Would be a shame to lose that. The last shred of mother.
Grak lowers Slicer. “Alright,” he sighs. “For mother.”
He stands there in silence for a moment longer, avoiding eye contact. She remains on her knees, the weeping subsiding. But Grak isn’t sure what to do now.
I can’t kill her, but can I take her back to the tribe? Would that be possible? Or would she continue to fight me? Where’s Lago when I need his advice?
He looks around. There, some nine paces away. But the man is lying on the ground motionless, possibly wounded. Or worse. Grak’s heart quickens, and he rushes over to kneel at his friend’s side.
He smiles and breathes a sigh of relief. “You had me worried, friend. Jafra must have gotten you good, eh?” He pulls Lago up and dusts him off. “We’ll need to get you a good wash. And get some more jasmines. Soon as we get ba—”
Something large and heavy crashes into Grak’s chest, dislodging Slicer and Lago from his hands on impact. As he hits the ground, his breath rushes out, and his vision blurs. Consciousness toys with the idea of desertion.
But panicking clearly won’t do any good. He needs to remain calm. To that end, Grak focuses on his breathing. And it seems to help. After another moment, sound and vision begin to return. Another moment still, and those senses regain some clarity. Enough to see the man standing above him. And someone else. Someone he recognizes.
Grak attempts a commanding voice. “Dernue … we have no … further quarrel. The water shortage is over. Ask Kunthar. In fact, I need to speak with him. To officially end hostilities.”
He attempts to push himself up, which proves challenging, given his current fatigue. More complications arise when the large man notices the effort and stomps on Grak’s chest, forcing him back to the ground.
A slight grin flashes on Dernue’s face before she can hide it. “Yes, we know about the water shortage.” Her voice is dry and thoughtful. “As for Kunthar, he’s not around anymore. Died in battle. So unfortunate.” The satisfied tone betrays her words. “Took a knife in the back. Ironically, it happened while he was attempting to stop the battle. A shame.”
Dernue spots Lago and shudders slightly. She bends over and picks up the staff. Grak moves instinctively to protect his friend, but the large man’s foot proves too strong.
Dernue carefully examines Lago. “This thing is atrocious.” The corners of her mouth turn down. “How can you carry it with you?” Her tone is a mixture of disgust and sincere curiosity.
She looks up at him suddenly. “Tell me, I heard a bizarre rumor. Do you sleep with this thing in your tent?”
Grak finds the woman’s arrogant manner repulsive. “Yes, Dernue. I do. He is my friend, after all.”
The woman stares at him in silence for a moment. Then she smiles something mischievous. Locking eyes with Grak, she steps back a pace. Her nostrils flare even larger as she slowly raises the staff overhead.
Grak’s heart quickens and his eyes bulge. “No! Dernue! Plea—”
The staff strikes the ground with full force just in front of Grak’s face. The wood cracks loudly on impact, but remains largely intact. Lago, however, takes the brunt of the blow and bursts into pieces.
“Lago!” screams Grak. He struggles vainly against his captor. “Why? Why would you do that? He was innocent. He never harmed you!” Grief quickly turns to rage. “I will kill you for this, Dernue! I promise! My people will come. They’ll save me. They know I’m missing, and it won’t take long for them to look here. And when they do …”
Somehow, Dernue’s smile grows larger. “Oh, I’ll be happy to tell them you’re here. You see, after the battle, Kando and I had a long meeting. And while we have much more to discuss tomorrow, we’ve come to a few reasonable resolutions. Agreements that will make further meetings even smoother.
“And you were one of those agreements. A fairly unanimous one, really. Anyone who finds you is instructed to capture you and bring you before a meeting of our tribes. To face our united justice.
“Then we’ll punish you. And execute you. But publicly. Unitedly. Properly.” She rolls her eyes. “Procedures.”
The weight of her words hits Grak hard, and a response fails him. He stops struggling and drops his head to the side, unable to muster the energy or will for anything else.
