Of Gods & Grunts

by Kyrell Kendrick

  "The end," I said, smiling.

  Looks of pure confusion filled the faces of the audience.

  A question from one of the kids immediately smacked me in the soul, "Why didn't they just fly to the volcano on the giant eagles?"

  I gotta be honest, that was a damn good question. It was a question that I am sure Private Gonzalez would have been able to answer, with his D&D, World of Warcraft playing virgin wizard ass, but I didn't know.

  "Questions are for the morning, after a night's contemplation," Magron said.

  "Thank God," I whispered.

  "Was that story real?" Cloy asked, looking at me hopefully.

  I looked at her sideways and then nodded slowly.

  "So in your lands, an evil wizard took the form of an eye?" she asked.

  I nodded again slowly.

  "And created a ring to store all its power into, and the ring was entrusted to two idiots?" she questioned.

  I honestly got mad. "You do not call them idiots! They saved all of Middle Earth!" I retorted.

  She started to giggle a little, "It's so obvious when you lie."

  Deflated, I looked away, only to find Kayanaki staring at me. I brightened immediately.

  "She's pretty," Cloy whispered in my ear.

  I turned towards Cloy and eyed her, suspiciously, "And?"

  "Young too," she said straight-faced. "I'm sure she would make quite the wife."

  "Hmm," I agreed, thinking of a fantasy that geared more towards a honeymoon in my mind.

  "Imagine," she said, "her and you and the troupe, bouncing from town to town, selling trinkets, baubles, and stories."

  "Huh?" I said, coming back to reality.

  "Oh, didn't you know?" she said innocently, "The Telenathi are nomadic, and they never," she paused to emphasize, "ever, let one of their own go."

  Warily, I turned towards her. Her big brown doe eyes sparkled in the firelight as she sat demurely.

  I decided not to call Cloy out on her jealousy or manipulations. I was going to enjoy a nice warm fire, fair company, and hopefully no distractions.

  That lasted about two seconds.

  I recoiled as someone kicked sand into my face and yelled a curse at me. The voice was high pitched, and at first, I thought it was Kayanaki. I thought maybe I had done something to insult her, but no, what I saw was so much worse.

  "I'll fight you for Kayanaki's stomach!" the voice squeaked.

  I looked over at Cloy, whose face was actively turning from stunned excitement to maniacal laughter.

  My eyes were watering, and I spit the remaining sand out of my mouth.

  The camp went dreadfully quiet, and I was finally able to focus on my assaulter.

  In front of me, with a wide stance, hands on his hips, and a sneer on his face was a boy no more than ten. Well, ten of our years.

  "You want her stomach?" was the only thing I could blurt out. The ridiculousness of the situation was not lost on me. My eyes were still stinging from where the little shit got me.

  "Do not fight him," Cloy whispered to me.

  "Why the fuck would I fight a kid?" I replied back. "Dudes testicles haven't even fucking dropped."

  The kid looked embarrassed as I sized him up.

  Cloy whispered in my ear again, "This is part of their tradition; you must fight one of the troupe, to prove that you are a warrior."

  I whispered back, partly because the kid looked genuinely insulted that I said his testicles haven't even dropped, and partly because I had no fucking clue what was happening.

  "Why did they send a kid?" I asked, confused.

  "It's a compliment. They have sent the least of their warriors, knowing you could easily defeat him," she whispered back.

  "Fighting for her stomach?" I asked like an idiot.

  She pointed to her womb area, or whatever the medical term for that spot is. Realization finally dawned on me, and I had a decent grasp of the situation, but I needed a little more information.

  "We literally just met," I said, and then added, "We literally only said hi."

  "Your reputation obviously preceded you," she said, smiling.

  I finally understood exactly what was happening. With me in their troupe, their clout would skyrocket, and few would dare to raid them. They were bribing me. I guess my desire to hide who I was didn’t work out.

  "Damn, that's one hell of a bribe," I said, searching for Kayanaki.

