Brynnan: An Evil in Siginak

The Soul Returns

The Warlord Samir had never before felt so glad to find himself ambushed. Against all the warnings of his friends, he had ridden out alone, turning off the main road from the Torrent Mountain Redoubt to follow a trail through the high forests.

Twelve men now surrounded him. It was the second time in the same Moon that an assassination attempt had been made, the first one thwarted by his old friend and right-hand man, Geraint. But he had miscalculated: he almost certainly would be overwhelmed, and his only immediate regret was that his warhorse would also not survive. But Samir needed the thrill of a desperate fight to quell the pain that filled him, for his lover Brynnan, the core of his heart, was dead.

Granted, he preferred to live and did not intend to throw his life away cheaply. He had not anticipated this number of attackers, but his training kicked abruptly into place, and he focused on planning his counter-assault. He had one great advantage: his partner and ally, Malpaisan. The mighty, bronze-bay warhorse was trained to strike, defend and kill in battle, and he and Samir were veterans.

The men moved into a planned formation. Five of them drew aside while seven of them attempted to encircle him in the clearing. Samir did not intend to give them the opportunity. He dropped his horse’s reins behind the saddle’s high pommel. Broadsword in one hand and a long dagger in the other, he aimed for the men on the higher ground, and Malpaisan surged towards them. His unexpected move gave Samir the initial advantage as he took out one rider with a sword stroke to the neck and plunged his dagger under another’s upraised arm. But that rider’s mail shirt caught the blade as the man fell, pulling it from Samir’s hand. Others closed in at his back. The Warlord called a command, and Malpaisan leaped into the air, kicking out with his hind legs and striking the horse behind him. Then his neck snaked out, and he savagely bit the thigh of the rider that closed with Samir. That one screamed and dropped his sword, but another two took his place, forcing Samir to parry desperately. There was simply no room to employ his usual deadly effective tactics against his enemies, and suddenly, the Warlord was out of options.

Malpaisan screamed as a sword tip scraped his hindquarters and lashed out again with his hind feet. Swiftly turning to check on the attacker, Samir missed the sword aimed at him from the front, and the blade cut his arm, slicing through the leather of his shirt. Then, to make matters worse, snarling hounds joined the fray. But to the Warlord’s surprise, his attackers’ cries indicated a growing fear as they pulled back from him while the hounds poured between Samir and them. A hunting horn sounded, and more hounds ran into the clearing: white hounds with red ears. Samir could see through some of them as if they were not yet quite present in the material world.  

The horn sounded a second time, and a rider burst through the green undergrowth. Samir recognized the Huntsman. He had met him before: the Shadow Lord, terrible in aspect, whose hounds hunted men and took their souls.

The Warlord watched while his attackers attempted to flee, recognizing certain death when they saw it, but the hounds overwhelmed them, pulling them from their horses, who ran madly into the forest. Soon, no human remained alive except for himself.

As King Arawn rode up, his deathly aspect changed to a more approachable form. He said to Samir, “For Mortals, life is their most precious asset. Tell me you are not one of those to throw yours away so cheaply as this!”

“And did Brynnan throw his life away cheaply?” Samir countered as he dismounted, wiped his sword with a handful of leaves and sheathed it. Then he turned to check Malpaisan’s rump to find a shallow, bleeding scratch that would heal without complications.

“I do not even know how he died,” he added quietly.

“He took his own life,” replied Arawn, not sparing him.

The Warlord froze in shock. “I don’t believe it. Before I learned the truth, he was my captive for over a year. I pushed him to his limits, destroying the functionality of his hands and voice, and I planned to take his mind. You, his Father, know this and that Brynnan was not one to give in, he never was, not even in the direst circumstances!”

“Who said anything about giving in? He took his own life to stop Ruh-çağiran Natan, known to you as the Necromancer. Sit,” Arawn gestured at the mossy ground, “and let me tell you about it.”

Too dazed to do anything else, Samir seated himself, ignoring the pain in his bleeding arm, while his horse nuzzled at him before wandering away to graze what grass it could find.

The Huntsman then recounted what had happened with Brynnan in Siginak as he searched for the Necromancer and his journey to the Kingdom of Annwn, where he died. Eventually, he finished with, “You may reach Nijal now. He did not want to tell you his part while the danger existed from that thief and the complicit souls he captured. Your reaction to Brynnan’s planned death might have alerted his enemies.”

“And where is my lover’s body now?” said Samir, his voice low and exhausted.

“In Annwn. At the place of his death. I hold it unchanged and unmarred, like beforehand,” King Arawn said, observing the Warlord.

