The Inheritance of Wrath Page 2

  “You didn’t even have half of that pie and you’re hurting this much?” Tummu asked with a side-eyed glance. “You should be ashamed. I’ve just started my feast.” He accentuated his point by patting his own rotund belly. It wasn’t that Tummu was fat, but he did carry a little more weight around his belt than most. Of course, it never seemed to bother him any. His confidence was always displayed in his constant smile.

  “Maybe a walk would help me feel a little better,” Liwanu said.

  Tummu waved a dismissive hand and turned toward a plate of corn that was near him. “You go on ahead. I’ll watch this corn right here and make sure there’s still some left for the party.”

  “Yes. Please try to leave some for the rest of us.” Tummu winked in response, and as Liwanu left, he could hear his friend attack his meal lustily.

  It was near the edge of the village, away from the noise and food, that Liwanu found a small gathering. A nostalgic smile spread across his face when he realized what it was. There was an older gentleman that took it upon himself to tell the story of peace every year. Liwanu thought back to his childhood when he would sit and listen to the man with a sense of wonder.

  As Liwanu listened, the man recounted to his audience the fall of the old world. After war had torn the earth apart, destroying countless lives and years of progress, a truce was signed. To spare what was left of humanity, war was outlawed, and all firearms were destroyed. Even if the details of history were lost to time, the annual celebration of peace reminded everyone how fortunate they were to never experience war for themselves.

  In his recounting of the tale, the man included detailed accounts about the wicked people that fought their futile battles. Although guns had been erased from the world, the man did his best to describe how terrible they were. The sounds they made, the smell they produced. And of course, the total destruction they caused. Death and suffering were the blight of humanity and if it were not for the World Peace Organization, mankind would have perished long ago.

  As the story unfolded, Liwanu’s jaw tightened and his teeth grinded. Why was he so annoyed? Sure, the storyteller was trying to teach a lesson, but that normally wouldn’t bother him so much. Before he knew it, his mouth imitated the rebellious thoughts of his young mind.

  “You make out the fighters in war to be evil, but were they really so bad?”

  The man fell silent and everybody turned to look at Liwanu.

  “Violence is a terrible thing,” the man said. “Our religious leaders make that clear. And surely your father has taught you that.”

  “Yes, violence is bad. But those people that fought the wars sounded more like victims than anything else. Are people bad if they defend themselves?”

  What was he saying? He had always harbored certain feelings about the past that could be considered rebellious, but he never felt the need to speak about them. Eyes looked at him in shock and maybe even fear. His vision tunneled. There had to be a way out of the situation.

  “The World Peace Organization was established to save all of us. It was clearly God’s will. None of us can imagine the horrors our ancestors faced. Let us learn from them and strive toward a better future.”

  “All I meant was that violence is only bad when it is unwarranted. It can not only be used for oppression, but for protection as well.”

  The man shook his head and sighed. “To think that the honorable Kosumi could raise such a rebellious and confused boy. He must be so disappointed.”

  A sharp breath caught in Liwanu’s throat. His chest tightened. It was a feeling he had never before experienced. It was akin to getting kicked in the chest by a horse. And the anger within him didn’t subside. His eyes shut tightly, and he bowed his head toward the ground to try to block out everything around him. He could feel the oppressive eyes of the others staring at him. Then he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He finally opened his eyes to see an old, pale man peering over his glasses at him and offering a knowing smile. All of his anger melted away. “Who are you?” Liwanu asked.

  “Please, walk with me,” the man said. Without a hint of reluctance, Liwanu followed the man. So intrigued by the stranger was he that the stares of all the bystanders no longer mattered.

  “Where are you from?” Liwanu asked. He had never seen a man so pale and was baffled that he had wandered into Otari without word getting around immediately. Visitors were unusual on their own, let alone somebody so different in appearance.

