CHAPTER 8
“What’s the plan, boss?” 38 muttered as they coasted the rest of the way to land.
“They give us what we want, or we return with a small army and take it,” Bullets said.
“So, non-lethal confrontation unless absolutely necessary, and if necessary, aim to shoot and shoot to maim?”
“Aces,” Bullets said.
“And Spades,” 38 muttered eagerly. “What’s our spread? Line up Shotgun style or fan out like Buckshot?”
“Down the barrel — full lead, no shadows. Marching in loud and clear, like a twelve-gauge chorus. Introduce these Vikings to the Mud-Kings.”
38 gave the order and the fifteen men behind him gave a verbal “Click,” affirmative.
Bullets eyed the GPS on his wrist. “Coordinates locked.” He looked around. “30.9675° N, 91.8227° W. Right around where the bayou bends like a snake.”
Five minutes later, they made it to some kind of parameter fence. Walking another minute along it brought them to a large entry where several Tarzan looking men with Barbie hair stood watch. Quite poorly.
At seeing Bullet’s, they both drew short swords.
“We come in peace,” he said, with hands up. “I need to speak to your Chief.”
“Who are you?” the bigger one demanded, blue eyes sharp.
“Bullets. One of The Twelve of The Bayou Bishops. Here on official business.”
Bullets made a noise with his teeth, bringing his small army to flank his three and nine so they understood the nature of his business.
“Get the Jarl,” he said, adding something in another language, not taking his eyes off Bullets and the other young man ran off.
“Much obliged,” Bullets muttered, barely tipping his hat while holding his gaze.
Five minutes time, a giant of a man arrived, eyeing him and his posse real good before asking, “What can I help you gentlemen with?”
His Nordic tongue put a heck of a kink on the English words as Bullets let him know, “One of The Twelve found one of your women in the woods with injuries. She said her husband gave them to her which is a violation of Bayou Bishop Ordinance 35--Marital Malevolence—defined as crimes committed by creatures masquerading as a man in an unforgivable act of domestic tyranny. Enacted penalties are immediate protective custody for the victim and depending on the severity and circumstances of the offense, the offender is subject to no less than five years imprisonment, with the possibility of life for the most egregious violations. I’m here for the Wife and the Wife-Beater to ensure the laws in these swamps are upheld.”
“We don’t belong to your clan or your laws,” the man informed, his words low with warning.
“Clan or no clan, if you live in these swamps, you’re subject to its laws.”
He again regarded his men before eyeing him. “We are a people of our own, with customs and laws born from our heritage. We”ve never meddled in the ways of others, nor will we bow to laws not woven by our own hands.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Bullets said. “Any clan that tolerates this kind of behavior answers to the law, whether they be our laws or the universal laws governing the heavens. And if I leave here empty handed, I’ll be required to return with a force you can’t deny. You have people to protect, and I suggest you do that by giving me over the Wife and the Wife-Beater. If you want a say in the matter, you’ll need to appear at the Weigh Station where his sins will be weighed and judged.”
Bullets held his hostile stare, waiting. Without moving his gaze, the giant spoke in that other language and both men hurried off.
“I will protect my clan,” the man said. “And you will surely see me at this Weigh Station.”
“Looking forward to it,” Bullets muttered, leaning to spit the acid these bent barrels put on his tongue.
For five whole minutes, Chief Viking Stares stood with his arms crossed, waiting while his men fulfilled whatever directive he’d given.
“Marsh-n-miracles,” Bullets finally muttered when they arrived with a man and a woman in tow.
The Chief spoke to the nappy headed dude in their tongue who looked at Bullets then the woman, saying something that made her flinch.
Bullets held his tongue since he was seconds from teaching him some high caliber lessons on respect.
“38,” Bullets said. “Gag and bind the Wife-Beater. Ma’am,” he called, holding out his hand toward the woman.
The Chief watched as his men did the deed then finally shoved the girl toward Bullets with biting words that brought fifteen gun cocks filling the air behind him. Bullets didn’t need to look to know they were all aimed at Chief Barbie-Doll Head.
“Smart move, Chief,” Bullet said, putting his arm around the girl, back to staring at him. The man finally figured out they weren’t moving till he was out of their sight.
Before granting them that blessed miracle, he performed another five second glare-off then left them to it.
He turned to their Wife-Beater and greeted him with a fist to his mouth. “Pick him up and drag him,” he grit, eager to get him to interrogation to learn all about his sinful ways.
