Black Blade Blues

by J. A. Pitts

  “Well, Katie’s comfortable with who she is,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. “You’ll come around.” He turned, putting his arm across my shoulder, and watched Deidre and Katie walking back to the house. “She’s a good kid. Don’t break her heart, okay?”

  Katie was his baby sister, just twenty-four and two years out of college. He’d raised her after their parents had been killed. He was seven years older than she was and took his responsibilities very seriously. The insurance money helped them, and they inherited the farm here, but he worked like a dog to see she had everything she could want or need.

  “Careful, lout,” Gunther barked behind us. We turned to see Gunther dancing around on one foot, holding the other, with Stuart bent over a keg of ale, holding his elbow.

  “Cracked my elbow on the door,” he said apologetically.

  “Liked to break my durn foot,” Gunther said, stepping gingerly down on his wounded appendage. “Nothing broken, I reckon.”

  “You didn’t bust the keg, did you?” Jimmy called, walking away from me. Gunther looked stricken and staggered to the keg, tilting it to the side, looking for a break.

  He settled it down again with a sigh, drawing his hand across his forehead and flinging away imaginary sweat. “Close call,” he said with a wink.

  Jimmy picked the keg up, his plaid shirt straining across his back. Stuart and Gunther hobbled along behind him, heads down, chagrined.

  “Show-off,” I said as he passed me.

  He set the keg on the edge of the table and twisted back and forth a couple of times, his back popping in several places. “Nothing to it,” he said. “Can you at least tap it?” he asked the two men.

  “A ’course we can,” Gunther said, wounded now. “Nary a keg I couldn’t breach with grace and style.”

  “And empty like the sodden drunk you are,” Stuart said.

  The world righted itself as they bickered among themselves. Jimmy gathered plates from the storage area in the barn and Katie and Deidre brought out more food.

  Basically I watched while a feast was presented. It reminded me of revival meetings. Not every memory from childhood was bad. Those huge suppers in the field behind the church were wonderful when I was a kid. More food than a body could eat, and kids of all ages to play with. I loved revivals before I learned about how evil the world was. After that they became work, and then I learned to hate them. Except for one thing. No matter what happened with me, or between me and Da, revivals were where Ma used to shine. She kept the food flowing like a conductor leading a symphony. Too bad, the rest of the time she was walking three steps behind Da, her head bowed. If I missed anyone, it was her.

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  I looked up to see Deidre standing in front of me, a smile on her face. Here was a strong woman.

  “Expecting company?” I asked when Deidre handed me a plate.

  “Wednesday night gathering as usual,” she said. “But with the trembler, most of the clan is coming over early.”

  “Might get in some equestrian work if Maggie and Susan can get over here.”

  “I imagine they’ll be tied up with all this traffic.”

  “Nay,” Stuart said around a mouthful of pickled beets. “They are off traffic this month. Doing liaison work with the schools.”

  “And, I’m betting they keep the schools out for the next day or so,” Katie said. “We’ve had three aftershocks so far, and they are predicting more. Susan and Maggie should be free soon.”

  The food was excellent, and the company good. The twins kept cracking jokes at my expense, but I promised them a drubbing after.

  Only one tankard with the meal, that was Jimmy’s rule. Then we could practice.

  Later, after the meeting, the real drinking would begin.

  By then, I’d be on my way to Everett. Needed to take the black sword for Carl to use in tonight’s shoot. Before I got into the heavy stuff, I dropped my gear in the lockers Jimmy had set up in the barn—wallet, keys, cell phone. While I was thinking about it I texted Carl, letting him know I had the blade ready for tonight. He’d be pleased.

  I picked up my small round shield and rattan hammer. Not as good as a real hammer, but we didn’t want to actually hurt each other. A few bumps and bruises were expected, but nothing really damaging.

  By the time I was outfitted, Carl had texted back. We were a go for the shoot that night. That eased the stress about missing work with Julie today. I’d be getting paid at one job at least.

