Of Gods & Grunts

by Kyrell Kendrick

  Moose cheese. Right? Who would have thought? That shit is fantastic. Smear it on the bread made from the various acorns and whatnot that the wood elves use to bake, and you have probably the best fucking sandwich ingredients ever. I know its a bold statement, but I will back that shit up any day.

  The guard acted like a buck sergeant whose rank still smelled like PX on his first urinalysis duty when I had to piss. Seriously, what was he thinking I was going to do, pull a knife out of my dick hole?

  I finished up, looked for a way to clean my hands, and did what I usually did in the field, grabbed another piece of food.

  I looked up at one of my two guards and asked, "So you come here often?"

  His reply was in elfish, but I was pretty sure it was something along the lines of shut up, you disgusting human.

  I was getting ready to let out a long line of insults but was interrupted by a horn.

  The guards both looked surprised, and for half a moment, I thought maybe they were under attack.

  A few seconds later, the gallery began to fill once again.

  "That didn't take long?" I mused.

  Judging by how long it took the elves to reoccupy their seats, they knew what was expected.

  We went through the same rigamarole as before, and just like before, I was expected to remain standing.

  After the king sat, he took a moment and said, "The accused will step forward and be judged."

  So I stepped forward. Do elven courts require five steps? Three? I suddenly realized how blind I was to everything.

  The high adjudicator said something in elfish.

  The king looked around to the court and stood. He placed his hand out before him in a fist with the thumb pointing out, like that whiny bitch from Gladiator.

  Three seconds later, he pointed his thumb down.

  "That can't be good," I whispered. Whenever is down good?

  The high adjudicator stood and turned his fist sideways with the thumb out just like the king. Three seconds later, he pointed his thumb up.

  There was a murmur from the crowd, and I heard a few whoops and hollers from the back. They were a mix of dwarven and gnomish voices.

  The high adjudicator sat and turned towards the commoner, who, in turn, stood.

  Not waiting any amount of time, the poor man raised his fist and thumb skyward.

  I heard shouts of glee come from the usual suspects.

  It didn't take me long to figure out the verdict. I shouted real loud, "Fuck yeah! Murica!"

  The tribunal stood and left, and we all followed the proper protocols. As the gallery cleared out, an elf guard came to me. He was taller than normal and had a serious look at him.

  "My lord," he said in perfect Talenglish, "I beg you, please follow me."

  Have you ever met a squad leader who was sent by a battalion commander to fetch a lieutenant? The squad leader had a CIB, three deployments, more kills than he could count, and he's off to fetch some wet behind the ears twenty-two year old, whose greatest accomplishment was that his daddy knew a senator.

  I was that lieutenant.

  I felt for the guy, so I didn't offer some courteous bullshit or platitude, and I followed.

  He led me through a maze of halls, stairways, and rooms, all carved from the inside of a giant tree. Seriously, this whole entire castle seemed to be made out of one giant redwood. Well, what do you call the equivalent of what a redwood is to a dandelion?

  I finally walked through a plain door to see Sykon sitting behind a desk. His feet were up, and he had a crystal glass in his hand. He gestured to a seat across.

  I sat as I was told, and the warrior who escorted me left and shut the door.

  "Now that, that foolishness is out of the way," he said, producing another crystal glass, setting it before me, and pouring a brown liquid into it.

  I picked it up and sniffed it, remembering the fey wine from long before. Well, medium before.

  "Dwarven whiskey, fifty generations old," he said, smiling.

  There was a finger of… I'm just going to call it scotch to make it easier because for fucks sake, that's exactly what it was.

  I lingered on what he said, fifty generations, not fifty years. Generations.

  I tried to do some quick math. Let's call it twenty years to a generation. For those keeping track at home, that means the liquor was a thousand years old. While Telethan years weren't as nearly as long as Earth years, they didn't exactly fly by. So I figured the scotch was as easily as old as America.

  "What's the occasion?" I asked, a hint of anger in my voice. The dude just betrayed and voted against me.