Samir raised his head, staring the Huntsman in his face. “Like before . . .at Scarfell Pass. He was killed by the Invaders, while I was captured and taken onboard their starship. Then I returned and found myself at his tomb. His soul and body reunited in my very presence!”

“Yes . . .”

“So it can be done again? There is a chance?” The fire of hope ignited in Samir’s grey eyes.

But Arawn held up a cautionary hand. “I brought his soul to his body, but they will not join. The phantom cord that anchors soul to body is not there. I have done all I could, but the corpse remains dead, although in stasis.”

“Then we are out of choices?”

“Not quite. You have a choice. Will you go with me to Annwn?”

“In a spirit form?”

“No, as yourself.”

“I thought no living mortal could travel there, maintaining body and soul—“

“There is a way. It has been done before,” said Arawn.

“I will do whatever it takes.”

Arawn explained. “Souls of the dead who have found the path to my Kingdom, spirit-beings, and creatures born to Annwn may enter. Mortal bodies may not—unless they have some part of Annwn in them, as Brynnan does.”

The Warlord’s hopeful expression faded until Arawn said, “If I give you my seed, you will be able to enter bodily. But once we are there, I cannot guarantee our efforts to raise Brynnan will bear fruit.”

“I am ready to do whatever I must.”

“It’s not just a matter of you being receptive, but we must fully engage with each other. Your passion must ignite, as must mine.”

“Now, Lord Arawn?”

“Tonight, when the moon rises. At this moment, if you open your mind, you will find that Geraint and Alanus, the Captain of your Guard, along with his men, are quite close to this place. I am sure Geraint will have something to say to you.” There was a gleam of amusement in Arawn’s eyes.

Then Arawn, still holding Samir’s gaze, leaned forward and kissed him. Lips touched, then opened and tongues entwined. A flood of heat filled them both, kindling an arousing fire. Then Arawn pulled back.

“Until tonight . . .”

*    *    *

Bathed, cleaned out and arm bandaged, Samir, dressed in a black silk robe, stood on the broad terrace extending from his chambers high in the Redoubt at Torrent Mountain. A sheer cliff face fell away below him, and a faint cloud of spray from the nearby waterfall caressed his cheek. He looked over the stone balustrade to the misty indigo and silver mountains in the distance, limned by the rising moon’s light.

His friend Geraint, the old Warrior, sat nearby on a curved stone bench, keeping watch with his Lord. “Stay hopeful, Samir, m’Lord; you were present before at Brynnan’s tomb, and he came back,” he stated plainly.

“Yes, but how many men do you know who have risen from the dead, other than Brynnan?”

“I don’t know of any in all my long years,” replied Geraint, who was a veteran of many battles. “But Brynnan’s father is a god.”

“The God of Death!” Samir laughed shortly.

“More, the ‘Keeper of Souls,’ I think,” said Geraint.

“I am still wrapping my head around that fact,” the Warlord sighed.

They waited, and presently, the signs manifested. King Arawn’s arrival was presaged by a sudden drop in air temperature and a silver mist forming. Then the Huntsman simply stood before them, wearing a deep amethyst-coloured robe with a silver horn and a flask on his belt. His golden torc-collar gleamed at his throat.

“M’Lord Arawn,” Geraint bowed his head respectfully.

“Geraint,” acknowledged Arawn. “Warlord.”

“You are welcome here, Shadow Lord,” Samir responded.

Arawn smiled, seeming quite human. “Few welcome me unless they are in dire straits.”

Samir escorted him inside the apartment. This door from the terrace opened directly into the main sleeping chamber with its enormous bed. A fire glowed in the dim light against the evening’s chill.

Wine and cups stood on a nearby table, and Geraint served them. “It’s a wine from Narib, their best, but most likely not to the standard of Annwn’s green wine that Brynnan mentioned.”

Arawn tasted his and nodded, saying, “Yes, this is indeed a fine Naribian wine. Prince Jehanadir oversees his vineyards with care.”

Geraint looked surprised, “You know Prince Jehanadir?”

“My hounds hunted his Uncle’s soul when the Prince felt compelled to slay him—he did much harm to the Prince and his young lover, Shahin.”

Geraint said ruefully, “I just had to ask, didn’t I? Apologies, m’Lord Samir, King Arawn. I’ll just keep my mouth shut and leave you two to your business.”

Samir read the emotion in his old friend’s eyes. “You may stay if King Arawn agrees, although it is not safe for you to participate.”

Arawn considered the old Warrior. “Geraint, I know your heart’s desire—it will come to pass in the fulness of time. But your Lord is correct. It is not safe for mortals to mate with me, but if you wish, you may prepare Samir and me for our joining. I have heard of your skill.”

