Dark Enemy Redeemed

by I. T. Lucas

  Again, there was no smile or frown or even inflection in her tone to hint at what she was thinking. “I don’t see why not. I’ll arrange with Kian to go see the Doomer, I’m sorry, Dalhu,” Edna corrected.

  Well, at last, a slight indication of her opinion, but it wasn’t a good one. Edna thought of Dalhu first and foremost as a Doomer. She wouldn’t be positively predisposed toward him, and her probe would be intrusive and thorough. Which, on second thought, was better. If after such invasive probe, Edna found no evidence of ill intentions on his part and saw that Dalhu was indeed loyal to the clan, her conclusions would carry more weight with Kian.

  “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

  There was one more issue Amanda wanted Edna’s opinion on, but wasn’t sure how to approach it.

  Thankfully, the Alien Probe was very good at guessing. “You want to ask me if there is a way for Dalhu to atone for his crimes. Correct?”

  Amanda exhaled a relieved breath. “Yes, one crime in particular that I find extremely difficult to forgive. Dalhu was in charge of the unit that assassinated Mark. I’m aware of all the mitigating factors—that he didn’t know me then or even that Mark was one of us; that he was just doing his accursed job. But still, I can’t put it behind me. It’s like a big ugly sore on our relationship. You know what I mean?”

  Edna nodded. “Do you believe that by enduring some horrible punishment or trial he will gain your forgiveness?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve been thinking and rethinking this for days to no avail. I was hoping you could provide the insight I’m lacking.”

  “Let’s start with a few questions, shall we?”

  “Sure.”

  “Whose forgiveness do you think Dalhu should seek?”

  Smart woman. When put this way, it was pretty obvious that it wasn’t Amanda’s place—kind of obnoxious of her to think that she should be the one granting it.

  “Mark’s immediate family to start with, then the rest of the clan—Mark’s extended family.”

  “Okay. Who do you think should decide if Dalhu deserves to be offered the option of redemption by trial?”

  “I guess Micah, Mark’s mother.”

  “Exactly.” Edna looked satisfied as if Amanda had just passed a test.

  “Let’s assume for a moment that Micah is willing to offer Dalhu a chance to redeem himself by some incredible feat of courage or endurance. Two questions need to be asked. First, would Dalhu accept the verdict and submit to whatever Micah might demand? And second, if he accepts and goes through it, would it be enough for you?”

  “Yes, and yes. Dalhu is willing to do whatever it takes, and if Micah’s demands are met, then I consider it done.”

  Edna nodded. “There might be a legal precedent. It’s an old one, from the time of the gods, and it doesn’t fit Dalhu’s situation precisely. But I think we can use it as a base.

  “If a servant killed another servant, the head of the victim’s household could ask for retribution to compensate the family, either monetary or physical. If it was monetary, the other head of household would pay, but the perpetrator would lose his freedom and spend his life as a slave to repay the debt. His boss could either keep him to repay over time or sell him to collect the debt right away. The system was put in place to prevent blood feuds between the victim and perpetrator’s families, and at the same time provide support for those who lost their wage earners.”

  “I hope you’re not suggesting slavery for Dalhu.”

  “Of course not. When the killing was accidental, whether because the men were fighting or because of negligence on the part of the accused, and it was clear that it wasn’t a premeditated murder, the killer was given the option to choose physical retribution.”

  Amanda arched a brow. “And that was considered a lesser punishment than keeping the same job and just working without wages?”

  “Certainly. Being a slave was shameful. Only the worst of criminals were sentenced to a life of slavery, and they were marked by a notch in the left ear to identify them as such. Additionally, the killer’s wages most likely supported his family, and their loss would’ve reduced them to beggars.”

  “I see. Tough choice.”

  “Yes. Those who weren’t young or healthy most often opted for slavery—fearing that they wouldn’t survive the punishment, others took the challenge.”

  “I assume that the victim’s family determined the punishment.”