  He looked at me with curiosity, as if I had missed a joke or a clue.

  That look brought me into reality, and I suddenly realized I had missed so much.

  I was a child playing in a game waged by adults.

  The king had been my friend. He rigged the vote. He ensured that he was the one to vote against me. It was so simple, yet I had missed it.

  "To friendship," he said, raising his glass.

  Slightly embarrassed and thankful I hadn't opened my stupid mouth, I raised my glass and drank. It was smoother than a prom queen's thigh.

  Age, I would have thought, made a person more patient. In fact, it does the opposite. Older men and women state their mind. They do not hedge. The elves are very straightforward, as thousand of years of experience have jaded them.

  "Now then," he said, leaning back in his chair, "that that little formality is out of the way, we can discuss things properly."

  I sat back in my chair, mimicking his posture.

  I was a fucking moron, again. These people, and by people, I mean all the sentients on the planet, might have been technologically stupid, but they knew more about politics than I could ever hope to. The gnomish king had played me like a fiddle, and then the elven king had conducted a mock trial to save face and promote an alliance.

  Underestimate was the word du jour, and I had taken a giant drink from the word bucket. That's a stupid fucking metaphor, but you get it.

  "And what is there to discuss?" I asked, trying to find a little bit of backbone. The trial was a farce, and I should have known. I had actually been worried.

  "The hand and the voice are one," he exclaimed as if I knew what that meant. "Humans have broken the treaty, and now wonder beyond the forest. They enslave or kill all they meet."

  I nodded in understanding and sighed heavily. I needed to kill squidheads, not humans. The gnomes needed me more, I wagered.

  "I assume I am to stop them?" I asked, and then took a drink of the delightful libation.

  "Are you not a great warrior?" he asked, playing to my sensibilities.

  I was easily a foot taller than every elf and weighed probably twice as much, as they all had delicate frames.

  "Can I speak to you, plainly?" I asked.

  "Of course," he said, motioning to me.

  "Where I come from, I am," I paused, trying to find the words, "a soldier and a warrior. I am not a king, and I'm not a great leader."

  He thought about this for a few minutes, "When I was a child, I was told I would lead these elves. Thirty thousand souls would be mine to command. I could sentence an innocent man to death on just my word," he said.

  I drank the remainder of my glass. My head started to feel the initial hint of a buzz.

  Sykon lifted the decanter and offered me a refill.

  I happily accepted.

  "I realized that I lacked the," he paused a moment, "moral stamina," he finished as if tasting the words, "to make such a decision. I did not, however, lack the backbone to request help."

  I nodded, but in all honesty, I didn't understand.

  "I created the position of Grand Adjudicator, five hundred years ago," he continued, "and after trial and error, I added a commoner to the tribunal."

  "That help?" I asked, feeling the effects of my drink.

  "It gave a modicum of validity to my rulings," he said, putting the scotch glass down on
the desktop. "More importantly, it tempered me. Made me better. I am a decent swordsman. I am a middling archer. I have no arm that can hammer the rhythm necessary to forge a lucent blade. I do not have the patience to carve a greenwood bow. I have, however, been named the greatest of the Wood Elf Sovereigns."

  I pondered on this for longer than I was comfortable. The drink was relaxing me and breaking my inhibitions. "Wisdom?" I remembered the parable of Solomon from Sunday school.

  He nodded, "Sure, wisdom is a quality that is often spoken in the same sentence as my name. Wisdom, however, is not what has made me a great ruler."

  His voice held no arrogance, just pride. I nodded and indicated for him to continue.

  "I surround myself with good people. The Grand Adjudicator determines the fate of all who enter into the court, not I." he explained, drinking another glass.

  I looked at him, perplexed. "The tribunal, though?"

  "The tribunal shows that we are one voice: the king, justice, and the commoners. I never argue with the grand adjudicator. I provide him my insights, as does the commoner, but he makes a recommendation, I always follow it."

  "You voted me guilty," I said, the drink loosening my tongue.

