of a likeness at all. Though the hat is a dead giveaway. Or was, until he gave it to Brak—a kindness Grak is beginning to regret.

  The man has been making a show of the cap and getting a number of compliments on its unique look. Grak had to make the point on his own more pronounced just to clarify that it was his idea originally. Unfortunately, this has caused “humorous” comments about the two men being related.

  Through our hats. Somehow.

  But the suggestion’s absurdity irritates him less than the loss of exclusivity.

  Perhaps if I increase the point a bit. Make it clear that mine is more unique.

  “Grak?” Frolan brings him out of thought.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Oh, right.” He ponders the effigy for a moment. “And … why did you make it?”

  Frolan grows confused. “I wanted to commemorate the event. Now that you’re leading, I doubt I’ll get another chance to chase game with you.

  “Besides, your new hunting strategy is becoming renowned. I’ve been telling everyone about it. Once you teach us, our teams should be able to spend far less time away from camp.

  “And that means more work getting done around here. Just like you’ve been pushing for. Thought we should have something to remember the day that made it all possible. To remember the man that made it all possible.”

  Hunting strategy? That again? Need to kill that topic once and for all. Could get awkward if I’m forced to teach them. Especially if I can’t produce any results.

  But how to keep the subject from coming up anymore? Maybe if I’m too busy? No, I’d have to maintain a stream of reasons. And look it too. No, has to be more permanent than that.

  “Grak?”

  “Yes?”

  Frolan looks worried. “Do you like it?”

  “Oh.” Grak weighs his potential answers. “Yes” should win the man over more than the alternative would. “Very much. Thank you.” He’s proud of himself for that last touch—makes him look gracious.

  Frolan grins again, from ear to ear this time. The whole team follows his lead.

  Hmm, still … probably best to avoid any of them thinking we’re too close. Can’t let them get lazy.

  Grak puts on his aloof face. “Well, you need to get going. Time is critical here.”

  Perhaps I should go over the plan again. Can never be too careful when dealing with these simple-minded types.

  Grak speaks slowly, adding extra enunciation to vital words for greater clarity. “Remember, I’ll lead the tribe toward the river, where it bends around Redfist. We should get there in two days.” He holds up two fingers for further clarification. “Then we’ll follow it south.”

  That might need clarification too. “By ‘it,’ I mean the river. We’ll follow the river as it flows south from Redfist.”

  They all nod with understanding, though not necessarily with full comprehension. But Grak is fairly certain they’ve never understood anything in its entirety. Besides, a partial grasp of the matter is all he requires at the moment.

  He resumes his normal pace of speech. “So, get as many kills as you can carry without encumbrance. Then return along that path to restock us.”

  Frolan beams with a youthful zeal. “Got it. Don’t worry, Grak. We won’t let you down.”

  He turns to his team. “Come on, hunters. We’ve got ground to cover!”

  At those words, every face lights up with passion. The brute sets into a quick run, and the others eagerly follow after him. As they thunder off, Grak looks on with a certain sense of pride.

  Good people. Dense, to be sure, but good. Just need someone keeping them focused.

  He watches in admiration for a moment longer. And as their rhythmic footsteps fade into the distance, another noise fills the void. It’s a coarse, heavy breathing, coming from just behind Grak’s right side.

  Startled, he turns to find Brak hunched over. The man’s breath appears to have gotten away from him. Brak removes his cap to reveal a heavy layer of sweat, making the pale dome unusually reflective. He pats his scalp with the head covering, soaking up the moisture.

  My good hat! This is how he treats a gift? Appalling! I certainly won’t be so eager to help him out in the future.

  “Grak,” he barely manages between gasps. “I nee—”

  “What is it, Brak?” Grak tries to remove some of the grit in his voice. “What’s the matter? Is there trouble in camp?” He looks around, possibly for smoke, though any obvious signs of danger would do.

  “Yes. Doran sent me to get you. We have a problem. Down by the shore.”

  Grak waits a moment, then motions with impatience. “And are you planning on telling me what this problem is?” Under better ci
rcumstances, he’s certain Brak would have agreed on the amusing nature of that one.

  The man takes another agonizing moment to catch his breath. “Oh, what isn’t it? Where do I start? Alright. A lot of people are pushing to stay. They’re causing a stir. They think the thing Doran saw will come back.

  “Others think it’s a sign. That we need to wait and see what it means. Still others are proposing that it means danger for our travels.

  “And then there’s a group of them—small, mind you, but vocal—who are saying that Doran is the only one who can see the thing. They don’t even seem to be pushing for anything in particular, but they’re scaring a lot of people.

  “And it’s all getting out of hand. Lots of shouting. Doran’s worried it’ll turn to fighting if we don’t do something soon.”

  This is by far the biggest decision of the day. Grak needs to look extra leaderly here. “And what do you think we should do?” He remembers the leader posture, though a moment too late for maximum effect.

  Brak takes on a pained expression as he puts his mind to work. “I have no idea.” He tries again. “None. At all. We need your help. Please.”

  The fool’s always shying away from responsibility like that. Afraid of confrontation, that’s what it is. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but in this case, a bit of spine would be preferable.

  Grak looks back at his hunters. Too late. They’ve passed around the cliff face. He won’t be able to catch up at that pace. Now he regrets having them take a shortcut. If they had gone by the shore, he would have been able to use Frolan’s imposing stature to settle things there.

  Should probably keep the man close by in the future. Yes. He’s a dope, but a loyal one. Almost to a fault.

  Perhaps I could give him a position in camp somewhere. Would probably get more done with him around. Certainly fewer arguments from the lazy. And from the devious. Jafra in particular. And fewer dullards getting all worked up about a crab, to be sure.

  But I’d need a valid job for him. Something people would agree to. That might be difficult. I don’t think he has any skills aside from killing.

  Grak realizes that he’s never really talked to Frolan about other matters. Certainly not about the man’s talents.