  I spent a good solid hour with faux hammer and shield, first impressing on Gunther a thing or two about weapon speed, then showing Stuart that strength was as important as speed. The old tae kwon do skills really helped. During the sparring Katie sat on a stack of hay bales and played the guitar, singing songs to keep us focused and “in the mood,” as she said. Mainly Scottish battle songs she’d translated for guitar.

  After my sessions with the twins, she brought me water and a towel to dry off. Neither man snickered. It was a good workout and they’d pushed me to the limit. I’d not be as good as them overall for a long time, if ever, but they were patient teachers and able opponents.

  Deidre was in the house when I entered, thinking I’d help replenish the food for the latecomers.

  “You are ripe,” she said with a laugh. I caught my reflection in the microwave door and my hair was matted down with sweat.

  “Yeah, pounding sense into Gunther and Stuart works up a sweat.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You weren’t out there long enough to get through their thick skulls.”

  They were the favorites, after all. I’d known them as long as I’d known Katie, actually. She was still in college when I joined the Black Briars. Jimmy had been kind enough to teach an awkward blacksmith apprentice the business end of several weapons over the chuckles of the twins. They came around quickly, and even came to my defense at one battle out in Idaho. Good guys, standing at my back while I took down a jackass with more mouth than skill.

  I picked up the basket of bread Deidre had just sliced, but she whisked it away from me and shooed me with her free hand. “Hon, why don’t you take a shower in the hall bath. Save you a trip out to your place.”

  I knew Deidre. It wasn’t really a question.

  “My pack’s in the Civic,” I said, heading toward the door.

  “I’ll get it,” she said. “There are towels in the closet across the hall there. Just leave the wet ones on the vanity when you’re done.”

  I handed her my keys and slunk off to the shower. Jimmy was big and imposing, and we all respected him, but Deidre was the real powerhouse in the clan. She was wise beyond words, and stubborn as a mule.

  I grabbed a washcloth and a couple of towels from the closet. The bathroom was done up in seashells, pink sculpted wallpaper and white doilies you’d expect in your grandmother’s house. It felt comfortable and safe.

  Jimmy had a full bathroom with shower installed in the old barn, but it was utilitarian. This was homey.

  I stripped out of my sweaty clothes and avoided looking at myself in the mirror. Smithing gave me big shoulders, and I kept my hair clipped pretty short. But I always felt plain and didn’t need a mirror to remind me. The shower took a bit to warm up, but by the time I immersed myself under the steaming spray, I knew Deidre was an angel. The hot water worked on knots in my muscles I hadn’t noticed. I let the water pour down on my head, drowning the constant chatter of doubt and recrimination I struggled with.

  I heard the door open. Ah, my clothes. “Thanks, Deidre,” I called.

  I was a bit startled when the curtain twitched aside and Katie stepped into the shower with me, naked and gorgeous.

  “Not here, your family . . . ,” I started, but before I could finish the sentence, her mouth found mine and I forgot to breathe.

  After the water ran cold, we toweled off. I pulled out a pair of jeans and T-shirt I had stashed in my pack, and she put back on the same clothes she’d been wearing from earlier.

/>   She watched me as I put on my bra. The smile on her face caused me to blush. “What will your brother say?” I asked. “Or Gunther or Stuart?”

  “Screw them,” she said, buckling her shoes.

  I loved that she wore black Mary Janes with bobby socks. She looked great and was not afraid of what people thought. Not me, though. This kind of tryst was too public. “And Deidre?”

  She laughed. “Who do you think sent me in here with the pack?”

  “She wouldn’t!”

  “Certainly she would. She said you were too uptight and that perhaps I could loosen you up a bit.”

  A shiver ran up my spine at the thoughts of her caresses. “Yes, but what . . .”

  “No buts,” she said, wrapping me in a hug and kissing my left temple. “I love you, and I don’t care who knows it.”

  I stiffened, and she felt me stiffen, and I felt awkward and then embarrassed all over again. Relationships suck.

  The sad smile on her face nearly broke my heart. “It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to say it, if it freaks you out.”