  “First, allow me to answer your initial question,” the man said. “My name is Professor Alistair Baker. As to your other question, I am from a city very far away that you have likely never heard of. I assume you don’t receive many visitors in this village? I have felt eyes on me since I arrived in your charming little town.”

  “Of course we don’t get many visitors here,” Liwanu said. “Isn’t that true for every village? I didn’t think that the World Peace Organization appreciated people traveling very much. If we all keep to ourselves, war is difficult to come by, isn’t it?”

  “So, too, is innovation. Exploration. Growth and sustainment. By living in a constant state of fear, our world has suffered. So much can be gained by coming together once again as a humanity.”

  “I’ve never seen anybody that looks like you before. Why do you look so different from everyone else?”

  “I’ve always appreciated the straightforward ways of the young,” Professor Baker said with a smile. “We are different ethnicities, my young friend. Humanity is diverse. For instance, I am Caucasian, and you have what some might call indigenous heritage.”

  “I have never heard words like those before.”

  “Well, that is why I travel so much. To obtain and spread knowledge, mostly. I’m a bit of a glutton in that regard. But my exploits haven’t been purely educational. I travel with a small group. We have recently been preoccupied dealing with a large criminal organization known as The Crows. In fact, I heard rumors of one of their more elite members being spotted in this town. He is a rather small man, but always wears a dark yellow scarf to hide his face. Of course, you’ve likely never heard of him or even The Crows for that matter, in this quaint little village.”

  “No, I haven’t,” Liwanu said. “But they sound dangerous. How are you and a few of your friends able to oppose them so brazenly?”

  “My friends are not exactly what you would consider to be average. Believe me when I tell you that they are quite capable of handling themselves.” The professor stopped and turned towards him. He looked around them and realized that they had wandered away from all the crowds and noise. They were alone on a long stretch of road, and a deep fog was rolling in, despite the warm autumn weather. A shudder ran down his spine, but the gentle smile from the kind old man scared away the sudden chill.

  “Liwanu, I believe that many of us are much more capable than we could ever imagine. If you do find yourself wanting to know more about this, my friends and I are staying just outside of a small town to the east of here called Kanti.” Professor Baker pointed toward the east and Liwanu looked in that direction. The fog kept him from seeing more than a few meters in front of himself, but he strained to look deep into the haze. He turned back towards the professor but found that he was alone.

  He scratched his head, unsure if what he had just experienced had really happened. It certainly felt real, but even so, his memory of what had happened only moments ago was already hazy.

  Down the long, empty road he continued as he did his best to figure out what the professor was trying to tell him. He passed the small church that he attended every Saturday and a barbershop full of women getting ready for the party that evening. They took great care to cut their hair into short, stylistic bobs. And on a day as important as World Peace Day, he knew they would incorporate ribbons and ornamental decorations into their hair as well.

  When Liwanu found his way back to where he had left Tummu, he wasn’t surprised to find his friend still sitting in the same spot. The only difference was that his friend was asleep, head resting on the table. Liwanu stifled a laugh and grabbed some cranberry sauce.

  It was time to get payback for Tummu’s pie-stealing ways.

  Doing his best to stay quiet, he splattered some on the side of his friend’s head and then dumped the rest on the table. With a violent shake, he woke his friend.

  “Hey, are you okay?” he asked. Tummu jerked his head back, leaving behind a small puddle of drool on the table. He rubbed at the spot on his head covered in cranberry sauce. With his stained hand before him, he looked to Liwanu for an answer.

  “What happened?”

  “You hit your head. You’re bleeding everywhere. You need to see a doctor immediately.” Tummu jumped to his feet but Liwanu pushed him back into his chair. “Don’t move. You probably have a concussion. You’ve already bled out quite a lot.”

  Tummu looked at the clumpy sauce on the table, then back at Liwanu, who couldn’t help but let out a laugh. With narrowed eyes, Tummu took a finger and swiped up some of the sauce and put it in his mouth. He stood up and pushed his laughing friend to the ground.

  “Oh, come on, it was a joke,” Liwanu protested.

