Keeping The Faith (John Fisher Chronicles Book 2)

by William Lehman

  "Mr. John Fisher?"

  "Yes."

  "Hi, I'm Mark Harder, your great-uncle's attorney, and his executor. When would it be convenient for you to attend a reading of the will?"

  "Well, I'm off work for a few more days, while I heal up."

  "Take as long as you need, sir, I am aware of your medical condition."

  "No, what I meant by that was that I am available now. Would this afternoon be good?"

  "I will check with the other heirs, and get back to you if I may?"

  "That would be great."

  "I'll be back in touch shortly then. Thank you for your time, sir." Click.

  As I hung up, Mary looked askance at me. "That was Lars' lawyer. He wants to do the 'formal reading of the will' thing." I said to her as I went in to get another cup of coffee.

  "Oh. Well that sounds like fun!" she replied, her voice dripping sarcasm.

  "Yeah, but to borrow from the bard, 'if 'twere be done, best it be done quickly.'"

  "I suppose." After that, we just sat and drank our coffee for a bit. Soon, Mr. Harder called back, and arranged a meeting for one o'clock at his office, which was up in Anacortes.

  We took Mary's car up there. My only car was the Durango that the department issued me, and while it was a nice rig, it had the department logo on it, which meant that if somebody did something stupid, I might have to respond, and I just wasn't up to it today. We got up to Anacortes way early, spent a couple hours walking around the town, then had lunch before going to the lawyer's office. Once we got there, I saw several cars in the parking lot, one of which I recognized. It was my parents' Mercury...oh, yeah, this was going to be fun...NOT!

  The last time I had anything to do with my parents had been when my mom accused me of causing my dad's heart attack, then called me a monster and several other things. All of this had been over the fact that a defense attorney had outed me to the press as a former SEAL team member and Lycanthrope. He had been hoping to use that as a way to get his client off, based on making my evidence part of an illegal search. He wasn't successful, though I have no doubt that we will be hearing from the case again in appeal. Still, it had plastered my face and name along with my former occupation all over the local media for about twelve hours. After twelve hours, the press had dropped it, due in no small part to being leaned on by the Navy, who wanted to be able to recall me at need; but the damage had already been done as far as my family was concerned. Dad was pretty much non-violent, due mostly to Grandpa's beliefs. It turned out that there was a reason for Gramps' non-violent stand that tracked back to his experiences during the Second World War, but that wasn't important to the parents. What was important was that I had been a member of the "infamous SEAL team twelve", which a certain democratic senator from California had labeled "The Presidents rabid attack beasts". Everyone in the team is a lycanthrope or some other type of shape changer. We were the guys sent in when it "absolutely, positively had to be destroyed overnight". We did a lot of intelligence work too, sneaking around in the bush spying on the bad guys, but what got all the press was the destroying thing. So...this was not going to be a happy family reunion.

  I walked into the reception room with Mary on my arm, and the secretary directed us to a conference room after asking our names. When we got into the room, there were mom and dad. Mom was looking daggers at me as soon as I walked in; Dad was pretending I wasn't there. There were several other people in the room, none of which I knew from Adam's off ox. At the head of the table was an older gentleman, gray-haired, with a handlebar mustache and a goatee. He looked to be about six feet, and might have weighed one eighty. In short, he looked like Colonel Sanders in a Brooks Brothers suit. After we entered, another older gentleman came in, and then the doors were closed.

  Mr. Harder started with some small private bequests, special items given to some of Lars' old friends. A certain pipe to Mr. Dorflinger, a particular chair to Mrs. Pool. It was obvious that these things had special meaning to the recipients. Then Harder stopped for a moment. "The next bequest has a proviso on it. If the will is challenged the bequest is null and void, and the recipient gets nothing. I bequeath the sum of fifty thousand dollars to Evan Fisher." Dad looked shocked.

  Most folks wouldn't have heard his comment, but then I wasn't most folks. "Shit, I didn't know he had that sort of money." he muttered to mom.