  “Well, I think you are amazing,” I said, all lame like a high school cheerleader letting a band geek down easy. “I think . . .”

  “Yes,” she said, touching her fingers to my lips. “You think and you think. I’m waiting for the moment when you feel.”

  And she was past me, opening the door without looking back, leaving me standing in the steam with my pants in my hands and my heart in my throat.

  When I was dressed, and my workout clothes were tucked in my pack, I walked out, my shoulders suddenly as tense as after a full day at the forge. They were watching me, I knew it. I opened the door and fast-walked around toward the Civic, hoping to escape before I was spotted and had to endure any more bullshit.

  I had the hatchback open and had flung my pack into the backseat when a long wolf whistle stopped me in my tracks.

  Son of a bitch, I thought. I knew this was not a good idea.

  “Hot damn, Beauhall,” I heard Maggie holler from the back. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  I turned, the blood pounding in my ears. This I didn’t need. I slammed the hatchback and realized I didn’t have my keys. Damn Deidre and her meddling.

  I stormed around the house, and saw Deidre in a gaggle of other Black Briar folks. Maggie stood on one of the benches, looking over Susan’s head.

  They looked enough alike to be confused as sisters, but they were not related. Well, not blood relations. They were both blond and tall, Amazons, Gunther called them—thin and angular with a beauty that caught most folks by surprise.

  They’d been lovers when they became police officers, put up with a ton of shit from the rank and file. But they handled it. Tough broads, Jimmy once said. They’d mellowed a bit recently, having gone to California to be married. I usually liked their drive and focused attitude, but I didn’t relish it turned on me.

  “Deidre, can I have my keys, please?” I asked, stomping to the crowd, the flush of anger on my face.

  “Sorry,” Deidre said, holding out my keys. “I didn’t think you’d mind if I shared it with everyone.”

  Fuck this. “It’s none of your goddamn business,” I shouted.

  The crowd silenced and Jimmy looked at me with his stern leader face. I didn’t care, this was more than I could take.

  “She’s talking about the sword,” Jimmy said, his voice even and reasonable. Gunther moved aside, and I could see that the lovely case I’d built for the black sword lay on the picnic table, opened, with the sword practically glowing in the crushed velvet liner.

  “Damn fine job,” Stuart said, breaking the awkward silence. “We didn’t touch her, but she’s a thing of beauty.”

  “I’m sorry,” Deidre said. “Katie told me you’d fixed it last night, and how beautiful it was. I just wanted to show the others.”

  Now, if you’d taken that sword out of that case at that moment and driven all thirty-three inches of blackened steel into my chest, I would have felt much better. As it was, all I could do was walk forward awkwardly, watch as my friends moved aside, embarrassed, and quietly close the case.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I need to leave.”

  I carried the sword to my car, keeping my eyes on the ground in front of my feet.

  No one said a word, but I felt their eyes on me.

  I put the sword case back in the hatch, couldn’t believe I didn’t notice it was missing. Of course, the hatch was filled with old clothes, several hammers, and several books on weapons. How could I have not noticed? Could someone shoot me now, please?

  Guns N’Roses blared out of the stereo when I fired the ignition. I rolled down the windows and glanced in my rearview mirror. Katie stood at the corner of the house, her hands in her pockets. The look on her face was the worst of it all. What a dumbass I could be.

  I drove out of the driveway, away from the shame and the guilt. Only it followed me, buried deep inside.

  Better to stop digging when you realize you have the shovel in your hand, my old man had always told me. Digging more wouldn’t make the hole smaller.

  Of course, what he taught me mostly was to run. Leave your troubles behind in the last town. I never understood what he was afraid of, but it followed us, from tiny village to rural town. I think he was moving from church to church more than anything—seeking salvation, he claimed. I just think he was afraid to face whatever demons haunted him.

  It scared me how much I was like him. Better to cut off those around you than admit you were wrong, that you’d overreacted. Ma stuck with him, though. He had that rock to lean on. Me, I had no one. Anyone who got close freaked me out.