****
Bullets didn’t like the way the woman attached herself to him like a puppy or that he had to bring her home. But he couldn’t find another alternative on such short notice and didn’t think it right to subject her to more humiliation among strangers. He lived alone, he had a spare room and as one of The Twelve, his home doubled as a sanctuary to any who needed his protection. End of discussion.
“This is your room for now,” he said, opening the door to the spare. “It uh…doubles as an armory,” he muttered, eyeing the mess of ammo everywhere. “I don’t get company much,” he grumbled.
He stepped out and pointed down the hall. “That door is the bathroom. My room is that one. Knock on it if you need anything that you can’t figure out on your own. You saw the kitchen already. Eat whatever you want.” He eyed her lowered head. “They’re bringing clean clothes for you. If you want to shower, you can. What’s your name,” he wondered, needing something to call her.
She moved her gaze a foot away from him. “Mia Juni… Haraldsdottir.”
“Uh…I’ll call you Miss Mia.”
She nodded, and he noted the slight tremble in her body. Skittish? Ashamed? Traumatized? Probably all. And it boiled his blood to see a woman acting like an abused animal.
“You don’t need to be afraid here. I won’t let anybody hurt you. You’re safe.”
A knock sounded on the door, and she gasped.
“That’s probably the clothes I told you about,” he said. “Stay here if you like. I’ll be right back.”
He opened the front door and 38 handed him a brown paper bag. “From Mrs. Leblanc.” He looked around Bullets. “She alright?”
“She will be. Where’s the Wife-Beater?”
“He’s sleeping on the rack tonight.”
“Good. I’ll start dealing with him at first light. You got the Watch Em’s in place?”
“Every inch of parameter’s Hawk-Eyed. Anybody crosses our border, we’ll have em’ in our sights, quick as a hair-trigger.”
“Good. Bolt the place down, I’ll see you at the crack of dawn.”
“Aces,” 38 nodded.
“And Spades,” Bullets said, shutting the door.
He found the spare bedroom door locked and knocked softly. “Putting a bag of clothes for you—”
It opened.
“Uh…this is for you. There’s things in it. Not sure what, I didn’t look.” He handed it to her, and she took it, pulling it to her chest.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice nearly inaudible.
“You’re welcome. I’m fixing a bite to eat. I’ll make enough for you and leave it on the table in case you get hungry.”
She nodded, hugging the bag to her chest, gaze still lowered.
“Alright, I’ll leave you to it.”
He went to the kitchen and got busy, but his appetite was shot to hell after seeing her battered face again. He opened a can of spam and sliced it up then chopped an onion and garlic. He tossed fresh butter into the black iron skillet and lay the spam in it. While it browned, he grabbed two plates and the fresh bread, slathering mayo and mustard onto four slices. He removed the spam and tossed in the onions and garlic, sautéing them. Moving the onions aside in the pan, he grabbed two eggs from the basket and cracked them into the skillet.
He angled his head, realizing the shower was on. His guts loosened a little, glad she managed that much. A shower would help.
He flipped the eggs, careful not to lose the yolk, then grabbed a glass and poured fresh milk into it. He added two slices of spam on her bread, then gently laid an egg on top, followed by the sauteed onions and garlic. He sprinkled cheddar cheese on top and laid the second bread on top and set it on the table with the milk.
He made his sandwich next and turned everything off, taking his dinner on the porch, giving her whatever privacy she might want. Would be curious how the Arbiters processed this Viking dumbass for his crimes. There were no provisions in the law that would ever allow for that kind of behavior with women but the one thing that concerned him was where she came in. The court let a woman determine certain aspects of the punishment and something told him she’d do nothing due to fear of retribution.
And that would be a fucking problem.
He’d refresh himself with the laws regarding that mess and be ready with a backup plan. Wife Beater needed to pay. She needed to be safe from him. He’d make sure of both, one way or another.
****
After her shower, Mia stood before the mirror in the bathroom, not looking in it. But she wanted to. For so many reasons. To see how bad her injuries were. To see what other people saw. What that Bullets man saw. Everything she’d been told about the vanity curse now sat in a giant cloud of doubt. Could she break the vanity rule at such a time?
She closed her eyes and gripped the white porcelain sink. How could the vanity spirit be such a threat while being so despised and detestable to her own people? How would a repulsive thing be tempted by beauty?
Husband punished her for looking at her reflection. But she hadn’t. At the water’s ledge, there was always temptation but she never fell. She’d overcome. She always did. She used the water as her training tool, determined to never give the spirit a chance with her. But even after turning of age, the rule remained. Even after marrying, the rule remained. When would she ever be safe from the spirit? Strong enough to stand against it? What was the point of resisting if you were thought to be a deceiver?
