SAKA - Demon of Legacy

By Jera Nour

Amran Hamdan lives in Kehulu, a village so much in abundance it defies logic. For twenty-five years, Amran's father, Kehulu's de facto chief, rejects every newcomer to the village, prompting a nasty rumor to circulate among neighboring villagers. "Too many residents would burst the secret bubble," one said. What is the secret? Amran finds out, to his horror, that he had inherited a legacy so dreadful it made him wish that his father would just kill him. Just seventeen at the time, Amran rejects the legacy, having not seen a ghost in his life, what more sustain one. There is a price to pay for his rejection, causing Amran's father his life. But that is not the end of everything.

• Language: English
• Publisher: XinXii
• Release date: Nov 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9789810933661

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SAKA - Demon of Legacy

by Jera Nour

Copyright © 2014 by Jera Nour. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

First Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-981-09-3366-1

E-Book Distribution: XinXii

www.xinxii.com

Author: Jera Nour

Contact: [e-mail]

Cover Design & Illustration Copyright © by Jera Nour

Editing by Nicole Voltack

www.jeranour.com

SAKA - Demon of Legacy

I'm going to tell this story once. And I will never tell it again.

So listen.

Listen carefully.

I am seventy-eight.

I’ll die next year, next month, maybe tomorrow. But I have to let this story out once, and only once, before I die. If I die right after I tell it, the easier for me.

You're young, son. Twenty. That's a good age. For living I mean. Not a good age to be hearing this story. This story has a condition attached to it. I’ll tell you why. But later.

Are you ready?

I lived in Kering Hulu, or Kehulu as we often called it, a village close to the border in Seremban. Its southern edge met with a line of oaks that formed the forest's gate. It's probably still there today, if only by name, if I care to check, but I don't. The village wasn't very modern for that age, not backward either. The villagers, on the other hand, lived like they were back in the Middle Ages.

No, no. Don't ask questions. Not yet. I may end up repeating what ought not to be repeated.

Do you understand? Good.

I was born in a house built of timber and stilts. We were farmers: my parents – your grandparents – and the villagers. Sometimes harvests were so good my parents would take their crops by cart to the northern town and sell them in the open market. We had cows and goats for milk and meat, and reared chickens. We were never hungry.

No one in the village was ever hungry. Other villages not too far off suffered droughts, locust attacks, and diseased livestock. We were never affected by any of those calamities, or any calamities at all. Kering Hulu was known as the village that defied logic, blessed by prosperity and good luck. It could be our location, people said, blessed by the neighbouring forest, our land feeding off its nutrients. It was the reasoning I liked best.

But there was a rumour. A nasty one that came and went like the calamitous locusts, but which I didn't care much about, being seventeen and carefree. Someone changed that.

Ramdi was his name. A farmer from a village up