“You mean I might suck your cocks? I would be honoured, Shadow Lord.”

Arawn and Samir shed their robes in the firelight to stand naked against the bed.

Arawn addressed Geraint again. “Strip, also, if it makes you more comfortable. I understand mine won’t be the only deity’s cock you have taken in your mouth.”

“Oh.” Geraint had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “You mean, the Sea Gods on Aegir’s Island. Brynnan told you about them?”

“He did.”

“He found his way there just to rescue me . . .Lord, can you and m’Lord Samir help him return?”

“It is my sincere hope,” Arawn looked deeply pensive for some moments, then smiled at Geraint. “Now come, and show us your skills, you who dare to suck the cock of a god.”

“Yes, m’Lord!”

Geraint shed his clothes, revealing his grizzled but still powerful body with its thick hair that covered his chest, back and limbs. His substantial and girthy penis rested half-hard in its nest of curling grey strands, hanging over his pendulous ball sack. He noted Arawn’s interest, then the old Warrior evaluated his subjects’ cocks with a practised eye.

He knew the Warlord’s cock well: together with Brynnan, he had sucked and been fucked by it many times and appreciated the magnificent size and thickness. As for King Arawn’s, it was impressive. Not impossibly outsized like the Sea Gods’ cocks, Arawn’s was just a little shorter and not as thick as Samir’s, but it was a thing of beauty: its texture, colour, and shape seemed perfect and drew him inexorably.

He knelt before the two, man and deity, and bent to his task, licking one cock and then the other, mouthing then kissing them. He did not use his hands but let his oral actions on one provide visual stimuli and edging to the one whose phallus waited for attention. It was subtle and effective.

Both cocks grew stiff and stood out proudly from their respective bodies, exposing their testicles. Geraint took advantage of this, alternately sucking on each of their ball sacks. He could read Samir’s desire like the scroll of a well-loved and familiar tale, so he knew just when to move to the head of his Lord’s cock and take it all the way in his throat to suck on it.

When he switched and sucked the Shadow Lord’s phallus, he felt a tingling throughout his body, akin to what one feels when lightning is about to strike close by. Warned, he drew back.

“I think you both are ready,” he said.

Samir and Arawn embraced and kissed as Geraint sat on the divan to watch, stroking himself slowly to control his arousal.

King and Warlord lay on the bed, side by side, facing each other. Samir ran his hand down the Huntsman’s body that reminded him so much of Brynnan’s with the same dark, silky, swirling body hair pattern and sculpted musculature. Their two proud cocks rubbed against each other’s as their hands explored. Samir felt that same tingling sensation Geraint had, but he welcomed its inherent energy.

“I need your semen, Shadow Lord,” he said. “What can I do to help you?”

“Geraint has already done most of it,” replied Arawn, “but I will penetrate you if you are ready now. You won’t need lubricant: my pre-cum is sufficient.”

Indeed, Samir could feel it dripping over his thigh. When Arawn instructed him to lie on his back, Samir complied, and the King moved to mount him. Samir opened his legs, and their cocks and ball sacks pressed together. Pre-cum made their contact slippery, so when Arawn moved his hips in a fucking motion, the hot, tingling feel of his cock made Samir’s erotic excitement rise to where he groaned and raised his hips.

They rubbed their cocks together until Arawn’s pushed forward and slid smoothly into the Warlord’s rectum, filling the passage as the Huntsman maintained his back-and-forth motion, then pumping deeper. He leaned down and kissed Samir’s mouth, fucking it with his tongue, while the two strove together to grind their bodies closer. Samir reached down and tightly gripped Arawn’s buttocks, pulling him in, and felt the cock touching his prostate.

Arawn’s profound gaze met Samir’s as the King said, “You will need to wait until I cum inside you, then drive your cock inside me. Let me receive your ejaculate; thus, our energies are combined, and the working will be complete.”

The tempo of Arawn’s thrusting hips increased until he was pounding Samir’s ass. They kept their gazes locked. Samir felt he was gazing into dark pools, each of which reflected a star at its centre. The eyes seemed like windows into space, and Samir thought he was glimpsing the Eternal Night. Then without warning, the tide of Arawn’s semen flooded his ass. He felt the spasms of hot cum and fought not to cum himself.

“Now!” cried Arawn as he withdrew and positioned himself over the Warlord, straddling him.

Samir shifted with Arawn so that his massive phallus broached the King’s ass. Indeed, he was cumming as he did so and thrust in with all his might while making an animal roar of lust released. Cum coated his cock and dripped over his balls and thighs. Their energies combined as the tingling sensation from Arawn’s body flooded into Samir’s, enveloping them.

