Chapter Five
Asher
“Dad, you home?” I called out.
A slight tingle of nervousness rolled through me when I saw the front door had been left open. My father was usually at the cannery this time of day, I often had the place to myself. I walked in, cautiously, my body tensed and prepared to fight if it came to that.
“Yes, I'm here,” my father answered.
I breathed a sigh of relief and put my book down on the coffee table. His voice had come from the kitchen, but as I walked down the hallway, that sense of concern flared up within me once more. It looked like a raging bull had run down the hallway, knocking down everything thing in its path.
“Dad, everything okay?” I asked as I rounded the corner into the kitchen.
I found my dear old dad – Marshall Blackwood – sitting at the kitchen table, a bottle of whisky in front of him. I noted with a twinge of concern that there was no glass – just the bottle. My dad didn't drink much these days, and when he did, there was often a reason for it. He sat there, like an older version of me, with his fists clenched on the top of the table, a murderous gleam in his eye.
“No,” he said. “Everything is not okay.”
I joined him at the table. “What's going on?”
“You didn't hear yet?” he asked. “God almighty, Asher, this is bad. Real bad.”
“I figured that out by the amount of whisky missing from that bottle,” I said.
I reached for the bottle to put it away – he'd had more than enough. My dad stopped me by grabbing my hand. We stared at one another in a tense silence for a moment before I relented and let go of the bottle. He nodded to himself and let go of me, sitting back in his seat again – picking up the bottle and taking a long pull of it as if just to prove a point – he was still the man in charge. The top of the Blackwood food chain.
“What's going on?” I asked. “Trouble at work?”
“Nah, I wish it was something that mundane,” he scoffed, scratching a beard that had more gray than black in it these days. “It's much worse than that, son. Luke was found dead this morning.”
Luke was my cousin. We were close, having grown up together, though he was a bit older than me. I looked up to Luke and he'd taught me a lot of things about our family, culture, and of course, about women. He was more like a brother than a cousin.
And now he was dead. The news hit me like a solid punch to the gut – nearly taking the wind out of me and putting a lump into my throat.
“What happened?” I asked, feeling like someone had stabbed me in the heart.
“He was murdered,” my dad said. “Found dead in the woods not far from the N'gasso compound.”
“Whoa,” I said, leaning back in my chair, absorbing it all. This was huge. “Any idea who did it?”
“Of course,” my father said. “We know. It was the goddamn N'gasso. People are afraid just to trespass on N'gasso land, much less kill somebody else on it. I don't see how it could have been anybody but N'gasso.”
My mind shot back to Mariana, my betrothed. Everything was set for me to marry her and the ceremony was supposed to happen within the year. She had already started planning the wedding, and this marriage formed an alliance between the two clans. Why would the N'gasso risk everything by doing something stupid like that? It didn't add up in my head.
“Why would they do something like that?” I asked, still stunned by the revelation. “It doesn't make sense.”
“It makes plenty of sense,” my father said. “They hate us. They always have. They feel like we impede on their territory with our business and –”
“But I'm marrying Mariana in less than a year,” I said. “We are combining our clans, uniting as one. Why would they risk that? We are going to be the most powerful clan in the nation, if not the world, once Mariana and I wed. Killing one of our people – and letting him be found on their land – it doesn't make sense to me.”
My dad sighed and stared down at his hands. They were bleeding – likely from putting them through a glass window somewhere, which he was apt to do. My father had a wicked temper – one of the less charming qualities that I inherited from him. But I'd been learning to temper my emotions. Control them a little better than he did. If I was to be the clan Chief one day, I wanted to be sure I ruled by reason and logic, rather than emotion and passion.
I didn't blame him for being so upset. I was pissed. Luke was my cousin, my blood, my friend. I just didn't want to start something with the N'gasso without all the facts. I didn't want to start throwing accusations without having the truth of the situation on my side.
“I don't want us going after the wrong people, that's all,” I said. “This could cause a war between the two clans, dad. If we went to war with the N'gasso and they weren't behind this, everything we worked for would be over. Gone. We'd lose more of our men. Resources. We could even conceivably be wiped out as a clan. And for what? Let's make sure they're truly guilty before we go after them. It just doesn't make sense.”
“You're right,” my dad said, rubbing his temples like his head was throbbing – which, given the amount of drinking he'd done, it very well might have been. At first, I wasn't sure if I'd heard him right, but he repeated himself, “You're right, son. Leave it to you and your logic. You're the reason this clan is going to go places, Asher. You think before you act and can always see the entire board, while the rest of us are locked into our own narrow little view of the game. I agree with you thought – it doesn't make sense. I want somebody to pay for this. I'm just so mad –”
“As am I, dad,” I said, reaching for his bloodied hands. “As am I.”
My poor father was showing his age. His mind wasn't as sharp as it once had been. His emotions ran a little more freely and sometimes he jumped to conclusions without thinking them through. His mind was slipping and as much as it pained me to see, being his son, it worried me in regard to the clan. I worried that the decisions he made on behalf of the clan wouldn't be made during his more lucid periods. It could have a seriously detrimental impact on the clan.
“We'll get the people who did this,” I said. “I promise you that. We'll get them.”
“You're going to make a damn fine leader, son,” my dad said, staring at me, his eyes shining with unshed tears.
His praise meant the world to me, but it was also a bittersweet thought. Me being a leader meant that he wouldn't be. And the only way he wouldn't be leading the Q'lapa was –
“Yeah, well, you're not Walking anytime soon, dad,” I said. “So, let's not rush things, okay? Can't lose you and Luke at the same time now. The clan needs you. I need you. So, no, you're not Walking anytime soon. Get that thought right out of your head.”
My dad nodded. As much as I loved the idea of leading the clan and the family business, the idea of my father leaving my life killed me. It was tradition, of course, and one that was supposed to be celebrated rather than mourned. My father had led the clan for a lot of years. Had made us prosperous. Vital. Had done more good things for the clan – and the town of Black Salmon Falls – than I could count. He deserved the rest and the freedom the Walk would give him. But selfishly, I wasn't ready to let go of him just yet.
My father would have the opportunity to live out the rest of his life in the woods, where he belonged. Where he could be happy and wild and free in his bear form until his final days. He would be happy. At peace.
Still, knowing that didn't make him leaving any easier for me though.