His gaze falls on the remnants of his dearest friend. He couldn’t save the man. He couldn’t save his mother. And he can’t save himself. Too much tragedy to bear for one day.
Grak begins to weep. From fear. From exhaustion. From loss. The sobbing is deep and quiet, slowly draining his energy. Soon, it softens, calmly fading into a whimper. His eyes shut. Gently. Deeply. Sleep whispers. Grak gives in to it.
20 - And Resolutions
In spite of the utter despair enveloping Grak, he’s fairly certain of one thing at least: he detests resolutions. Truly. And it’s not just a sudden realization either. He’s given it a great deal of thought. Thinking, of course, being one of the few ways to pass time in his current predicament.
Rather cruel treatment when you think about it. Nothing to do. Not even a chair for comfort. At least I’m not tied up. Yet.
Grak peers out through the tent flap. He can’t see any shadows from here, but the abundance of light tells him it’s about halfway through morning now.
That’s another way he’s been passing time: by keeping track of time. As best he can without shadows to aid him, that is. Though it’s been especially difficult today, since his late rising gave no point of reference to start from.
Slept past dawn. Quite a bit, it seems. Suppose I was still fairly tired.
That’s true. He was. Though it’s also just another good way to pass time. The best, really. So he’s been sleeping more than anything else.
After his capture, Grak slept straight through that first evening. He woke up in this tent the next day, though only because of the sudden light when a soldier entered to bring him stew. Of course, hungry as he was, he devoured the food. Then, with little else to do, he thought about his difficulties for a bit until falling back to sleep. And aside from the few times he woke up to relieve himself and think a bit more, he continued to sleep until today.
And he’s found, to some surprise, that his sleep has been quite sound—in spite of the stony ground and lack of a bed roll. And better still, for the first time in a while, he hasn’t been dreaming. Just sleeping. Deeply. Sweetly. And he only recently woke up, feeling well rested at last.
Must be due to the lack of worries. I mean, sure, there’s the impending execution, but other than that. In a strange way, I’m glad I’m not leading anymore. So glad, I don’t even really mind what happens. They can go ahead and kill me for all I care. I’ve lost everything else, what does my life matter anymore?
Despite his melodramatic nature, Grak is being fairly honest here. He’s so relieved to be rid of the burdens that he truly can’t muster up any fear over his execution. And everything else, including his former prestige, simply pales in comparison.
Though the waiting is annoying. And the lack of a chair. It’s really only common decency to bring a fellow a chair when he’s detained. I would have done it if Cordo had asked.
Grak sighs. In all honesty, he knows that would have been improbable. But still, he likes to think it might have happened.
I’m not a monster, after all.
He sighs.
Or am I? Suppose it depends on who’s asking. And who’s answering. Not sure many from my tribe would answer with ‘no.’ And I can’t really blame them. Next time …
No. Who am I fooling? There won’t be a next time. Might not even be a next day for me.
Again, very true. Lakar, the soldier who brought his food yesterday, was kind enough to also provide some information. Apparently, representatives from both tribes met all day and came to a number of agreements. And it seems they were so efficient that the meetings are projected to conclude sometime today.
Decent fellow, that Lakar. I imagine we w
ould have been friends if circumstances had been different. Although … he might just be taking pity on me … given my fate.
Grak sighs once more. While he doesn’t fear his impending doom, he does find himself deeply saddened by it. And not for the loss of his life, either, as he initially thought. Nor is it due to the extraordinary pain he imagines will accompany the event. Even the feeling of defeat no longer rankles him.
No, it’s none of those things. Just … perhaps I should have … maybe done things … better.
As difficult as that is to admit, it feels good. Grak smiles weakly.
Hmm, I suppose that’s it. Would be nice to … well … fix, I suppose … a few of my … poorer decisions. Best I can at least.
But Grak knows how unrealistic that sounds, and he feels all the more saddened by this knowledge. No, that’s not quite right. It’s not sadness he’s feeling. Not exactly. “Remorse” would be more accurate.