Geraint jerked himself off faster, intensely aroused as he pounded his meat. He listened to the snarls and groans of the others: two great copulating or fighting cats, Arawn’s black panther to Samir’s tiger, both apex predators in their own unique way. Then the old Warrior’s copious and still-potent cum flooded over his hand as his bear’s roar of release joined their cries.

*    *    *

Samir held to Arawn as they came out of the Shadow-ways between realms and into Annwn. A great stone structure loomed before them in the deep twilight: the Dome, where Brynnan’s body was in stasis, kept from all changes. Taking a deep breath, Samir followed the Huntsman inside.

He stood in the portico and stared in wonder at the Dome’s high interior, centred over the massive stone slab surrounded by the reflecting pool. Its waters cast an eerie blue glow over the stonework. Then Samir fastened his gaze on the figure lying on the slab: Brynnan, his heart’s love. A sense of déjà vu possessed him, reminding him of another time he had gazed at his lover’s lifeless body.

‘Just return, my beloved; come back to me . . .” Samir pleaded mentally, anguish in his heart.

He turned to the Huntsman and drew in an involuntary breath. That Lord’s head now sported stag antlers and a crown. The feeling of lightning about to strike was palpable and only increased when Arawn reached out and touched Samir’s hand. He almost flinched when a large blue-white spark leaped from the Shadow Lord to himself, and the tingling feelings increased to almost painful levels. Samir couldn’t tell if the sensation was red hot or ice cold, or both at once.

“What must I do?” he said in a low voice.

“Wade the pool: go to him. Stay standing in the water but place your hands on either side of his heart.”

Samir immediately obeyed. When he stepped into the pool, the sensations became nearly unbearable. The blue glow in the water washed across his body, and the ripples from his movement cast waves of light which danced madly everywhere. Samir felt disoriented, but he forced himself on until he was at his lover’s side. He reached across Brynnan’s chest, framing the heart region with his hands, and pushed them flat against the skin.

A loud “snap!” and a burst of searing light threw him back, and he maintained his balance with difficulty. It was only when the afterimage faded to a pinpoint Samir realized that the Dome was in darkness: the water’s glow was gone.

‘I have done it wrong, destroyed any chance we had!’ he thought in genuine fear.

But the pinpoint persisted. It grew, becoming a ball of blue light, not as bright as the flash. The ball changed again, and the soul of Brynnan manifested before the Warlord. It was magnificent in its glory, reflecting Brynnan’s form and features, except it was bathed in waves of blue, sparking light. A glowing cord floated from it, connecting to the body beneath where it hovered. Then the soul disappeared, but now the waters of the pool took up their glow once more.

Samir stood in the knee-deep water, frozen in place. He watched as the body’s skin radiated a nimbus of light, no longer blue but changing through all the colours of the rainbow and beyond, racing through the entire spectrum before fading in intensity to leave the skin a warm, pale violet. Brynnan’s eyes opened slowly and naturally. He tried to speak but just made a hoarse sound.

“Just be still, my lover, said Samir. “I will carry you.”

He picked up Brynnan’s body, cradling it in his arms, and crossed the pool to the portico bench where Arawn stood waiting. He handed Brynnan over to his Father, who embraced him and helped him stand on his own two feet.

Arawn’s semblance was more human again; the stag horns had gone. He took the flask from his belt, opened it and handed it to his son. “Drink it. Do you need help?” he asked.

Brynnan simply drank the entire contents of the flask before speaking, and his voice was almost normal. “No, I can manage, Father. Thank you. My thanks to both of you.”

He wiped a stray tear from his face and then turned to Samir, surrendering to his lover’s strong arms.

“Why do I allow you to stray from me and get yourself into such trouble?” Samir asked, not expecting an answer.

“Because I have a job to do? Because you know I will come back? Because you love me?” Brynnan retorted, but Samir just shook his head.

King Arawn interjected. “Come, both of you. There’s something we must do.”

“King Arawn, I’m afraid that if you suggest sex right now, I don’t believe I could manage. I am truly exhausted, only being mortal—and I think that’s the first time I have admitted to such weakness: I’m a prideful man,” said Samir.

“Brynnan will have told you that time does not rule us here. I do. Therefore we can go to Caer Annwn, my home. We will rest and then make love when you are recovered. You are tired because, as happens to Brynnan, your spirit energy is drained. I will renew you both—when you are ready, that is.”

Samir smiled at last. “Give me a double portion of your spirit, Arawn, and I will pass it to my heart’s love, my Bard.”

“Then let us go. We will take the Shadow-ways again.”