She would never be free. That’s what Husband had said. She would never be strong enough to stand against anything and would always need somebody guarding her.
A hot fury unfurled in her gut until her whole body shook again. She spit his sins into the sink, not wanting them a part of her. She would rather be taken by the spirit of vanity than fall to the thing holding Husband’s soul in its jaws. How did none of them see it? The mask of evil plain on his cruel face. The way it darkened his blue eyes before he committed its sins.
But her many prayers had been answered. Somebody else had finally seen it. She didn’t care it wasn’t her clan. She was not crazy and blind after all. Those men saw it. The Bullets man saw it. And just like her, they despised it. And if she wasn’t the only one who could see it, what did that mean? Was there another curse in the mirror with vanity? One that blinded you. But it had not blinded her since she never looked in it.
She turned away from the spirit portal.
She couldn’t risk being taken by anything now that she’d escaped. But how long would this escape last before she was required to return? What kind of punishment would she face if she did? If they believed Husband, they would fix her face so that vanity itself would be repulsed by her.
She remembered the Bullets man. He was like a mirror. He looked at a thing and you knew its nature in his judgment of it. He had the same gift the youngest children had. She could use him as a mirror. To know if what she saw was good or bad. Mirrors reflected things. Even things on the other side if you had the Seeing ability. The Volva in their clan had this gift but were they being blinded as well by another presence in the seeing portal?
She learned to see such things even without a mirror. Like the Bullets man could. He had mirrors in his home, and he still saw truly. Which meant he must be pure. And she could trust him.
Her stomach rumbled at the smells coming from the kitchen. She wondered again what kind of man he was. He had no woman. Even their Chief’s had women. He did not seem like a holy man either. He used…many words that weren’t holy. And yet the manner in which he used them wasn’t unholy either, that she could tell. He was in the middle of two ways. She had to be cautious until she saw what these strange ways were in him. So far, she’d determined he was kind. And safe. His eyes reminded her of the lightning when it streaked across a dark blue sky. And there were two things in his gaze. A dangerous predator and a powerful storm. One hunted things with intention. The other, even with its natural fury, nurtured without discrimination. But the predator was the dominant of the two. It determined what things deserved his nurture powers and what did not. Husband had been judged unworthy of the Bullets man. She agreed with his judgment.
Eager to see what she might see in this mirror man, she followed the smells to the kitchen and found it empty. She spotted the plate of food and glass on the small wooden table and her hunger erupted.
She flew to it and sat, taking a very brief second to thank whatever god was behind her recent miracles. A moan escaped her at the first bite. What kind of man was this to possess such talents in the kitchen? Her tongue and stomach rejoiced at this strangeness. She looked in the metal glass and guzzled the milk. When done, her body sank in the chair with the rejuvenation. Again, she thanked whatever god had mercy on her as she moved the plate aside and lay her head on her folded arms. Maybe she could finally sleep.
****
Bullets paused when he entered the door, seeing Mia with her head down on the table. He closed the door gently and made his way over. She’d eaten all the food. He leaned, seeing the milk gone. Then fallen asleep right there. Too exhausted to do anymore. He carefully touched her shoulder and she nearly fell out her chair, her wide eyes wild on him.
“Just me,” he whispered with hands up.
His stomach loosened at seeing the fear almost immediately leave her. “I ate your food,” she whispered.
Her one good eye bore right into him, the icy blue difficult to turn away from. But that abuse on her face helped break the connection. The swollen, bloodshot eye was pure fury fuel. “I see that. You want more?” He picked up her empty plate and glass.
She shook her head, her stare hard on him as he turned for the sink.
“I have questions,” she said behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder, then returned to cleaning the few dishes. “Ask me,” he said, glad she did. He had a lot too.
“Why do you have no woman? And children?”
Odd question. “I took a vow,” he said easily. “To not marry. Which explains the no kids.”
He rinsed the dish, waiting for more.
“Do you think your people are stronger than my people?”
At hearing the hope in her voice, he shut the water off and grabbed the dishtowel. “What do you mean by stronger?” he asked, turning and leaning against the counter. Even with her injuries, he saw her face was perfection. Almost unreal. Like a mini goddess. A young one. Sickness and fury turned his stomach to think she was married at such a young age and abused on top of that. No doubt sexually abused by that same bastard.
“They will fight. To get me back. Even if they don’t like me or want me, this is their custom.”
