The Inheritance of Wrath Read online

  THE INHERITANCE OF WRATH

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 Zachary Sankey

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  First paperback edition May 2021

  Cover design by Florfi

  Map by Jamie

  Paperback ISBN: 9798595948944

  www.sankeynovels.com

  First Edition, 2021

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  This book is dedicated to Samantha Sankey: love of my life, light of my world and lifter of my spirits. Without her support and continued patience with my constant writing and reading, this book would never have been written. She is my inspiration and the continual support that I desperately need.

  Thank you.

  Prologue

  Even with a troubled love life and increasing responsibilities, Absal had no qualms about prioritizing his favorite activity: beach combing. Nothing was more relaxing or less demanding. Worrying was the farthest thing from his mind. As far as he was concerned, it simply didn’t accomplish anything. Too much worry could introduce ruin to an otherwise perfect day. And on his brother’s birthday, the last thing he wanted to do was ruin anything.

  Others said derogatory things about his brother Amnon. They said that he was manipulative. Selfish. Maybe even dangerous. Absal couldn’t say for certain how much validity any of those thoughts held. As long as he had known his little brother, he knew him to be reserved. Where some saw him as conniving, Absal saw him as thoughtful. What sort of thoughts he pondered, Absal couldn’t tell. But he refused to assume the worst.

  Waves washed over the icy shore below him as he made his way down. Like every year, he had waited until the last minute to search for a gift for his brother. Desperately, he hoped that something would show up on the shore that could save him. His heavy coat whipped around him as the wind howled. At least the snow had stopped. Penguins would make their way back to the shore in the coming months to mate, and he knew the beach would be packed with trappers when that time came. It would be difficult to search for treasure with traps everywhere.

  A crunching sound behind him woke him from his thoughts. He spun around to see Tammie standing there. With her characteristically sweet smile, she waved hello.

  “Looking for a gift for your brother?” she asked. Absal grinned and nodded. Tammie laughed. It was a laugh that cut through the cold air and warmed his bones. The feelings she stirred in him could only be compared to that time he stole a sip of his father’s pearl-wort whiskey. It had made his stomach feel warm and nauseous at the same time.

  “Maybe you could help me find something,” Absal said.

  “Perhaps,” Tammie replied with a flick of her long dark hair. Her deeply blue skin tone looked like his own, but he knew it to be much softer to the touch. “You might have to do something for me in return though.”

  “And what would that be?”

  As she sidled up next to him, she ran a finger across his arm and looked up at him with big eyes. “Just the small, simple little favor of marrying me.”

  Absal’s booming laugh battled the howling wind. It was not the first time Tammie had brought up the idea of marriage. And though he saw her differently than the other girls in the village, he wasn’t sure how exactly. Marriage was something that seemed too permanent to approach haphazardly. When he looked at Tammie, she gave him the same side-eyed glance she always did when proposing to him. She must have thought it flirtatious and enticing; which it was. But not enticing enough for him to make any permanent life decisions.

  “If you find something nice enough, I might consider it,” Absal said noncommittally. His attention returned to the gray, rocky beach he walked and thoughts of his brother.

  “Hey, Abs, I think I found something,” Tammie said. He was about to complain about her using the nickname he hated so much, but the tone in her voice was different. Worry replaced whimsy. When he looked at her, he saw that her attention was not down, but up and out. He followed her gaze beyond the waves to see something on the water. It was a large, brown structure pushing its way through the surf. A large white canvas filled with wind propelled it toward them. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. When he felt Tammie touching his arm, he turned toward her.

  “We should tell your father about this,” she said. He nodded.

  They both raced along the shore, back toward the village. Absal’s father, Vidad, was the leader of the small population of people. Though old and slow, he was of sound mind and judgement. If anyone might know what the strange thing was, it would be him.

  Animal-skin covered shelters appeared on the horizon. The two friends ran past the first few and approached the central building. Absal threw back the heavy flap that constituted the structure’s door and strode inside.

  In the dark room, Absal saw his father and his brother sitting next to each other, a cold stew resting in a nearby pot. The two men looked toward him with their bright eyes. “Father, there is something you need to see. A large structure of some sort is approaching us from the sea. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Vidad raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and rose to his feet. The two of them made their way back outside, where Tammie waited. Before closing the flap to the shelter, Absal noted a smirk on his brother’s face. It was unusual to see him smile at all, especially after hearing such strange news. With pursed lips, Absal turned and led his father to the beach.

  By the time they reached the shore, so had the strange object. Vidad offered nothing more than a surprised expression. The thing was made of a material unfamiliar to Absal, and the sheer size of it was daunting. But what grabbed his attention the most, upon further inspection, was the fact that there were people on top of it. Strange, pale people. They shouted to each other in an unfamiliar language and made wide gestures with their arms.

  A long, thin object, like a huge braid of hair, fell from the side of the thing they rode and the strange men climbed down. Defensively, Absal placed himself between Tammie and the first man to put boots to shore. Though truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he would do if they were attacked. He was never a violent person. And the strangers outnumbered them significantly.