  "Of course," he said as if the notion were obvious.

  It was a test—a test to get me to think a little.

  "You needed to save face. Your proclamation that all humans were enemies was a necessary burden. If you voted against your own law, you would be seen as confused or inept," I said, taking a breath and a drink to collect my thoughts. "You knew I wasn't a follower of Bolokbal from our first meeting, maybe before that. You also knew I was something different from the others. There is no way you would have let an enemy in your presence alone," I said, thinking back to the second meeting. "You couldn't just proclaim I was a friend, you had to do it right. Do it formally and legally."

  He smiled, stood up, and walked to a large armoire. He removed a key from his pocket, unlocked the chest, and pulled for the most glorious thing on the planet, my M4.

  I smiled broadly, "Thank God!"

  "An interesting weapon," he mused as he handed it to me.

  There was no magazine in the well, and the weapon was clean enough to pass even the crankiest First Sergeant's inspection.

  I pulled the charging handle back and listened as the buffer spring ran smoothly through its tube. No scraping of built-up carbon, no improper resistance, my baby was washed and ready to run.

  I conducted a functions check and found it to be in tip-top shape.

  Sykon watched me with bemusement, "My grandest sage has told me the design is near perfection, simple yet somehow unachievable with even our greatest smiths. Tell me, was it given by a god?"

  "I guess you could call Stoner a god," I quipped.

  "The stories from the prisoners you rescued spun a web of fantastic sights and sounds. We did not believe that humans possessed such weapons or magic. We were wrong," he said, producing three empty shells.

  I frowned slightly; that was more ammo I would never get back.

  Sykon retrieved my plate carrier, ACH, multicams, and boots from the armoire and placed them on the floor near me. They had all been washed and looked better than before. Even the holes had been patched.

  "This camouflage is effective, but still fails compared to one of our ranger cloaks," he noted. Sykon then held up my PVS-14. "This, however, is truly a gift from a god."

  "Yeah, it's OK," I said nonchalantly. If I had only been a selfish squad leader and got the cool thermal ones, I would be really unstoppable.

  Finally, Sykon brought my ruck out and placed it in front of me. The familiar jingle of batteries and empty casings filled the room.

  "I appreciate you returning this to me," I said as I inventoried my equipment.

  "Your thanks is unwarranted," he said, "It is yours by right."

  "Regardless, your hospitality is awesome!"

  He nodded.

  "Consider this a formal extension of friendship," he said.

  I nodded in the same way he had.

  "Now if you will excuse me, I have matters in which I must attend."

  Chapter 27

  Sykon, like the Gnomish King, declared me a peer and appointed me a room that rivaled the best hotels I had ever seen. I had two personal attendants, a bar with five different beverages, including fey wine, which I avoided like the plague, and a bed that felt like it was made of clouds.

  I settled in when I heard a knock on the door.

  "Yeah?" I said.

  "The Dude, you have a caller, the Scoutmaster Arschtreten of Caramondon Hall," said a proud feminine voice.

  Apparently, I had a guard too.

  In my most haughty voice, I said, "Tell the Scoutmaster Arschtreten of Caramondon Hall that he is most welcome into my private sanctum, with my compliments."

  She didn't reply.

  Moments later, Arsch busted in and hugged me.

  I bent down, so he wasn't tackling my knees. It was also a super manly hug like when two manly men just killed a bear with their hands and drank a keg. Like I always hug people.

  We broke apart, and he said, "I'm sorry, My Dude! They snuck up on me!" Guilt washed his face.

  "What?"

  "It's my fault, I should have seen them," he explained.

  "Seen who?" I was still confused.

  "The elves," he whispered harshly.

  Realization hit me, and I smiled. "Arsch, you're good, man. No blood, no foul," I said, kneeling down in front of him.

  "I'm a Scoutmaster," he said, embarrassed.

  "Chibushka Glitterwing," said the female voice at the door.

  "Arise, My Dude, from this semi-recumbent posture, it is most indecorous," she said harshly.