  Harder continued "The rest of my worldly possessions, to include the Schooner Tanngnost, the island of 'Coon Island' being identified as the body of land located at 48 degrees 30 minutes and 20 seconds north, by 123 degrees, 3 minutes 10 seconds west, and including some 10 acres of land measured at mean low tide, including all structures and land rights."

  I heard my dad say "Christ, the old man owned an island?"

  Everyone else must have heard too, because Mr. Harder glared at dad and said "To continue, this also includes the wells, docks, and mineral rights; the estate at La Havre, known as Justicar and being some five hundred acres in extent, with an appended legal description, and its structures and possessions. Also in the list of worldly possessions are all of the furnishings not previously listed, numerous personal possessions to include several edged weapons and firearms, some of historical value, and various bank accounts, investment portfolios, and precious metals totaling some fifteen million dollars, I bequeath to my nephew John Fisher." You could have heard a pin drop. I think I did hear my dad's jaw drop.

  The rest of the reading went through in a fog. I was in shock. Fifteen Million Freaking Dollars. I couldn't even imagine that sort of money. I remember my dad looking daggers at me, as if this was all my idea. Well, if there was a family feud going on before, my dear departed great-uncle just made it a full scale civil war. I vaguely remember signing several things, and promising to come back in a day or two to finish the paperwork once the shock wore off.

  On the way home, Mary tried to make light of it. "Now I know I have to stay with you. You're not going to be able to defend yourself against all of the wild women out there without me on your arm."

  I think I muttered something inane...I don't recall what. I really don't remember much before going to sleep that night. Soon after I fell asleep I found myself in an apple orchard. Walking towards me was Uncle Lars. He looked the way he had in the dream I'd had just after he died, and I damn near did too. He was much younger looking than he had appeared when he was alive. I would say about thirty-five to forty, a big man, six foot four inches, weight about two-thirty, and none of it fat.

  I looked at him and couldn't hold back. "You fucking asshole! Why would you do this to me? What the Christ am I going to do with fifteen million dollars?"

  I was about to continue with this rant when he held up his hand and said "First, don't be bothering the White Christ. We have an understanding up here. Each Deity takes care of their own people, and their own bailiwick. The thing is, invoking a Deity up here gets more attention than back in Midgaard. You might say it's a local call. He has better things to do than listen to you whine because you got hooked up.

  "Second, consider it an expense account. You will probably end up adding to it rather than blowing it. But...there comes a time or three in this profession that having that sort of slush fund makes doing what the boss wants you to do possible. Not easy, but possible. You are liable to find yourself outside of the mundane law at some point in pursuit of a higher justice. Or you may find yourself in a position where you will not only be out of your jurisdiction, but outside of your country. Imagine having to deal with something in, oh, say Russia, with just the assets available to a federal cop. Besides, you can handle it, the gods don't put more on your plate than you can handle."

  Well, what do you say to that? "Yes, Goti." was the best I could come up with at the time. After that we spent what seemed like several hours working on "increasing my connections with the world around me", and a sort of spiritual jujitsu. This was a method of using a mage's spells against them. I had the ability to do some small magic by benefit of being a priest
(in training) of the Norse god of Justice, Tyr, and was relatively immune to magic when Baresark. But this was more in the way of how to use the magic thrown at me to hurt the attacker. Then we did some more guided regression stuff to help me get back memories that had been intentionally buried.

  Now, don't mistake me, I don't blame Uncle Sugar for hiding this stuff from me. The first time Lars let me see some of the things I had done while Baresark I 'bout lost it. The Navy was just doing what they could to keep me sane and functioning. But I had a better way to keep from losing it now, and the thing was, I wanted to know what I had done.

  Lars said it was part of the healing process. I suppose, but for me, it was just that I couldn't face my gods and myself until I knew and accepted everything I had done, for better or worse. Lars also got in some stuff about religion. Primarily things about the Norse pantheon, and about Tyr personally. He explained that I wouldn't be seeing or talking to Tyr much, which was OK by me. (How would you like to have the sort of personal relationship with your god where you know how many horns of mead it takes to get him drunk? It was a little overwhelming to me.) Some time later I got back to sleep.