Sounds about right. Remorse.
Grak rolls the word around in his mind. This inevitably leads him to thinking about the situations currently inspiring that feeling. And the people. He sighs.
The people. Now there’s something I could fix. Would fix. Maybe … well, find a way to apologize … to my friends. My former friends. Though I can’t imagine anyone’s still willing to speak to me.
Grak thinks about that further. Try as he might, not a single name comes to mind without exceptions.
No. Can’t imagine there’s anyone left. If anyone’s still alive, that is.
Grak peeks back through the tent flap. He hears the shuffling of his guards, but can’t see much. He’s certain of their presence, though. Nearby camp fires were casting silhouettes all around the tent last night, making it clear he was surrounded.
Wise, I suppose. Though it’d be nice if you didn’t need so many people to stand guard. But then the detention tent would have to be stiff, I guess. Impossible to break out of. Then you’d only need one guard. And only as a final precaution. Next ti—
Grak catches himself. He sighs and relaxes into one of his old thinking postures.
Grak shields his eyes from what he’s guessing is the late afternoon sun spilling in through the open tent flap. A moment later, his vision adjusts, revealing an expressionless Lakar standing there with a dish of food.
The man covers his nose at the stench of Grak’s waste. “Eat up. I’ll be outside. When you’re finished, let me know. They’re announcing the agreements soon, and I’m supposed to take you there.” He pauses and gives a slight shake of his head. “I don’t imagine it’s to exchange pleasantries.” With that, Lakar exits.
Grak eats. Slowly. He’s not stalling, though; his mind is just preoccupied with what’s to come. He continues on at this pace for a while until his focus turns toward scraping the bowl clean. That’s when he spots them. A slight smile creeps onto his face. This is followed by a chuckle.
Olives. And finely chopped.
He ponders them for a moment longer, then shrugs and takes the final bite.
All things considered, not such a bad addition to a meal. Could be worse, I suppose. Still … can’t say I like them. I suppose ‘tolerable’ would be most applicable.
Grak sets the bowl aside. For one final moment, he sits in silence, breathing deeply, calmly. Curiously enough, he still can’t muster any fear.
Hmm. I suppose it’s the finality of the matter. Nothing left but peace.
He takes one last deep breath, then calls out, “Lakar. I’m ready.”
The flap opens, but no one enters. Grak waits a moment, then exits timidly. In less than a heartbeat, he’s surrounded by soldiers, two of them placing a firm hold on either arm. Wasting no time, they lead him off like this at a brisk pace.
Once his eyes fully adjust to the brutal afternoon sun, he surveys the area. In the tent, he had found it difficult to smell if this was his camp, but now he’s certain it isn’t. Still, he would have expected to recognize at least a few faces.
Grak clears his throat and ventures a timid question. “Lakar … what I asked about yesterday … were you able to find that out for me? Are any of them still alive?”
The soldier nods. “Most of your council survived. Except Aza. She took an arrow to the side and bled out. And the other one you asked about—Sando—he didn’t make it. I’m told he probably shouldn’t have been in the fight, given his age and poor health. Took an ax to the stomach. Died pretty quickly. Rather unceremoniously.”
Grak sighs in deep despair. His heart shivers. The emotion is as surprising as it is painful. Must be the memories. They’re flooding in now, reminding him of happier times. He hangs his head, letting silence take over.
Father …
Grak is so consumed by these thoughts that he hardly notices when the babbling of a nearby crowd comes into hearing. Soon after, the soldiers halt. They open their circle just enough to give him a clear view of the way ahead.
He and his escorts are standing off to the side at the front of a small gathering. Most of the faces belong to strangers, though Grak is relieved to recognize many of his own people too. But something curious about the group suddenly strikes him, and he lets out a gasp.
Is this everyone that survived? From both tribes?
No more than eighty, he estimates. Their clothes are unusually tattered, and covered with more blood than he would have expected. Most of the attendees are conversing together, and many are staring at the newly erected whipping post before them. A few notice him and promptly sling insults in his direction.