He made his way to the table and pulled the chair out several feet and sat slightly angled away from her. “We’re strong enough to make sure what’s right is done.”
Her brows pulled together. “You are strong enough to change our customs?”
So the problem was that rooted. “It’s a custom to beat wives there?”
She shook her head. “He thought I disobeyed, and punished me.”
Insta-fury bit his muscles. “By beating you in the face?”
Her brows drew together harder with a nod. “He thought I looked at my reflection in the water, but I hadn’t.”
That strange info froze him. “Why can’t you look at your reflection?” he asked, not wanting to scare her from the conversation.
“The spirit of vanity waits for me there. To take me.”
There was something else in her tone besides plain facts. Doubt, maybe. Or he was imagining it. Wishing it. “Do they have this belief with everybody?”
She shook her head. “Just me.”
Wow. He nodded, pulling his knife from his boot and removing his current whittling project from around his neck, needing something to do while hearing the bullshit coming his way. “Why just you?”
“My mother was cursed with vanity that caused many men to sin. She died bearing me and passed the curse to me. But as long as I don’t look at my reflection, the spirit cannot have its way or hurt me. But…”
He paused, his carving, not looking at her.
“Even though I have never seen my reflection, they look at me as if I have the spirit. They believe I looked, but I have not,” she whispered, the quiver in her voice raking over the rage barely contained in his blood at hearing this. “Not ever. But then I saw you see what I see.”
He angled his gaze at her, curious. “What did you see?”
“I saw their reflection. In your judgement. And it matched what was in my heart and mind. You think they are seeing me wrong.”
“I don’t think,” he corrected, locking his eyes on her now. “I know they’re seeing very wrong. The only people with an evil spirit are them. Not you.”
“You speak the truth,” she whispered, sounding shocked and sad.
“I always speak the truth.”
“Yes,” she said, as though seeing that too.
“How old are you, Mia?” he forced himself to ask while knowing the answer would put an endless fire in his rage.
“I turned twenty-three this fall.”
He stared at her again, her truthful tone stinging him in an odd way.
“You don’t look at me like…I’m…”
“A woman? No, because you barely look sixteen.”
She let out a gasp and he eyed her, finding the barest hint of a smile on her face. “But…am I hideous?”
He put his hands in his lap, staring at her.
“Did I say something wrong?” she whispered, her brows furrowed with worry.
“No.”
“You’re angry.”
“I am, but not at you.”
“At what?” she hurried, needing to know.
“At the fact that they hid such a thing from you.”
She let out a breath. “What is the truth? If you say it, I can believe because you’re a mirror man.”
“A mirror man.”
She nodded. “You reflect the truth about people like a mirror.”
He considered that, then turned in his chair deciding to use his mirror powers on her. “The truth is, Mia, I’ve been alive for thirty-eight years and in all those years, I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman. That is the truth.”
She gasped several times as he returned to whittling.
“You’re telling the truth,” she whispered, astonished.
“I am,” he assured, his fury dark now.
“I don’t understand their hate,” she barely said.
What a fucking mess they’d made of her. “It’s called evil.”
“But…I’ve never done anything wrong, I’ve always been very careful to follow all the rules. Husband was very strict, I learned perfect obedience.”
He was ready to go gut that fuck. “A lot of good that did you,” he said. “Why do you call him that? Husband. Doesn’t he have a name?”
She nodded. “He doesn’t allow me to use it.”
“What a piece of fucking work,” he muttered.
She gave a sound that drew his gaze up. A smile. He stared at her, a diamond flashing its most blinding facet. “You’re so angry.”
He tore his gaze from her and stared at the piece of dumb wood in his hands. “Angry no. Furious, yes. Enraged, yes. Wanting to kill the man who hurt you, a thousand yes’s. That’s what I am.”
“You should have married a woman.”
So he’d been told.
“I’m very practiced in the art of sexual obedience.”
Geeze, fuck me.
“That’s great, now you just need a man that doesn’t abuse that gift.”
“But I’m already married.”
“No, I don’t think you are,” he begged to differ, glaring at her suddenly confused face. “Marriage is a contract. It has rules. You break them, you break the contract. You break the marriage. Wife-Beater broke the contract when he hit you, and then broke the marriage. Unless he changes his evil ways, you are not bound to him, nor should you be.”
“This is your custom?” she asked, sounding astonished.
“It is the law in these lands. And you do live in these lands. And I have a God-given directive to protect those rights and you, in these lands.”
Her breaths sputtered at that gem. “Which god is this, I have never heard of such a way.”