  “It was the only way to prevent blood feuds that would’ve claimed numerous lives.”

  Edna deserved her reputation. The woman was brilliant. There were enough mitigating factors in Dalhu’s involvement in Mark’s death to qualify him for the physical option. The question was, whether Micah would agree to see it this way.

  To draw equivalents between that old custom and Dalhu’s case—Mark would be considered a clan employee and Dalhu, Navuh’s. Kian, as head of the American arm of the clan, could demand retribution, and Micah, as the victim’s mother, would have the right to decide what form it would take.

  “After the physical punishment was delivered, what did the victim’s family do? Did they sign a release form?”

  “Something to that effect. They would witness the punishment, and once it was done, the head of their household would ask if their vengeance was satisfied. They were honor-bound to say yes. Besides, one third of the killer’s wages went to the victim’s family. A strong incentive.”

  “And that was it? Case closed?”

  “In theory.”

  Yeah, Amanda found it hard to believe that the victim’s mother or wife had been able to forgive. But then, those garnished wages must’ve been the only way to put food on the table.

  In Micah’s case, however, she had no need for Dalhu’s money—even if he happened to have any.

  CHAPTER 47: DALHU

  Last night, when Amanda had returned and crawled under the covers, snuggling up to him, Dalhu hadn’t asked her about her talk with the legal expert. He’d pretended to sleep.

  Holding her close had felt too good to spoil by discussing unpleasant things.

  It still did. Just watching her sleep in the bed they now shared suffused him with joy—a feeling he’d forgotten existed and was so foreign to him that it had taken Dalhu a while to recognize it for what it was.

  She looked so beautiful sleeping—curled on her side with one hand under her cheek—that he’d just had to draw her like that.

  One more pose for his collection.

  He got out of bed, washed and dressed in a hurry, then grabbed his supplies. Leaning against the dresser, he captured her outline with a few fast charcoal strokes. This way, if she woke or flipped to her other side, he’d have the base and draw the rest from memory.

  The scraping sound of charcoal on paper must’ve woken her, and she flipped onto her back. “Why are you drawing me? I don’t want a picture with no makeup and hair that looks like a bird’s nest.”

  Dalhu put the pad aside and sat beside her on the bed. “Good morning, my beauty.” He leaned and planted a quick kiss on her pouty lips.

  Amanda smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her. “Good morning to you too.” She kissed him long and hard. “Why don’t you get out of these clothes and come back to bed?”

  She didn’t have to ask twice.

  Their lovemaking was lazy and unhurried, like that of lovers who were comfortable with each other. But although the sex was as gentle as a breeze on a sunny shore, the intimacy was intense. Overwhelming.

  Dalhu wanted to tell Amanda how much he loved her, over and over again, but he didn’t. It made her uncomfortable. She couldn’t say it back.

  When they reached completion, he didn’t even bite her.

  Last night, he’d sunk his fangs into her so many times, sampling different spots on her body, that apparently his venom glands were spent. It was good, though, that his balls hadn’t suffered similar fate. It would’ve been embarrassing, and even worse; Amanda would’ve been disappoin
ted.

  His woman was insatiable.

  He was the luckiest bastard on earth.

  “Dalhu, sweetheart, could you brew us some coffee?” she asked as they stepped out of their shared shower.

  “Your wish is my command.”

  The radiant smile he got in return was priceless.

  Ten minutes later, he had Amanda’s cappuccino ready as she emerged from the bedroom, looking as perfect as ever in a pair of tight jeans and a blue blouse, her black hair sleeked back and her makeup done. Though why such a beautiful woman bothered with painting her face baffled him.

  Females were such strange creatures.

  “My lady?” He pulled out a chair for her at the dining table, not that it qualified as such with a diameter of little over three feet. Still, it was the perfect size for two.

  Breakfast had been already on the table when he’d stepped out of the bedroom to make coffee—Okidu must’ve delivered it while they’d showered. Amanda reached for a slice of toasted bread and spread a generous dollop of almond butter on top.