  She was beautiful, but well, I guess I'm more of a feminist than I like to admit.

  I then stood.

  The kid quivered a little but stood his ground.

  "Look," I said to the crowd, "You guys have been great, really. But I uh, am already promised, and I couldn't possibly, um, take the hand or, I guess uh, stomach of the beautiful Kayanaki," I said, stumbling over myself.

  Magron smirked a little, and to my surprise, didn't let my little speech go unanswered.

  "What's her name," she said like a bunch of friends asking about that one Canadian girlfriend you happened to make out with at summer camp.

  Now, this is where I fucked up and fucked up bad. Short of the high-class courtesans or whatever the nice name for a hooker is, I knew almost no women or men in Teletha. I panicked.

  "Cloy," I said, glancing back at my companion.

  "Oh honey," Cloy let out flatly as if the idea of being promised to me was disgusting.

  Magron was no fool, and she knew she would get nothing but bullshit the rest of the night from us. She also has a petty streak to her.

  "Well then," she said, crossing her arms and smacking her lips, "You too will have the honor of residing in the coupling tent tonight."

  Cheers erupted, and the music began once more; however, the tune changed. It was no longer the Irish Jig, but more of what you would hear if a Cocker Spaniel and a mutt were eating spaghetti together.

  Cloy slammed my M4 into my chest, grabbed my arm roughly, and dragged me towards a tent in the center of the camp.

  "Fucking idiot," she said under her breath.

  I wasn't sure if I was proud or scared that she picked up my cursing, but I was sure I was going to regret the night.

  Chapter 14

  Some mornings you wake up to a gentle whistling of the winds making their way through the leaves. Sometimes your mother rubs your leg gently and whispers, "Time to get up, sweety." Other times, your obviously angry road companion throws a cup of cold water in your face.

  "What the fuck?" I asked, wiping away the icy remnants.

  "It's first light, honey," she said with a fake smile.

  I was not drunk when I went to sleep, and per Cloy's instructions, I did not sleep on the floor or leave the tent. Also, per Cloy's instructions, I did not touch her. I knew that, because my dick wasn't cut off and thrown into the chamber pot.

  Without another word, she stormed out of the tent.

  I sat there at least a minute, trying to recount what I had done through the night to deserve her harassment. I mean, after all, she practically begged for her to come with me, and now it seemed like she was somehow my sister, or mother or whatever the fuck we were.

  I relieved myself, grabbed my carbine, and exited the coupling tent.

  My plate carrier and assault pack were piled neatly next to the opening. I slowly donned my armor while looking around. Few in the camp were awake, only a guard sitting in a makeshift tower on top of a wagon, and what looked like a cook, stoking the fire.

  I beelined towards the flickering warmth and proceeded to toast my hands for about ten seconds per side.

  As a soldier, I used to hate mornings. Stand to, shaving with ice-cold water, SI checks, and the like always caused mornings to be shit awful. Nowadays, however, I found mornings to be like any other part of the day.

  I was halfway into dethawing my nose when I saw Cloy saddling Rover.

  A second later, she was up on her own horse. "Long day ahead of us," she said without emotion and kicked off down the road.

  I thought about letting her go
on her own, you know, try to teach her a lesson or two. What those lessons were, I wasn't sure. I mean, obviously, she was mad at me, but I still had no fucking clue as to why.

  Begrudgingly, I left the warm fire and made my way to Rover.

  "How'd you sleep, dude?" I asked him.

  His ears perked up at my approach, and I pulled a carrot from my pack. At least I think it was a carrot. It wasn't orange, but more dark purple. It was shaped like a carrot and had green on top.

  Rover munched on his treat while I checked my cargo to ensure all of my stuff was still where it was supposed to be.

  After my inventory was complete, I donned my plate carrier and hopped up onto my faithful steed.

  It didn't take long to catch up to Cloy, who apparently hadn't left in a gallop. Donkey trailing behind.