  Who the fuck talks like that? I immediately stood up.

  "You are a leader, a peer of Sykon Autumnleaf, a peer of Tormund Diamondtooth! You do not kneel for a," she practically spat out the word, "Scoutmaster."

  I narrowed my eyes at her, "You poisoned me."

  She held up one finger, "Drugged you."

  "What the fuck is the difference?" I asked.

  She put her hands behind her back and examined me, "The difference is in intent," she stated, walking towards me. "A drug is intended to cure or help, a poison is intended to harm."

  "You knocked me out with a mushroom!" I practically screamed.

  "Yes," she said flatly.

  I stood there, agape.

  Long moments passed before I screamed, "Why?"

  "Finally, you ask a question instead of wasting time on accusations or statements in which we are all privy."

  Anger started to build in me. I was ready to see what happened when a 5.56 hit old Tinkerbell.

  "The keepers of this magnificent forest numbered threescore. They moved like the wind, made no noise, and all carried green bows," she said.

  I was about to ask something, but she cut me off.

  "I noticed them moving to surround us, ready to attack. Their arrowheads were horizontal and many. They didn't desire parlay," she said, walking to me and removing a piece of debris from my multicams lying on the bed.

  I walked up behind her to see what she was doing.

  She ignored my approach and continued to tour the room.

  "I had taken your measure," she said, "You are impetuous, brash, brave, and deadly."

  "Thank you?"

  She snapped a look at me. "I knew you would not lay down your weapon for any reason. I also knew you would kill many of the elves, but they would eventually kill you. With your death, many many more would perish."

  I never saw a single elf. I had no idea they were even nearby.

  "Does that satisfy your question, My Dude?" she asked, adding a condescension to the words My Dude.

  She was turning my sacred title into something to be disdained. It was the same way I had called my first lieutenant, sir, when he had us sweep the motor pool at sixteen-hundred on a Friday.

  I was deflated, and sheepishly
answered, "Yes."

  "Good," she said, "Now there is much work to do and little time in which it must be done."

  "What work?" I asked with dread on my face.

  "The work of transforming you from this," she gestured toward me, "into something befitting the title of My Dude."

  I looked at Arsch for help.

  He shrugged.

  Chapter 28

  I needed a montage. I wanted a montage. Unfortunately, ugly Tinkerbell was a meticulous tutor. She created a structure for every day, with literally no end in sight.

  "Sovereigns must grow every day. Tomorrow you must be better than today. Today you must be better than yesterday," she said every time I protested for a break.

  She was like an evil life coach, sent from hell.

  In the morning, I exercised. Not a little either. No, I climbed ropes, I ran along great tree branches, and I lifted acorns the size of beach balls. Acorns are fucking heavy. I never thought of an acorn as heavy before.

  For Arsch's credit, he did most everything I did, except lift the heavy ass tree nuts.

  If you are asking why I did this stuff, it was simple, I needed to change. I knew it, Arsch knew it, and ugly Tinkerbell knew it.

  I came to the realization in the night when I laid in bed awaiting blissful slumber. Sykon had declared all humans to be enemies at one time. I did not want to see humans massacred, or worst, become some sort of weird Nazi version in Teletha.

  Arsch thought me a hero, two kings thought me an equal, they were all wrong, but I wanted to be. I wanted it more than I ever wanted anything.

  Two months passed. The refugees returned with guides from the elves to their respective kingdoms. Only Bob and Arsch remained. Arsch refused to leave my side, while Bob just made a new home in the lake.

  Tutelage under ugly Tinkerbell had become routine, with each exercise increasing in duration and intensity. I was surprised by the similarities between my training on Earth to become a soldier and the training Chibushka inflicted upon me.

  The elves had up-downs, we had burpees. The elves had present the acorn, we had clean and jerks. Not a single movement was new to me. Chibushka even congratulated me on not being a complete fool.

  "Have you ever trained on the spear?" Chibushka asked one morning after breakfast.