  Chapter Three

  The next couple of days were involved with making the preparations for Lars' funeral. I had to go down to the Tanngnost and find Lars' sword and shield, and a million other details. His shield was a beautiful piece of work, oaken and laminated. His sword was a good workman-like weapon, a double-edged broadsword without much of a point. Mary went out one afternoon and came back with a spear. It wasn't Norse, it had an eight inch stone Clovis point on a six foot shaft, and was decorated with eagle feathers and symbols.

  I cocked an eyebrow, and she just smiled and said "Lars knew the maker. He would be OK with it and the maker would be honored, they had worked together a few times." I had a couple of people call me and ask if there was going to be any sort of service, and when I replied that it would be at sea, they asked to come along. In the meantime Mary arranged to have Lars' body cremated, and the ashes placed in a simple wooden box. Lieutenant Murphy called and asked if there would be a service as well, and I informed her of what would be done. She not only asked to come, but told me that she would take care of the Coast Guard, so that no one would come screaming out of the night with flashing lights and fire hoses ready to "save someone".

  The day I had planned to do it dawned bright and clear with a brisk off-shore breeze. About noon we loaded everything on to the Tanngnost and set sail to Keystone Harbor where we were to pick up everyone else that was to attend the service. Oh sure, I could have picked them up in Marysville, but I wanted to be able to drop them off after the ceremony and put back out. You see, Marysville is behind Whidbey Island, so if I picked them up there, I would have to go back there to drop them off. That would put me several more hours away from where I wanted to go after the guests left. I had inherited Coon Island, I wanted to see the place.

  We sailed around the south end of Whidbey and started coming up the outside edge and that's when the wind really kicked up. So I shortened sail with a little help from Mary and headed on up to Keystone. It was a great ride, she may be an old ship, but she could still kick up her heels. We made it into Keystone and dropped anchor, then let down the tender so I could go ashore and pick up the rest of the mourners.

  The tender for the Tanngnost was completely unlike the mother ship. She was a new twenty-foot runabout with a Black Max outboard. I guess this was Lars' fishing boat. I jumped down to the tender, named "The Kidd", with only a little twinge to the back and headed for shore. A few minutes later I was at the dock, and a few minutes after that, I was back at the Tanngnost with some ten other people, most of whom I didn't know.

  As we pulled alongside, Lieutenant Murphy fended us off and hooked the bow hook on while I hooked the stern. Then we started passing people up to the deck of the Tanngnost. That was when I got my first surprise of the afternoon. Mary greeted them all by name, and seemed to know them well.

  Well, I guess in retrospect that shouldn't have been such a surprise; I knew that Mary had known Lars for far longer than she, or he, had known me; but still it was a bit startling. After we got everyone aboard and hoisted The Kidd back up onto its davit we pulled up anchor and headed for the Straits of Juan de Fuca.

  Once we got well and truly moving, sails out and "a bone in her teeth", Lieutenant Murphy came back to the helm. "So, John, any particular reason for doing this today? Or is this just your way of thumbing your nose at society?"

  I looked at her blankly and gave her some of my witty repartee. "Huh?"

  "Oh gods John, didn't you even think?"

  "L.T., what the Hel are you talking about?"

  "John, it's October 31st, All Hallow's Eve, the day when the Veil between the living and the dead is the weakest. John, it's Halloween."

  "Oh shit." I muttered. "I didn't even realize." I paused again to count in my head. "Hel, it's been days since I even looked at a calendar. I've had other things on my mind. Shit, I can't change now. OK, so mote it be. Lars would have appreciated the humor." I looked up to check the set of the sails, thinking to myself, Well, if I wanted to piss Mom and Dad off even more, I don't think I could have found a better way. Mom and Dad were, of course, "Good, God-Fearing Lutherans", who only let Him into his house if He wiped His feet and was properly dressed.

