Читать книгу A Hero's Heart - Joseph David Hightower - Страница 13

Lord Hanabashita’s dreams were equally disturbing. While being much the same as Heru’s, Lord Hanabashita found himself in the warm late afternoon sunshine on his way back into the village. As he drew closer, he noticed that the villagers were not at work busy with the daily tasks of the village. The hair began to stand on end the further into the village he got, for it was then that he noticed the Lotus blossoms hung from every door. He felt himself freeze from the inside out as he heard the eerie laughter of his great grandfather. He rushed into the heart of the village and as he rounded the last corner, the sounds of mourners filled his ears. He looked with a soul-ripping dread at the funeral procession in front of him. He began shouting at the villagers, but none could hear him because they had no ears, no eyes, they had only sharp fangs where their mouths had once been. They grabbed Lord Hanabashita and threw him into the coffin. He landed on top of his own body, a rotting almost unrecognizable image of himself. Half of his face was gone and yet he could speak, but it was not his own voice that he heard, instead it was the voices of his ancestors. “Why have you disrespected us this way? Did we not warn you of what would happen if you missed even one nightly offering?”

“I do not know what disrespect you speak of, I have always completed the nightly offerings without fail!” Hanabashita replied in a trembling voice. “Tell me what you speak of! So, that I may be able to correct the problem.”

“Last night, you left the sacrifice to your son, did you not?

“Yes, that is correct, I did leave it to my son, it was his 19^th birthday and I felt it was his time to begin the tradition of honoring the ancestors.”

“While that is an honorable intention, your son was not ready for the task! He did not honor the ancestors, he insulted them! He failed you and he failed us, something must be done to correct this grave mistake immediately or you will die!”

“What is it that I must do to appease the ancestors and correct the mistake of my young son?” asked Lord Hanabashita.

The rotting corpse turned his half face away and appeared to be communicating with some unseen beings. He looked back at Hanabashita and replied in a quiet, but deadly voice, “You must kill your son as an offering to the ancestors.”

“No, that cannot be! There has to be some other way, a different task, a different offering, please do not make me kill my only son!” pleaded Hanabashita.

“It is your blood, your son, or your wife, it must be one of you that must die in order for the ancestors to be appeased and peace to once again reign in the Lotus Village. Do not disrespect them further with more questions and arguments, you have the instructions, follow them! Now wake up and do as you’re told!”

Lord Hanabashita came slowly awake, and sitting up in his bed, he bowed his head and began to weep for the tasks that he must perform next. He willed the sun not to rise for as soon as it did, it would be time for him to make the choice of killing either himself, his son or his beloved wife. He prayed for the night to last, but even that prayer went unheeded, for outside of his window he could see the beginning of a new day.

As the sun rose higher and higher over the village, the Red Armor started his retreat. He threw out the chains that bound fear, dread, and torment into three small bottles, and with a last venomous laugh they all vanished into the air leaving only a faint black cloud and the strong pungent smell sulfur behind.