  The first man approached cautiously with his hands raised. Only then did Absal realize how small the strange people were. His confidence didn’t grow, however. Large, heavy objects were strapped to the men. Clearly some sort of weaponry.

  The man with his hands raised spoke to them, but Absal could only stare back with wide eyes. None of the words made sense. But then, he heard similar sounds coming from behind him. He spun around to see his brother Amnon approaching. He pushed past Absal and approached the stranger, and the two clasped hands. Amnon smiled and spoke strange words, and his arm gestures were erratic, matching those made by the foreigners.

  “Amnon?” Absal squeaked. There was no response from his brother. When he looked to his father, he saw that he was as confused and concerned as he was. The wind died down. Inexplicably, a thick fog rolled in over the waves and enveloped them. Mystified, Absal watched his brother followed the stranger up onto the enormous object before everything disappeared in the unusual haze. With one arm around his father and the other around Tammie, he called out again to his brother.

  “Amnon? Amnon!”

  The only response was a condemning silence.

&n
bsp; Chapter 1

  Despite all the reasons Liwanu had to be angry with the world, it was easier for him to be angry with himself. A few meters away, a deer sauntered through a meadow. By its side was the inaccurate arrow Liwanu had launched from his bow moments before. The nonchalant demeanor of his prey remained unchanged as it flicked its tail absently. Behind his cover, Liwanu cursed softly and reached for another arrow. His fingers fumbled over the fletching.

  It was his nerves. He asked himself why, but he already knew the answer. Big smiles and slaps on the back would be waiting for him if he brought home a deer. And if he failed, like he always did, there would only be shame. Sure, his father would say all the right things. The things a father should say when his child failed. But his eyes always told a different story. Disappointment overshadowed every comforting word.

  After retrieving the new arrow, a strand of his long hair blew in front of his face. Absentmindedly he pulled it back, pressing it between his ear and the red headband he always wore. Long hair was a sign of pride among men in his village. Like other boys, he was allowed to grow it out once he hit the proper age. It provided a small amount of comfort on days that he didn’t feel like much of a man.

  A single bead of sweat trickled down his nose as he took aim. With a deep breath, he calmed his nerves and focused on the deer. It was positioned perfectly, left flank exposed. Liwanu’s deadly weapon was poised, aimed directly for the heart. Making sure his arrow flew with more strength than the last time, he pulled on the drawstring until his young arms shook under the strain.

  He would not fall short again.

  The second arrow buzzed through the air. It flew high over the deer and into an overshadowing apple tree just behind it. Only after an apple fell to the ground with a soft thud did the buck seem to notice that something was amiss. He flicked his tail a few times before sauntering over to the juicy fruit. With his backside toward Liwanu, he bent down to eat it.

  Liwanu dashed out into the open and raised his fist into the air. “How dare you turn your back on me!” he screamed, throwing his bow at the buck as it bounded away. He ran over to the fallen apple with the intent of kicking it, only to lose his balance in the wet grass and fall firmly on his back.

  “Having a rough morning, are we?”

  Without looking, Liwanu knew who it was. He sat up to see a large figure walking calmly across the field. The tall, long-haired man with a pronounced jaw was impossible to mistake. Liwanu’s father, Kosumi, was strong and commanding and everything Liwanu couldn’t seem to measure up to.

  His dark hair and complexion were identical to Liwanu’s. In his left hand was a bow made from the same tree as the bow that Liwanu held. The length of his father’s bow was scored with small notches, annotating each successful hunt he had experienced. Each cut was clean. Precise. Not a mark made in the moment by a man alone in the woods. Only Liwanu saw when those cuts were made. Back home, after the hunt, with a perfectly sharp knife. Intricate and beautiful cuts were formed, while the animal he killed sat behind him, waiting, sometimes for hours, to be butchered. Kosumi was a man that cared more about appearance than a lot of things.

  Liwanu drooped his head and picked up the bow he had thrown. His hand ran along the smooth, unmarked weapon. “So, you saw the entire thing, father.” Kosumi attempted to cheer up his son with a warm smile, but Liwanu averted his eyes. With a heavy sigh, Kosumi drooped his powerful shoulders. He reached out a large hand to hold onto his son’s shoulder, but Liwanu shrugged it away. Finally getting the point, his father looked up toward the sky and furrowed his brow, both hands on his hips.

  “Son, there is no shame in failure. It is a necessary step for everyone to take on the path to success.”

  “Well for me, it isn’t simply a single step,” Liwanu said. “This is the fifth time that I’ve come out here to hunt. Every morning I’ve been successful in finding the deer, but when it comes to taking the shot, I falter.”

  “There is an end to your strife, I assure you. It may be out of sight, or you may even be on the wrong path for now, but there really is an end.” Kosumi leaned in closer to meet his son’s eyes, but Liwanu stared straight ahead. “I am proud of you. For never giving up. You know that, right?”

  Liwanu looked up to meet his father’s gaze. His words and his eyes didn’t match.

