Sheathing Murdock

By Bryan Westby

This is a satire in the tradition of Kurt Vonnegut, John Barth, Tom Robbins, Douglas Adams, and Chuck Palahniuk. It is a comedy, action adventure, and romance about a Viking trying to do the right thing. It's also a story about a modern journalist trying to keep it together through the Mueller report, impeachment, and a respiratory-based virus epidemic compounded by the worst Presidential administration in America's history. There are also magicians, clowns, and pole dancers, all doing their part to protect the First Amendment. Mostly, though, it's a story about atheism. And it all starts about a thousand years ago.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryan Westby
• Release date: Aug 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005726348

Bryan Westby

Bryan Westby lives in a suburban paradise on the outskirts of Portland, Oregon, and participates in the craft beer revolution. He writes comedy, humor, satire, and sometimes metafiction. Currently researching the spy novel, he is working on a trilogy of espionage thriller comedies, and produces Espionage Today, a newsletter based on a fake spy magazine. An award-winning author, most, if not all, of his awards are from athletic events outdoors, mostly running up and down mountains, and he dives into these races in his latest book, Timberline Trail Running Club, the novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Tor Blackledge stood soundly on the bow of his longship, proudly guiding his men home after much plundering, and wondered why the pointy-headed foreigners gawked at him from the shore. Fifteen Frankish men in full armor among the high rocks lifted their spears in surprise as Freya's Daughter, her carved prow bearing a wooden likeness of a Viking maiden, black hair swept down around shielded breasts, slid home onto the soft, sandy beach.

I am Clodimus, son of Zwentibold! the Frankish man with the long helmet and short beard said. Who are you, so boldly beaching your ship without invitation?

I am Tor of Blackledge, said Tor. And you're on my favorite rock.

Vikings? Clodimus asked, watching in horror as the twenty sailors in chain-mail shirts scrambled off the sleek, shielded ship, pulled it inland, and secured it with ropes.

This is Wulfing, Tor said, his men behind him gathering their weapons and popping their helmets over their heads. We are returning home. Bladed spears, long saex daggers, and axes of every imaginable shape rose up among them.

Clodimus' eyes widened as two more longships softly ran aground with another forty men climbing out. One prow bore the likeness of a smiling wolf, and the other prow a gold-painted, long-tusked boar's head. Clodimus turned, sprinted to his horse, and rode off, leaving the other Franks with bitter, apprehensive looks.

Six of them were brave, and died quick, brave deaths. The others dropped their spears and ran off into the vast forest, the tall silver-green fir surrounding three sides of the village.

Something's going on, Golias Duran said, pointing to the columns of smoke wafting out of broken buildings on the edge of Wulfing.

Men, Tor said, turning, standing hand-on-hilt, addressing his proven warriors, sea-wary and, truth told, more than a little ready for a nap after such successful pillaging. Something's burning. Our home may be aflame. Although the fires no longer rage, there is plenty of fire and rage within us to meet these Franks who come before us. Came before us -- they were here when we got here.

He glanced at Golias, who shrugged. Tor raised an eyebrow, meaning to ascertain the quality of his speech. Golias answered by cocking his head to one side, indicating that he had heard better. It was Tor's turn to shrug, as it had been a long voyage, and there would be time for speeches later.

Scyld, Tor said, drawing out the captain of the Golden Boar longship. You and your crew stay and guard the ships and treasure. The rest, with me.

Along the path to the village they saw the destruction of the sacred oak. It had been chopped down, cut into three pieces, the sacrificial table at the base of the trunk broken and burned in the fire pit where their gothi had once seared lamb and pork, performing rituals in honor of Freya. Tor wasn't religious, but the ruin and sacrilege seemed unnecessary.

We weren't gone that long, Tor said. What the hell happened?

Nearing the buildings of outer Wulfing, spears, light shields, and axes at the ready, they marveled at the empty and quiet. Mud had been trampled everywhere, a primer paint in taupe and rouge coating the base of one house to the next. Here and there they flushed out a Frank soldier sprinting from the shadows to the center of the village, seeking refuge inside the great hall. The small houses and stables were smashed in, some still smoking, burning quietly. Saxon Hall, the great wooden lodge in the middle of Wulfing, looked untouched except for a large cross hammered over its gold-plated gable. A thin, gray smoke streamed upward from one chimney and smeared itself across the blue sky.

Tor drew his sword, Murdock, and stepped up to the great hall's closed door. Unlike the square, flat swords of his contemporaries, the blades heated and hammered to shape, Murdock was cast-molded with a higher grade steel. It held a finer edge, and was thinner and lighter to wield, yet flexible and more durable than the Frankish and Carolinian swords. Tor held this sword aloft, knowing the silver shine of its blade struck fear in the eyes of his enemies, and knocked on the door.

Knock, knock, Tor said.

No one's home, said a voice.

I am Tor Blackledge, Tor said, and this is Murdock, the sword of my father's father. We are from many tribes, and many lands. We are the Vikings of Wulfing.

This land has been claimed by Charles the Great, the voice said. Charlemagne is King of the Franks, King of the Lombards, and Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire. So go away.

Tor stepped back and waved to Heimfurth, the largest of his warriors. Heimfurth hefted an expansively large axe, a double-bladed weapon that looked made up of several axe blades welded together. Tor nodded, stepped back a few more feet, and watched as Heimfurth knocked a hole in the door. After a few more crashings, the Vikings dashed inside.

There were less than twenty Franks, all well-armed and willing to fight for their king and emperor. They bled well, with much screaming and gurgling, and there was a sufficient amount of gore before the fight was over.

A boy popped up from under the bar and asked, How about a beer, fellas? Eleven years old, with reddish blond hair and a huge smile, he only stood tall enough that his head, neck, and shoulders were visible above the bar-top. But he could reach halfway across it, and spread flagons out in a line, pulling them up from underneath.