  “You haven’t tasted the cappuccino yet.” It had been his first attempt at making one.

  She took a small sip, following with a bite of toast.

  “Did I do it right?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Good, I’m glad.” He ran a nervous hand over the back of his neck. “So, what did the legal expert say? Is she willing to test me?”

  Amanda finished chewing and put the rest of her toast down. “Yes, she is. She said she is going to talk to Kian, though I don’t know if she means first to clear it with him, or coordinate a time that works with both their schedules. I hope it will be today, and that they’ll let us know ahead of time. Not that any preparations are required, she just does her thing, it feels weird for a couple of minutes and that’s it. Piece of cake if you have nothing to hide and let her in without a struggle.” Amanda lifted what was left of her bread and took a big bite.

  “Did she do it to you?”

  “Aha.”

  “Why?”

  Amanda shrugged. “I was very young, maybe fifteen, and I’d done something stupid. I don’t even remember what it was. I think I sneaked out to see a boy. Anyway, I tried to wiggle out of getting punished by inventing some cockamamie story and stubbornly clinging to it. My mother brought me to Edna.”

  “And…” He motioned for her to finish the story.

  “I got grounded for a month. But that was nothing. What killed me was that I managed to really disappoint my mother for the first time. It was a big deal because her approval meant a lot to me. Still does.”

  “I bet.”

  Amanda lifted her mug and cupped it in her hands, her expressive face showing an inner struggle. A couple of times it looked like she was about to say something, but then she frowned and shook her head.

  Just spit it out, he wanted to say to her, don’t you know that you can tell me anything?

  “Remember how you said that you should get whipped for your crimes?” she finally asked.

  “Yes, what about it?”

  “Did you mean it?”

  “For a chance of redemption? I’d submit to any kind of torture in a heartbeat. Right now, I’m in no man’s land. I’m no longer part of the Brotherhood, but I don’t belong here either, or anywhere else for that matter. I’m an unwanted interloper at best—a despised enemy in the eyes of most of your relatives. I want to have a life with you, Amanda, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to become part of your world—if not accepted then at least tolerated.”

  She nodded as if he’d affirmed what she’d already known. “I had to be sure before telling you Edna’s idea.”

  A spark of hope ignited in Dalhu’s chest. “What is it?”

  “There is this ancient custom, from the time of the gods, that was originally put in place to prevent never-ending blood vendettas between human families. There were no jails, so punishments were either monetary or physical. If the perpetrator didn’t have the money to pay, his boss would pay it for him. As compensation, the boss had the right to either enslave him entirely or only garnish a part of his wages until his debt was repaid. The length of the enslavement depended on the severity of the crime and the amount of money owed. For a killing, it was slavery for life. Except, when it wasn’t a premeditated murder—then it was up to the head of the offender’s household to offer him a choice of physical punishment combined with garnishment of wages. The victim’s family had the right to choose a trial that would satisfy their vendetta. After it was done, and if the offender lasted throughout it, they were asked if they were satisfied. Custom demanded that they say yes.”

  “I no longer have a boss or wages, so I don’t see how this applies to me.”

  “I need to talk it through with Kian, but I think that this is the only way for you to earn redemption. If Mark’s mother agrees to put you through a trial of her choosing and then declare that her vengeance was satisfied, then the rest of the clan would have to accept it as a done deal.”

  The logic was solid, except for the part of the grieving mother giving her son’s killer a chance of redemption.

  “Do you think she’ll agree?”

  “Maybe. It’s worth a try. As I see it, this will give Micah something she can’t have any other way. She can’t retaliate against the Doom Brotherhood, and the guy who committed the killing is already entombed in our crypt. This is the only chance for retribution she can sink her teeth into, so to speak.”

  “Okay, let’s assume she agrees. What makes you think that this will change the clan’s attitude toward me?”