  “Right,” Liwanu said. “Because what else have I ever done to make you proud besides just trying?” Before his father could respond, Liwanu sprinted into the wood line. After a few minutes, he slowed down to catch his breath. He drew back his hair and wiped the sweat from his face. As he did so, his fingers could feel the thin facial hairs and numerous bumpy pimples that were on his cheeks and chin. In a way, he didn’t mind the markings of his youth. They were about the only features that made him differ in appearance from his immaculate father.

  Upon entering Otari, his hometown, Liwanu saw signs of an imminent celebration. With his mind so focused on the hunt, he had forgotten all about the upcoming festivities. World Peace Day was celebrated by people everywhere, but no town could throw a festival quite like Otari. If nothing else, Liwanu knew that it would be a good way to distract himself from his morning failures. Of course, even in the middle of a party, self-deprecation could have a way of souring a good time.

  As he walked through the town, he spotted a short man struggling with placing a large banner on a fence. Liwanu grabbed the sign from the man and hung it taught on the fence before stepping back to ensure that it was evenly placed.

  “Hey, thanks,” the man said. “I guess it’s the peaceful spirit of the holiday that makes us want to help each other out, huh?”

  “Not really,” Liwanu said with a shrug. “It’s more like just doing something because it’s the right thing to do. Personally, I only like World Peace Day because it gives me an excuse to eat some really good food.”

  “You know, I watched you earlier going into the woods with that bow of yours. Did you get anything on your hunt?”

  “No,” Liwanu said. He turned his back and continued walking toward his home.

  “Don’t worry!” the man called after him. “I know your dad will get something for us before long. He’s always been the best at bringing home some meat. Bet you’re glad to have Kosumi as your father.”

  Liwanu ignored the man and stomped down the road. To his surprise, his hands were clenched into tight fists. He frowned, shook his head and kept walking. When he finally made it home, he was not surprised to see his friend Tummu lounging at the kitchen table. What did surprise him was the unabashed way in which his friend was eating one of his mother’s pies. Pies that were to be entered in a contest later that night.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Liwanu asked.

  “Trust me, bud, if you took one bite of this pie, you’d be sitting here with me doing the same thing. The cranberries are tart, you know, but not too tart. Just enough to make your toes curl.”

  With a forceful shove, Liwanu sent his friend sprawling to the floor. He then proceeded to pounce on him, sparring him with wrestling and insults. Liwanu recognized his friend’s superiority with the insults, but when it came to wrestling, he knew that he would always come out on top.

  “You couldn’t help yourself, could you, you fat lump!” Liwanu shouted as he switched from side control to a more dominant position.

  “You’re the one here that lacks self-control,” Tummu countered. “You’re only jealous because your mom made me my own pie while you were out hunting. She just can’t resist my boyish charms.” He flashed a wide grin and tried to squirm out of Liwanu’s grasp, but with no success.

  “Bringing my mother into this, eh? That’s a low blow.”

  “I’ll show you a low blow,” Tummu said as he feigned a strike to the groin. Liwanu fell for the trick, and as he moved his arms to protect himself, Tummu was able to wriggle free. They both scrambled to their feet and stared each other down.

  Inevitably, both of their eyes drifted toward the pie on the table. S
weet juices, flaky crust, crumble topping; all around, the perfect comfort food. Liwanu decided to drop his accusations and try a piece. The grin on Tummu’s face did not go unnoticed. Bite after bite of tangy pie entered their mouths. Within minutes the dish was nearly gone.

  “So how did the hunt go this morning?” Tummu asked. Liwanu frowned before his greed got the best of him and he took another bite of pie. A shrug was the best response he could muster. Tummu didn’t press the matter. Instead, he pulled a small wooden box from the seat beside him and set it on the table. Liwanu’s eyes rolled as Tummu put a bag of dry beans before himself and another, similar bag before Liwanu.

  “This again?” Liwanu asked.

  “You’re the one that got me hooked on this game,” Tummu said. “And one of these days, I will beat you.”

  “Look, Mancala is a fun game and all, but beating you every time gets old after a while.”

  “Oh, shut up and play me.” With a sigh, Liwanu opened his bag and placed the beans in the correct starting positions. There were many ways to play the game, but Liwanu knew that Tummu preferred Bao, a much more involved and strategic approach to the game. Despite its complexities, it only took a matter of minutes for Liwanu to defeat his friend.

  The front door opened, and a tall, slender woman strode into the kitchen. Jace was stern and had a commanding presence. At the sight of Liwanu’s mother, both young men glanced at the empty pie dish, then back to her.

  Jace was not known for her patience.

  The two boys jumped to their feet and quickly leapt through the window that the pie had recently occupied for cooling. Despite the pain in his stomach from eating so much pie, Liwanu led the way across a field and toward the center of the village. He hoped to find a reprieve among those setting up for World Peace Day.

  The festivities were well underway within a few hours. Aromas of different kinds intermingled in the air, reminding Liwanu of parties from years past. Smoked pork and heavy tobacco smoke might have clouded the other smells, but the sweetness of pies, tarts, and cakes stopped the air from becoming too thick or bitter. The clinking of glasses and chatter of warm conversation seemed inviting, but Liwanu’s stomach still hurt from eating his mother’s pie. Then there was the failed hunt. The emotions his failure incurred hurt worse than the stomachache.