What's this? Tor said.

The boy dove under, then returned with a small cask of ale in both arms. Spilling some, he started pouring beer into the flagons.

What's your name, boy? Tor said.

I'm Hiclaf, the boy said. I was hiding. But you guys took care of them. That was fun to watch. The most fun I've had all day.

I am Tor Blackledge, Tor said, lifting a flagon of ale.

I know who you are, young Hiclaf said. You're the Vikings. You used to drink in here all the time.

Tor waved the others forward, to gather around and grab a pint of ale. What happened to the others?

Some were killed by the Franks, some ran off, and others were captured and sent upriver, Hiclaf said. They're gathering supplies to rebuild the village, make it a proper town under Charles.

What about Lacey Biscuit? Tor said.

Lacey? Hiclaf said. The priest took her. She went with the rest, upriver to Hathobardy. They would have taken me, too, but I was hiding. Hiclaf gripped a half-full flagon of ale with both hands and tipped it back, taking a sip.

Looks like we're going upriver, Golias said.

We'll convene on the beach, Tor said. He took another pull of the cold ale. We shall bury our treasure to keep it safe, restock all three ships, and paddle upriver.

We should take some ale, as well, Golias said, draining his flagon.

We'll take all the ale, Hiclaf said.

You're not going, Tor said. You're too young to fight.

I always wanted to be a Viking, Hiclaf said. I even have my own helmet. Besides, you guys need me.

It's going to be dangerous, Tor said.

I'm safer with you guys than here, Hiclaf said.

Where are your parents? Tor said.

The priest took them, too, Hiclaf said. My father is the blacksmith. I ran off into the forest and hid up in the trees until they all left. Are we going on a rescue?

Yeah, Tor said. We're going on a rescue.

Chapter 2

The writhing serpent glistened in the midsummer sun on a soft, cool patch of green. Two bodies intertwined into one, a man and a woman, naked on a grassy oasis under the half shade of palm trees. It was soft, tender sex, and it was also hard and rough in places. They were making love, athletically, sensually, and blissfully.

Do not be alarmed, as it was only sex. And it was a beautiful thing. This young, married couple were happily playful in each others arms. They were in love, and falling deeper with every thrust, every orgasm, every kiss.

When they were both satiated, there was peace.

Nine months later, a baby boy was born. They named him Jesus. Actually, they named him Yeshua, the Aramaic for Joshua, which is Hebrew for Lesous, the Greek for Lesus, which is Latin for Jesus. (In English it's pronounced Gee-sus; in Spanish it's Hey-soos.) Three minutes later, his twin brother, Thomas, was born. (Thomas is just Thomas, unless it's Tomas or Tom.)

They were dirt poor, Jesus and Thomas, but they had happy childhoods. Everyone was dirt poor except for the royalty and their priests. The Judean kingdom had just been taken over by the Roman Empire, so the government (the royal family, their Roman overlords, and the priests stationed at every temple, taking tithes in exchange for admonishment) functioned to benefit themselves. The middle class was nonexistent back then, two thousand years ago.

Joseph taught his sons well, and they could read and write by the time they started primary school. Instructed by the cleric at their local temple, they learned the Torah forward and backward. Jesus, with a near-photographic memory, studied with a passion, and both he and his twin brother graduated into manhood, when they were allowed to accompany their father into the oak forests of Lower Galilee that surrounded Nazareth.

Joseph of Nazareth was a wood-gatherer, a logger, a sort of lumberjack by trade, and the mountain wilderness of their home was alive with acacia, cypress, cedar, and oak. Olive and palm trees were plentiful in the lower hills, but oak was not, and they could make a little money providing this wood so essential for timber construction. When they ventured into the city, the brothers would meet panhandlers, beggars, and prophets, espousing scripture and wisdom for pocket change. Jesus and Thomas would also meet Greek merchants who liked to debate everything from politics to the weather. Like some twins, Jesus and Thomas were very close, but their similarity prompted them to seek different paths. Thomas wanted to work the forests with their father, and Jesus yearned for something different.

When Jesus left for the Sea of Galilee, he had planned to become a fisherman with his cousin, John the Baptist, who had a side gig as a Jewish preacher. But by the time they met, John had already started a messianic movement, based on his belief that a savior was coming to liberate the chosen ones, and had started anointing his followers with water. Jesus jumped right in, got baptized by John, and helped him preach. Jesus, witty, humble, and very charismatic, was a natural leader. John's followers multiplied exponentially from Jesus' preaching, to the point that he turned his flock over to Jesus, insisting that the messiah they needed had arrived. Jesus took over, but he didn't want to be a messiah -- he just wanted to make Judea a better place.

Jesus wanted change, social change. He argued that their Jewish god, the father of their Jewish laws, wanted all his people treated humanely. He preached charity, and stood up for the poor, the weak, the infirm, those who might be missing a limb or two, or an eye or two, and even women. He challenged priests, and routinely owned them in debates, winning poetry slams and scripture-offs until he became famous.

The local Greeks called him Khristos, the anointed messiah, and he attracted the attention of Pontius Pilate, Governor of Judea. The Romans liked the Jews, since they kept to themselves and never started trouble, but zealot and uprising religious groups were dangerous to leave unchecked, or so stated Emperor Tiberius (Claudius Nero). Stepson of Emperor Augustus (Gaius Octavius), who was stepson of Julius Caesar, Tiberius came from a politically rocky family. And he was kind of a dick.

Ironically, Jesus was charged with the same crimes that, 400-some years earlier, Socrates was charged with: impiety, and the corruption of youth. Socrates was charged with impiety against the pantheon of Athens, failing to acknowledge the gods that his city/state acknowledged, and corruption of (trying to teach) the