  Now I like to think of myself as an intelligent man. I was accepted into Auburn University -- War Damn Eagle -- and graduated as Distinguished Honor Graduate in BLC and ALC. So, of course, I knew exactly why Cloy was mad at me.

  "I'm sorry I found the other girl attractive," I said without preamble.

  She looked back at me, rolled her eyes, and hit the flanks of her horse.

  I have been known to be wrong from time to time.

  I caught up to Cloy, and this time didn't try to eke out why she was mad.

  We rode in silence for at least an hour until we heard a rider coming up behind us quickly.

  I jerked my horse to the side, rotated my selector switch to single pew, and raised it towards whatever was running.

  A large horse, the type that pulls wagons, was covered in blood and had an arrow sticking out of its rear flank.

  As it galloped past, I stopped and looked at Cloy. The horse appeared familiar.

  Her eyes were wide in horror.

  "That was one of the Telenathis horses!" she said, as she wheeled her own mare around and started back down the trail.

  Not waiting for a moment, I turned around and followed her.

  Several thoughts ran through my mind, none of them good.

  "What are you thinking?" I called over to Cloy.

  "That was an orak arrow," she said sternly.

  Fucking oraks.

  "And your plan is what?" I asked, trying to give her some calm as we galloped back along the road.

  "I just," she paused and brought her horse to a trot.

  I knew exactly what she meant. She was powerless to do something while good people were being murdered, or worse.

  "We have to do something," she pleaded.

  "Yeah," I said, "We're not just going to ignore this, but we gotta head back smartly."

  She just nodded.

  It only took about fifteen minutes before we saw the smoke. It looked like the Telenathi packed up and broke camp shortly after we departed.

  We rode another five miles before we finally hit a hilltop high enough that we could make out the source of the fire. I pulled my M4 to my shoulder and examined the camp through the four times magnification of my ACOG.

  What I saw was, unfortunately, what I had expected. Dead Telenathi laid about chaotically. Clothes, pots, and other items were flung about haphazardly.

  "What do you see?" Cloy asked somberly.

  "Nothing good," I replied, and then added, "No oraks though. Nothing's moving."

  She put her hand over her eyes in an effort to see better. We were still over a click out, and I could barely make out bodies even with my scope.

  Two of the wagons were smoldering.

  "Come on," I said, lowering the carbine.

  I don't need to tell you that I was worried about the Telanathi. Even on modern Earth, humans could be brutal, vicious monsters. The oraks were way worse.

  We rode without a word to the area, and after examining it from about a hundred meters, I determined that it was safe to move in.

  The smell of blood, burned wood, and feces hung in the air. Several of the adult Telenathi laid about, large gashes splitting their stomachs or chests. Lifeless eyes stared into the blue sky.

  I was told once by an old drunken city guard that oraks didn't like to behead their enemies because they found it to be unfulfilling. They wanted to see their victim's faces when they pulled the life from their body.

  "I don't recognize this tribe, or clan, or herd, or whatever a group of oraks is called," Cloy said, examining another arrow that was stuck into the charred husk of a wagon.

  "The proper nomenclature is a douche," I said, trying to add levity to the grisly situation.

  She looked at me quizzically.

  Apparently, the magic that translated my language to Telethan and vice versa couldn't translate the word douche. It had happened before, especially with proper nouns or modern inventions like a jet fighter.

  "OK," she said, "The douche of oraks is new, I think."

  My face soured instantly.

  "What?" she asked, looking around.

  "You guys don't have a word for," I stopped, not wanting to dwell on the implications.

  We investigated further, and I heard Cloy give out a loud gasp.

  I double-timed over to her.

  She was standing by a charred wagon, a hand over her mouth.

  "I will kill every one of those foul beasts," she said under her breath.

  I looked in the back of the wagon and found a dozen tiny burned corpses. The way they were positioned, and the remnants of rope around their ankles and wrists told me they were alive when they were stuffed in the wagon.

  Levity was over.

  A few times in my life have I actually been angry. Like bloodthirsty rage angry. I'm usually pretty laid back.