  A little while later we were out well past Port Angeles and headed for the open sea. I wanted to get out to at least Neah Bay if I could before it got too dark. The sea was willing and the wind cooperated so we made it to Cape Flattery Light, just as the last of the sun set beneath the sea, and we saw something few landlubbers ever get to experience. The Green Flash. Google it, you wouldn't believe me if I told you.

  During the run I had gotten to know most of the guests a bit better. One or two of them were just friends of Lars from out in town, but most were both friends and associates. Now as Lars' business consisted mainly of magical workings in the interest of Society and Justice, you can guess that most of these folks were, or had been in their day, heavy hitters on the thaumaturgic roster. A few were apparently in retirement, or as close to it as someone like that ever got.

  One of the guests was none other than Mary's mom, Rebecca White Owl. I had known that Lars knew Mary's parents, but I didn't know that they were that close.

  Rebecca looked at me long and hard as I was manning the helm, then walked up to me, patted me on the head and said "Lars chose well. Beware when the powers of living and dead are one."

  Well, now that rocked me back on my heels. What the Hel did she mean by that? I looked at her with a cocked eyebrow and said "Rebecca, could you explain that to me?"

  "No."

  "No? Just, no?"

  "Yes."

  "I see." That sort of put my nose out of joint. I'm sure it showed because she followed up.

  "John, I would explain if I could. I don't know myself what it means. It's just a feeling I have." Well, shit. Cassandra didn't get nearly what she deserved.

  After the sun set, we turned on the navigation lights and large spotlights on the mast spreaders, then furled sail and I went forward to get the boat Lars had made. We lowered it into the water to lee with the boom, and I climbed down into it. There I placed the box holding Lars' ashes, his sword, and his shield. Mary brought up the spear she had gotten, and her mother kissed it before handing it to me. Then it dawned on me, this had been her dad's spear. Wow! She also handed me a string of amber, then others started handing me things. A ring, a wood carving, a brooch, a cloak, a small carved box, a book, several other things I don't remember. How Lieutenant Murphy knew to bring something I don't know, but she handed me a silver flask that sloshed.

  Mary went to hand me the gas can that we had brought for this, and her mother placed her hand on it, pushing it back to the deck. Then her mother handed me a large bottle from out of her bag without a word. I uncorked the top and took a whiff...Whew! Everclear. I took a swig, damn near coughed up a lung, and poured it liberall
y over the tar-soaked oak planks, then climbed back up onto the Tanngnost. I tossed off the painter on the bow and let the boat drift free, then started to get a flare gun out. Mary stopped me with a hand and opened up a locker on deck. Inside there was a longbow and an arrow with cloth wrapped around the base of the arrowhead.

  She handed me the bow, and started to dig into her pocket for a lighter or something. I looked at her and said "You gotta be kidding me. I can't hit the broad side of a barn with an arrow on dry land, much less hit a moving target from the deck of a moving boat."

  "John, try."

  "One arrow?" I asked incredulously.

  "Just try it. If I'm wrong, and you miss, you can do it your way."

  "OK, fine. I'll give it a shot." As soon as I said it, I realized what I said, and winced. No one said anything, so I shrugged and took the bow. I started to take aim and Mary shook her head. So I just pulled the arrow back. Mary lit it as I drew it to full draw, pointed it in the general direction of the drifting boat and let fly. To my complete amazement I stuck the damn arrow in the center of the boat, where it went up with a WOOSH. I grabbed a bottle of bourbon, took a slug, and shouted "ODIN!" while pouring some of the booze into the sea. The rest of the guests did the same, or stood silently as their faith bid them, from bottles that Mary had passed around. After that, we watched her burn to the waterline. I'm not sure if it was my imagination or what, but I swear I saw Lars in the flames performing a sword salute. When the boat started to burn out and sink, we turned off the spreader lights and turned the helm towards home.

  The way back was full of stories about Lars, not really important to anyone but those of us there. A couple of the folks mentioned that they would be in touch with me, which I took to mean that they were people who had worked with Lars in some capacity or other.

  Not long before we got into the moorage at Keystone, Lt. Murphy came back to talk to me. "John, I know you're still healing up, but can you come in on Monday? I need you to go look at something."