  Amanda didn’t reply right away, and a slight whiff of shame tickled his nose. What was she ashamed of?

  “Look, Dalhu, this is about altering perception, and it requires a measure of showmanship. We’ll need to make a production out of it, have it witnessed by a good number of clan members. They’ll see you submit willingly and they’ll have to acknowledge your bravery and your sacrifice. And once Micah declares you redeemed, they’ll have no choice but to follow suit. You should prepare a short speech. I’ll help.”

  “A circus performance.”

  “Yes. I know it sounds awful, and Fates only know what torture Micah will demand, but I don’t see any other way. I won’t blame you if you don’t want to go through with it.” Avoiding his eyes, she looked down at her plate.

  He leaned towards her and engulfed her hands—together with the coffee mug they were still wrapped around. “Didn’t I tell you? I will do anything and everything in my power to make a life with you. And if I die trying, at least I’ll know that I gave it all I have.”

  CHAPTER 48: AMANDA

  If there ever was a man who deserved to hear her say I love you, it was the one sitting across from her. Tears stinging the backs of her eyes, she dipped her head and kissed his hands.

  She felt like such a bitch for denying him this, and still the words could not leave her throat. Because to say them out loud was like spitting on Mark’s sarcophagus and stomping on Micah’s grief.

  Still, there was no way she could admit to him that she needed his sacrifice almost as much as she imagined Micah did. On the other hand, if Dalhu was brave enough to go through hell for her, she should be brave enough to at least tell him the truth.

  “Thank you, for doing this for me,” she croaked, tears running freely down her cheeks.

  “Anything, you know it.” He got up and lifted her, then sat down in her chair, cradling her in his arms. “You’re priceless to me,” he whispered.

  She chuckled. “I bet you’ll change your mind once I tell you this…” She wiped her eyes with his T-shirt.

  “Nothing you can say will affect how I feel about you.”

  This made her tear up again. “How about the fact that I need your sacrifice for myself? So I can finally tell you I love you without feeling like I’m desecrating Mark’s memory?”

  Dalhu grinned, his whole face lighting up as if she had just given him the best of news. “I�
��ve known all along that you’ll need something to help you cross that bridge, I just didn’t know what that something was, which was worse than any kind of torture Micah could ever invent. And to hear you say you love me? I’ll crawl to hell and back for it.”

  “You just might. A grieving mother’s pain is so excruciating, so all consuming, that I fear Micah has no compassion left in her. She might be extremely cruel in her demands.”

  Amanda could testify from personal experience.

  When her son had died, Amanda would’ve destroyed the earth and everyone on it—if she’d had the power to do so. She’d gone insane with grief, and it had taken her years to claw her way out of the bleak place she had spiraled down into.

  “I had a son, once, long time ago,” she whispered into Dalhu’s chest.

  He tensed, his arms wrapping more securely around her. “What happened?”

  “One moment he was alive and joyful, and the next he was lying dead on the ground. A six-year-old boy riding his first horse. The animal got spooked by a snake and reared up. My boy fell and broke his beautiful little neck. That’s the whole story. One horrible moment in time that changed everything.”

  She’d been repressing her sorrow for so long that once released it erupted like the faulty lid of a pressure cooker—it hit the ceiling with a bang and whatever was cooking inside the pot followed—her guts, her blood, splattered, slowly dripping back down.

  Dalhu held her while she cried, rocking her as she sobbed and screamed, “Why?”

  “Why him?”

  “Why me?”

  It had taken a while until the sobs subsided. Dalhu had said nothing throughout her outburst, just waiting it out, caressing, rocking.

  Smart man. There was nothing he could’ve said anyway.

  “Thank you,” she hiccupped and he offered her a napkin to blow her nose into. “You’re a good listener.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” he said hesitantly.

  “No, you’ve been perfect. I had a good cry and now I’m better.” She managed a small smile. “I could use a margarita, but I don’t want to leave the shelter of your arms. I’ve never felt safer than I do when you hold me.”