Page 21 of Viking Unchained

Jamal Udeen glanced up from his computer to see his brother Saluh entering his apartment in Detroit, Michigan. “Wa alaikum assalam wa rahmatu Allah,” he replied. “And to you be peace together with God’s mercy.”

Jamal turned back to his work at the computer, knowing why his brother was here once again. It was a rude measure of hospitality to ignore a visitor, but then Saluh pressed the bounds by entering his dwelling unbidden.

“Mother sends me,” Saluh said right off. “She is worried about you.”

Jamal rolled his eyes. “Can you not speak for yourself?”

“All right, then. I am worried about you.” A physician at Our Lady of Hope Hospital, where he had done his internship, Saluh, at forty, was his older brother by ten years. There was a large Muslim population here in Michigan, including their extended family, which had given Saluh the opportunity to come here for an education those many years ago.

His mother and two younger sisters moved here after his father’s death in Iraq three years ago, despite Jamal’s harsh condemnation for their choosing to live amongst the enemy. They did not share his hatred of the American special forces for the explosion five years ago, calling it an accident. He knew better.

Jamal had arrived only a few months ago. Saluh’s house was crowded, with his mother and sisters, along with his own wife and four children, but family was always welcome. It was the Muslim way. Jamal was considered a black sheep, living alone in this tiny apartment as he did, but he had plans. Once completed, he would return to his homeland.

“Have you been taking your medication?”

“Of course.” Actually, he’d tossed out the antidepressants a month ago because they made his brain fuzzy.

Without invitation, Saluh pulled a chair over to sit by him in front of the computer. When he saw what was on the screen, he gasped. “Jamal! Surely you do not continue these thoughts of revenge.”

“Allah says if anyone transgresses against you, transgress likewise against him.”

“You twist the Koran to meet your own needs.”

He shrugged. “The American infidel caused the death of my wife Aisha, Baasim, who had just learned to walk, and my unborn child. He must pay. Collateral damage, they called it.” He made a spitting gesture.

“I call it murder.”

“But he is dead, Jamal. He died in the explosion, too.”

“Then he must lose a wife and child, too.” He pointed to the screen, where there was a newspaper article, taken from a Coronado, California, newspaper, about a woman named Lydia Denton, widow of Navy SEAL David Denton, and mother of four-year-old Michael Denton. Apparently, there was going to be some kind of honorary celebration for Lieutenant Denton in his hometown in Minnesota soon, on the fifth anniversary of his death . . . the same date as Aisha and Baasim’s demise.

“Jamal! What are you planning?”

"I, Jamal Udeen, declare a holy jihad to avenge my family.”

Hooking up with women . . .

isn’t that painful? . . .

Thorfinn was sitting at a table in the Wet and Wild tavern, sipping at excellent beer, popping salty nuts into his mouth as they awaited their meal—pizza, after all— whilst listening to the conversation betwixt Torolf and his Navy SEAL comrades. Like men in all countries, once the mead flowed, they discussed women: how to attract them to their bed furs, what to do when there, then how to get rid of them.

Along with Torolf, there were Geek, JAM, and Cage, men he had met several years back when they’d come to the Norselands to fight the evil villain Steinolf. So, though no one mentioned it, they knew or suspected he was a time traveler if, in fact, that was what he was. What strange names people had here, though! Like JAM and Geek and Cage. On the other hand, there were strange names in his country, too, he supposed. Like Svein Fork-beard or Cnut No Nose.

Torolf was the only married one amongst those present. But then, he ever had been a lackwit.

Missing was Slick, the SEAL with a shady background who had procured all his false identification papers in the name of Thorfinn Haraldsson of Lock Haven, Pennsylvania—black hair, gray eyes, six foot, three inches tall. Also missing was Pretty Boy, another SEAL he had met before; he was no longer a SEAL since he’d married Britta, a Viking warrior woman of some renown, and moved far away. Pretty Boy was now a cowboy, according to Torolf. Thorfinn didn’t bother to ask what that meant, though he thought it amusing that the full-of-himself man had gone from being one animal to another, seal to cow.

“More and more I’m beginning to believe that women are like phones,” Geek said.

The others grinned at Geek because he had the innocent face of a boyling. What could he really know about women?

But Geek blathered on, “They like to be held and talked to, but push the wrong button and you get disconnected. ”

The others groaned. Thorfinn just stared at him with confusion.

“So, we have Viagra and other male-enhancing drugs here,” JAM said. “What did they use in your . . .

um, country when the flagpole flagged?”