  “Wasting perfectly good cranberry sauce is not funny,” Tummu said. He sat back down and attempted to put as much of the sauce as he could onto his plate.

  Liwanu sat down next to his friend and grabbed a nearby ear of corn. The strange encounter he had earlier was forgotten, and before long, contests and games were well underway. From across the growing crowd, he saw his father setting up some chairs. Every year Liwanu’s father refrained from participating in the fun and activities. Kosumi had other responsibilities. Much of the setup was done with his help and supervision, and while everyone was enjoying the celebration, he helped to ensure that things didn’t get out of control. With the depletion of alcohol and sunlight would come an increase in violence and disorderly behavior.

  Tummu produced a bottle of whiskey and poured the brown liquid into two separate cups. With a sigh and shake of his head, Liwanu peered over at his friend.

  “Oh, come on,” Tummu said. “I’m not asking you to get drunk. Just loosen up a little. One shot won’t hurt you.”

  “You know I don’t like to drink.”

  “Look bud, even my parents had a drink or two on World Peace Day when they were around. And they had no trouble delivering their sermon Saturday morning.”

  “True. Still, I’m not sure I’m up for it.”

  “Yeah, well, you owe me for that prank you pulled earlier. You’ve been sulking all evening and need to enjoy the party more. Come on.”

  “Fine!” Liwanu snapped. It came off a little harsher than he meant. Maybe Tummu had a point. He took a cup and swallowed the contents in one gulp. His eyes blinked one after the other and his head drooped slightly. Although he didn’t drink often, he didn’t remember alcohol having such a strange effect on him. A strong heat pressed against the inside of his skull.

  “You’re such a lightweight,” Tummu said. Liwanu shrugged. Music emanated from the nearby stage. The soft and gentle chords were inviting, and several adventurous individuals walked out to the dance floor. Despite the slow and soft melody, all Liwanu could hear was the pounding of the drums. Boom. Boom. Boom. They seemed to increase in harshness and tempo, hammering against Liwanu’s head. He bent over and prepared to vomit.

  “Are you ok?” Tummu asked. Liwanu snapped his head up. Tummu gave him a concerned look. The dance floor bounced with the rhythm of the music. Laughter and easy chatter could be heard from all over the village. Liwanu’s eyes drifted to Tummu’s worried frown.

  “I’m fine,” he said. His headache dissipated after a few moments. In its place, his appetite returned. With an envious eye, he turned toward the food near Tummu and piled some onto his plate.

  Roasted meat of different kinds sat before him. Juices dripped from each slice, promising strong and memorable flavor. Beside the meat sat a variety of sides; from green beans, carrots and cucumbers to breads baked in a variety of ways, both sweet and savory. For a moment Liwanu looked at the bountiful harvest before him and appreciated it.

  His eyes then fell upon a dish that held a large deer roast. It was likely his father’s kill from later that day. Immediately his mind flashed back to that very morning and his failed hunt. It didn’t take long for his mind to then reminisce on the comments made by the old storyteller. As if he needed a veritable stranger to remind him what a disappointment he was in his father’s eyes. Idiot.

  “You sure you’re all right?” Tummu asked through a mouth full of food.

  “Maybe not,” Liwanu said. “I can’t shake what happened this morning. The deer was directly in my sites and I still missed.”

  “Don’t your hunts normally go poorly?” Tummu asked. Liwanu narrowed his eyes into a fierce glare. “I just mean, normally it doesn’t get you down this much.”

  “My failures just seem to be piling up I guess.”

  “Maybe some of this apple pie will help.” Liwanu frowned and shook his head. With a shrug, Tummu grabbed a large slice for himself and ate it. Afterward, he did his best sloth impression and slumped back into his chair, eyes half closed.

  It did nothing to help his mood when Liwanu saw his parents walking toward the table. Tummu smiled and waved, oblivious to glower covering Liwanu’s face.