“We serve only one God in these swamps. And he’s a jealous God.”
“A he,” she marveled, like she hadn’t had one of those in a while.
“Yes, we call him the God of all. The Almighty ruler of rulers, king of kings, God of Gods.”
More flabbergasted sounds. “What is this God’s name?”
He considered that, not really sure. “He’s the God with the Son who became a man and died for the sins of the world to redeem mankind from their destiny with Hell.”
She gave a huge gasp. “The Christian God,” she shot out. “I have heard of this god, very long ago. And you like this deity, he is good you think?”
“I don’t think, I know.”
“And you believe this as a truth,” she further marveled.
“Yep.” He blew the dust from his wood.
“So, in your custom, a woman is not bound to a husband till death if he breaks the marriage contract?”
“Correct.”
“Not all clans believe as mine does.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“The clan my mother is from does not believe in this way.”
“Where is that clan?”
“North of us. Not so far.”
He wondered what Hatch they were in.
“Do they know about what they do to you?” he wondered.
She shook her head a lot. “I don’t see them so much. They get along like young siblings.”
“So they don’t get along?” he double checked.
She nodded. “They do not get along.”
“Why?”
“My mother’s people are not as traditional as Husband’s. They have fallen to the wayward spirit.”
“Wayward.”
She moved her hand like a snake. “Their path meanders and is not straight like the old ways.”
He eyed her. “You believe that?”
She slowly got serious and contemplative. “I used to.”
He went back to whittling, nodding. “I have a feeling a lot is going to change for you.” If they had a rival clan that didn’t hold the same beliefs, then she had hope. He wanted to ask if they would take her back but would wait.
“I like your customs very much,” she said softly. “They reflect the same way the sun reflects its natural truth on the water.”
“Unperverted truth usually does.”
She snapped her gaze to him. “You intend to free me from my custom,” she said, as if just realizing that. “How will you do this? I don’t want to hurt anybody or see people hurt. Other than…”
“Those who need to be hurt, I hope you’re about to say.”
“Yes. The will and the way.”
“The will and the way?”
“You will get the way of your will, if your will is bad, you get bad.”
“We call that sowing and reaping.”
She smiled, considering for many seconds. “That is a very good explanation of it. Is your birth name truly Bullets?”
He grinned, lowering his head. “No. But I don’t tell people my birth name.”
“Why?” she wondered, with childlike curiosity.
“It’s not their business,” he went with.
“You see your…birth name as a business?”
“No, I just see it as a private matter.”
“Is this a custom?”
“No, it’s me.”
“You see your name as a private matter,” she doublechecked.
“That’s right,” he said, amazed that her inquiries didn’t bother him in the least.
“My name Mia means mine. And Juni means born in June.” Her face fell a little. “My mother named me that lie. I was never hers nor was I born in June.”
“But it can still be true. The way the sun’s truth reflects on the water.”
She hit him with a fierce gaze that suddenly began to glow with tears. “You believe this?”
“Absolutely,” he said, at seeing what he believed meant everything to her. “You were hers and still are. Death doesn’t change that. And June is a time of hope and life. You were that to her. You can be that to yourself.”
She lowered her head and wiped her eyes. “It is very sad you do not have a wife, Mr. Bullets. Such a beautiful soul deserves the pleasures a wife can bring.”
Fuck me, twice.
“My birth name is Jericho Flint.”
She snapped her head up. “Why did you tell me this private matter?”
He stood, ready to go get some air. “Don’t know why and don’t care. But I did. Just don’t call me by that name.”
“Okay, Jericho Flint.”
He sighed at the door. “I just said don’t call me by that name.”
“I will not call you by that name,” she assured.
He turned and looked at her, realizing call meant something different to her. “Don’t use that name with me. Ever. Not in private and not in public. Like you never look at the mirror, never use that name.”
Her face fell, like he’d just shattered the one precious thing she’d ever been given. Geeze. “Fine, you can call me that in private when nobody else is present.”
Her smile returned to a thousand watts as she nodded. “Only in private when nobody else is present. Thank you, Jericho Flint.”
“Just Jericho,” he said. “Try to get some sleep. There’s a hurricane due here tomorrow evening. I doubt anybody will be sleeping through that.” Another shadow flickered over her face. “Now what?” he wondered.
She gave a barely head shake. “Nothing. I just…like both names very much.”
This woman. She was like a child you couldn’t say no to. But that was something Bullets never had a problem with. And yet at every turn in the road with her, she was coming up an exception. “Call me whatever you like, Mia,” he muttered, shutting the door.