  When I was in high school, there were always people who were angry about homework or politics or other things. I used to pretend to be just as angry, to show them that I cared. I never gave a shit if Mister Phillips assigned an extra bit of homework. Chances were, I wasn't going to do it anyway.

  Assholes preaching in the streets for their stupid dictatorial ideals made me angry. Con men squeezing every penny out of a widow made me angry. Nothing, however, made me as angry as charred corpses of kids.

  Without another word, I jumped on Rover and started following the large trail the oraks had left behind. They made no effort to disguise their tracks, and I was disgusted to see numerous streaks of blood splotches among the tall grass.

  I followed the trail for a few miles until I heard noises on the far side of an IV line.

  Dismounting Rover, and donning my ACH, I crept forward cautiously until just my eyes were above the crest.

  The douche of oraks were dragging five Telenathi behind them, all bound by a rope around their necks. Most of them had bloodstains on the backs of their shirts, and more than one was favoring a leg.

  All of the prisoners were female.

  I brought my ACOG up and scanned the horizon to determine where they were taking them.

  I wasn't too sure about orak society, and to be honest, I'm still pretty ignorant of the piggies. Fact is and was, oraks need shelter, just like humans. I scanned and found a group of hovels off in the distance.

  The slow sound of something crawling up to my side didn't startle me, because only a clumsy civilian could be that fucking noisy.

  "They're just on the other side, maybe a hundred paces from us," I whispered. I was proud of myself for converting meters to paces without having to be told to do so. I was becoming a true Telethan.

  As if I needed to be reminded, she said, "They'll do worse than murder those poor women. We need to rescue them tonight."

  I turned my head and gave her my biggest no shit look.

  She scowled back, stood up, and yelled.

  I'm not sure if every woman is insane, or just the ones that are near me at any given time.

  "What the fuck are you doing?" I said in one of those whispers that is louder than a yell.

  She waved her hands over her head and said, "Please let them go! I have gold! I will pay you!"

  The oraks were about
one hundred meters out when she stood up, and I already had my M4 sitting on the top of the IV line. For those who have shot an M4 with an ACOG at a target, they know that a group of people about twice the size of a human at one hundred meters isn't exactly what we would call a difficult shot. I'm certain there are even Air Force Hotel Clerks who could make that shot.

  So I rotated my selector switch from safe to semi and scanned my lane.

  There were ten oraks walking towards us, with just one left to watch the prisoners.

  I read somewhere that the best snipers, when defending their positions, shoot the rear bad guys first. I'm no Sergeant York, but I did my best.

  At one hundred meters, the bullet of an M4 is still on its upward trajectory. Since I was zero'd at three hundred meters, I had to aim a little low on the orak to make sure I hit a nice spot. I put the chevron right at the beast's heart and squeezed the trigger.

  My shoulder felt the familiar kick of the carbine, and my ears started to ring.

  I never took my eye off the target, and I smiled wickedly as a barely visible red mist exploded out the back of the orak's head. His body went ragdoll, and he dropped.

  Almost in unison, Cloy dropped down next to me, clapping her hands to the side of her head.

  The ten oraks approaching me hesitated and then raised their weapons.

  I had thirty rounds left, and ten oraks charging me. The average orak could probably make a flat one hundred meter run in about ten seconds. I had fifteen because of the terrain.

  I calmed myself. I had been in firefights before against people shooting back. Oraks running at me, while a little scary, was nothing like experiencing the cracks and whizzes of rounds flying overhead.

  I stayed in my prone supported position and transitioned easily from orak to orak, working steadily from right to left.

  Unlike the large orak who had a bounty on him, I had no restrictions on shooting these things in the head.

  With each pull of the trigger, except the third one who took two, I dropped an orak.

  Within about eight seconds, the entire raiding party was dead.

  I then scanned the area and looked to make sure we weren't getting flanked.

  Once satisfied, I stood up and grabbed Cloy's arm to help her up.

  Her mare had bolted, but I was pleased to see Rover was just idling standing by chewing on some grass.