  “I’m sorry for taking your pie,” Liwanu said as he looked down at the table. Tummu put on his best look of guilt and apologized as well. After a few seconds of silence, Jace responded.

  “Well, its ok, I guess. I know how hard it is for you to resist my pies. Especially when the two of you get together.”

  Tummu grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “It was all his idea.” The two parents laughed, and Kosumi slapped the young man on the back. Kosumi and Jace were, in many ways, just as close to Tummu as Liwanu. And truthfully, Liwanu wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “Father, I thought you were helping work the festival?” Liwanu asked.

  “I am. But I thought I’d take a quick break and see how you two were doing.”

  “We’re doing just fine,” Liwanu said. The ire in his voice had a strong bite to it. Kosumi looked down at his son, but Liwanu refused to look up.

  “Now son, I know you had a rough morning, but that’s no reason to be so glum. It’s World Peace Day. Enjoy yourself.”

  “Forget it, dad. Go back to protecting the village and posing as our savior. Just leave me be.” A few nearby people looked in their direction. The tension between the two men permeated beyond their own table.

  “Liwanu, you will respect me.”

  “Of course,” Liwanu yelled back as he rose to his feet. “The most honorable, lovable, perfect man in the whole village demands respect from his worthless son. You wouldn’t want a disappointment like me ruining your image, now would you?” Liwanu looked around at all the people that were watching. His headache returned, worse than before. And again, his vision tunneled as he lost control. Deciding that the best course of action was to escape the situation, he did just that. With a grimace, he ran into the nearby woods.

  The sounds of the party died behind him. And the further he went, the thicker the fog became. After travelling a short distance, he stopped. Footsteps followed. A slow turn revealed his father’s tall, looming silhouette standing in the dark. Liwanu’s head drooped and his hands tightened into fists.

  “Son, please, let’s talk about this. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. In fact, I remember when I was your age-”

  “When you were my age, you were already running this village. Don’t compare the two of us. I’m sick and tired of being compared to you. Why can’t I be my own man?”

  Kosumi reached into the front of his shirt and removed an arrowhead necklace. It was a family heirloom that he always wore. Liwanu couldn’t remember ever seeing his father without it. “I want you to have this,” he said. He reached out his hand and dropped the necklace into the palm of Liwanu’s hand. It took a great deal of effort for him to unclench his fist long enough to receive the gift. “And now I want you to understand something. You will always be a part of me. A part of this family. But you are, of course, your own man. That’s all I want for you, son. I don’t want you to be me. I want you to find your own path. I’ll support you no matter what that path is. Now please, come back to the party with me.”

  Liwanu looked at the necklace in his hand. And when he looked into his father’s eyes, they didn’t seem so false. Perhaps it was possible that he was being earnest. Doubtful, but possible. If only to end the discussion, he put on the necklace and put the arrowhead within his shirt. “It’s fine. I don’t mind spending time alone back at the house. You know I’m not a very social person anyways.”

  “Your mother’s worried. At least come say something to her before going home.”

  “Fine.” Liwanu walked past his father, but Kosumi placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I love you, son.”

  “I know,” Liwanu said. He didn’t turn. The thought of looking his father in the eye was not easy. What if his eyes disagreed with his words? Liwanu continued walking. He heard his father sigh heavily as he followed.

  “Well isn’t that sweet,” a voice said from somewhere in the dark. The two men both froze. Slowly, Kosumi positioned himself between the voice and his son. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not here for the boy. I’m here for you, dad. I can see why your death is coming at such a high price. I mean, look at those muscles, bulging with those big veins.” An audible shudder could be heard. The stranger spoke sporadically, with tone and pitch changing in strange and uncomfortable ways.

  “Step forward,” Kosumi said. “Show yourself.”

  “Are you so eager to die? What’s the rush? Why can we not savor the moment? This is perfect, after all. So many emotions and unspoken words hanging in the air. I’ve never had the pleasure of killing in such a tense and yet tender setting.”