  I’d promised myself I wasn’t a quitter—anymore. Katie was the best thing that had ever happened to me, but the ridicule, the shame and derision, that trumped it all . . . again . . .

  Maybe I’d have more luck tonight with Elvis Versus the Goblins.

  Twelve

  ONCE PAST LEY ROAD, I TURNED TOWARD GOLD BAR AND LET the wind whip through the car, the windows down, the moonroof open. I’d switched to Sheryl Crow, and sang at the top of my lungs, lamenting my love life, when a black and green Hummer roared out of a side street, nearly clipping my back end. I watched the driver fishtail the behemoth across the road before it came up behind me. I was doing forty in a thirty-five but this asshole was in more of a hurry than I was. I slowed, pulled closer to the shoulder, and waved them around, only they didn’t go around. They rode right up on my rear and blared their horn. Jerks.

  I began looking for a wide spot to pull over, knowing the road got really windy up ahead. Come on, asshole. Move around.

  The impact surprised me. The Hummer had pushed right up against my bumper and nudged me. I kept the car under control and punched the gas. The Civic weighed about twelve pounds, but it had pickup. I watched the speedometer pass fifty, and the Hummer tapped my rear bumper again. I saw the twenty-five-mile-an-hour-zone signs as I topped fifty-five, and swore. A string of cars approached ahead of me, and the Hummer backed off, but I had to slow way down to keep from wrecking. Once the traffic faded, the Hummer accelerated once again. We did this several times by the time the quarry came into view. If I could make it that far, I could pull over and let the Hummer get past me. Beats dying.

  I sped up after the last curve, punched the Civic to sixty, and prayed for a cop. Better to get a ticket, I thought, than end up as roadkill.

  I passed the kennel and the taxidermist without the Hummer tapping me again. Another quarter mile and the quarry appeared around the corner. Of course, at that moment, one of the slow-ass trucks pulled out, causing me to hit the brake and swerve.

  I managed to avoid the truck and hit the breakdown lane, but it was covered in loose gravel. I watched the empty guard shack go past my windshield as I did a bootlegger reverse, shouting over Sheryl Crow.

  My car came to a bone-jarring halt against a pile of sand. Luckily most of my speed had diminished enough to prevent any real
damage. Sand began pouring into the passenger window and into the moonroof, over my head and into my car. I flipped the latch and pulled the moonroof closed, cutting off the skittering sand. At the same time I rolled up the passenger window as fast as my arm could spin the handle. Soon, my car would be buried. I jammed the car into first, punched the gas, and popped the clutch. The wonderful car of mine performed like a champ. It died, of course.

  Come on, even Rocky would have collapsed if he’d been tapped by a Hummer and spun out into a huge mound of sand.

  I tried the ignition a couple of times before the car coughed to life again. I eased the clutch out, and the car surged forward, trailing sand back toward the road. When I got there, the Hummer sat idling across the exit.

  I stopped, shook sand from my hair, and waited. A large man, about the size of Rhode Island, climbed out of the Hummer from the passenger side. He walked toward me, his hands clenched into fists.

  “Give me the artifact,” he bellowed, pointing a meaty finger at my windshield.

  “Bite me!” I yelled, gunning the engine. He looked from me back to the Hummer, and back to me. Making up his mind, he broke into a run toward me, swinging his fist at my car.

  Holy crap. The world slewed sideways as he connected to my front quarter panel. The car didn’t die, and I took the new direction as a sign, and stomped the gas. I swung around, slinging gravel from hell to breakfast. I hoped it did more than dent his paint.

  I drove along the fence that kept the kids out of the quarry and prayed I didn’t drive into a ditch, or a huge gaping hole that had once held sand or gravel or whatever else this place sold. At the far end, a second gate stood open. The sign said it was where the trucks entered the quarry. I jetted out the in door and veered back onto May Creek and headed to First Street. The Hummer sat behind me and hadn’t moved. I drove out past the light industrial area and to the more congested intersection with the fast food joints.