Suppose I deserve that. And more.
Grak takes their abuse for several moments longer until Kando walks into view, causing the noise to abate. The man’s clothes are fine, fresh leather—a stark contrast to those of the tribe. He takes position in front of the post and is soon followed by Dernue, who pauses a few feet behind him.
Kando waits until the final murmurs subside. “My people!” His voice booms clearly across the crowd. “We have good news. Our meetings have concluded, and we’ve made a number of resolutions. Thank you for your patience during this time. It’s what made the process possible.”
He pauses to wait out an unenthusiastic and spotty cheer. “So, on to the announcements. The chief decision we made deals with our weakened numbers. In both tribes. There’s no doubt in any of our minds that we will not survive without greater strength. So, with that in mind, we’ve resolved to join the two tribes.”
A hesitant applause slowly forms. At the least, people seem relieved that more fighting is out of the question.
Kando waits for the noise to die down. “But that does raise some complications. We’ll have a daunting task ahead of us if we hope to truly unite as one. New organization is needed. New role assignments as well. And, of course, new guidance so we can all sleep easy at night knowing that someone watches over us. So we asked ourselves, who should lead this new tribe?”
A curious, yet subdued murmur ripples through the crowd.
Nervousness flashes in Kando’s eyes, but he stuffs it down and moves on. “And after careful consideration, we’ve come to what we believe is the best possible solution. My people … I am to be your new leader!”
As if on cue, Brak walks forward, carrying Grak’s cap. But the thing is different now, clearly altered for the occasion. Bright yellow threads have been woven in, forming a shape or symbol of some sort.
Branches, it looks like. How odd. But what type?
Grak continues squinting until realization sets in a moment later. He rolls his eyes.
These people and their obsession with olives.
With great flourish, Brak places the hat on Kando’s head. The crowd’s conversation slowly turns toward general acceptance. Soon, they begin applauding with mild enthusiasm. Though several faces still wear obvious disapproval.
Kando raises his hands to signal for quiet. “Thank you! Your love and support mean so much to me. And in return, I will not disappoint you, my children. I promise to be a fair and just leader. One w
ho handles all matters with wisdom and care. The tribe will always be my highest priority!”
He pauses as lukewarm assent rises from the crowd. “Now, there was some concern that my former tribe would be favored as a result of this. And we want you to know that we’ve anticipated this need, and that we intend to strive for equality for all members of the united tribe. Thus, we have decided that Dernue will be my supporting leader.”
The crowd responds well to that. This time there isn’t even a hint of dissension. Once again on cue, Brak brings a cap forward: Kunthar’s old hat. While it has the same yellow threading, the shape isn’t nearly as elaborate. It’s just a circle. And not even a very round one. Brak quickly places it on Dernue’s head and strolls back to his spot.
She opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted by Kando. “And it gets even better. We’ve learned how important it is to listen to what you have to say. We won’t repeat previous leaders’ mistakes by silencing your voices, my people.”
Kando smiles at the enthusiastic response. “And so, my children, I’m pleased to announce that you will have representatives! And they will be chosen by you, according to your area of the camp.”
A unanimous and resounding cheer breaks out. This is easily the most popular announcement yet.
Kando allows a little more time for the applause to die down. “And I know many of you are eager to hear about the water shortage.” That elicits some approval. “Well, I have good news for you. The best surviving theorists from both tribes have put their minds together, and it turns out we’re not running out of water. They’ve concluded, without a doubt, that the tides are a natural occurrence and shouldn’t be feared.”
Again, the crowd cheers. Though it seems many are still a little begrudging about that issue. A number of heads shake, and plenty of tears fall.
Kando spots this and hurries on to his next announcement. “And with that news, I’m thrilled to inform you that we also have the ability to move. We’ll begin packing tomorrow.”
More approval comes from the crowd, though many simply appear to be cheering at anything now.
Things Grak Hates Page 32