*    *    *

Across the gulfs of space and time, in Siginak, Nijal Silverhand met with Chief Administrator Belisarius, his Adjutant, Cassini, and four administration members. They discussed the problem of the renegade Administrator, Strategist, Soren.

“With the death of Ruh-çağiran Natan, Strategist Soren’s interrogation has been continued,” said Captain Belisarius. “He is resigned but unrepentant and firmly believes that our Settlement must fail. I am afraid he has condemned himself.”

Adjutant Cassini weighed in. “He has named two names of his co-conspirators, but I fear there are more. Will you be able to go into his mind,  Silverhand?”

Nijal began to reply, paused, and his green and gold eyes assumed a fixed stare.

Belisarius leaned forward in his seat. “Silverhand? Is something wrong?”

“No, Gentes, something is right. Expect Brynnan Marec Mavrenn to join us soon. He will get the remaining facts from Soren; count on it.”

“You have received his mind-voice? The news is good?” asked the Captain, hopefully.

Nijal reflected before he answered. The others were unaware that Brynnan had died but now joined the living once more. He wanted to shout with joy but managed to hold onto his customary reserve.

“Yes, the news is indeed good.”

*    *    *

There was no rush; time being subjected to the Shadow Lord’s will. Brynnan slept with his lover in a cool, airy tower room at Caer Annwn, and he did not fear his dreams. It seemed he was thrice-born, and the deep twilight night held no fears.

When they awakened, Arawn summoned them to his chamber. “We will lie with each other now, and I will renew your spirits,” he said. “And I will give you of my essence, Samir, so that you may safely pass to your own mortal realm. One day your soul will return here when you and my son are ready to stay. But now . . .”

As if by mutual consent, the Warlord and Arawn focused their attention on Brynnan, understanding that he needed renewal the most urgently. They stripped him and made him lie on Arawn’s bed, then Samir and Arawn undressed and lay on each side of the Bard. Samir kissed his lover intensely yet carefully while the Shadow Lord sucked Brynnan’s nipples before licking his way down to the handsome cock, already swelling to an erection. Arawn took it in his mouth, holding it with one hand while he stroked Samir’s phallus with his other hand.

“Turn over, lie down and relax, my son. Samir and I shall both take you from behind.”

“Yes, Father.”

Samir and Arawn then took the time to thoroughly fuck Brynnan, alternating with each other, until the Bard did not know which of them to turn to and eventually surrendered to both, cumming each time.

Then Arawn commanded, “Now you, Samir. Lie beside Brynnan.”

As Samir wrapped one arm tightly around his lover’s back, Arawn fucked the Warlord’s ass, thrusting inside him tirelessly until his cum filled him.

 They rested together in the session’s aftermath until Arawn announced, “My son, it’s your turn to give. To complete the cycling of spirit energy within you, I bid you fuck me. Can you manage right now?

“If I must, Father. But I think my cock will prove more difficult to arouse right now. Life seems so . . .precious, but death is tiring.” He smiled crookedly.

“It is the longest sleep . . .” mused Samir, “But I will get you hard very quickly—without arcane talents!”

He moved down the bed until he could lick and suck Brynnan’s testicles, knowing how much it stirred his lover’s passion. Meanwhile, the Shadow Lord leaned over to take his son’s mouth in deep kisses. And so the irresistible magic worked as Brynnan’s cock rose in salute.

“Now, my son, fuck me,” said Arawn, lying on his back and making his ass available.

And Brynnan obeyed.

*    *    *

“Father, while you return with my Lord to Torrent Mountain, I can take myself through the Shadow-ways to Siginak,” said Brynnan.

“No, my son. I will take you there also. Your Lord gave you instructions not to travel the Swift Tracks by yourself. Aren’t there still loose ends to deal with in Siginak?”

“Assassins? Are there any of them left that was not hunted and slain by your hounds, dying of their fear?” asked Brynnan.

Samir interjected, “Your Father’s hounds apparently took the souls of all those who laid in ambush for me, but I don’t know about the ones you told me were in Siginak.”

“I sense no current threat against you—but they may believe you are dead. We must still be careful, for the Necromancer had other henchmen,” said King Arawn.

“My Father, if you are sure my Lord will be safe in Torrent Mountain, send Ysbryd, our loyal dog, with me to Siginak. That way, I am not travelling alone.”

Arawn looked at Samir, and the Warlord nodded.

Samir addressed his lover, “I will stay in Torrent Mountain and scour our own place for insurrectionists or conspirators of Siginak’s downfall while you and Nijal handle matters there. The sooner we resolve it, the sooner we can be together again. And I will listen to Geraint. He is advanced in wisdom as well as age.”

Then Samir took Brynnan in a long embrace. “This time, don’t die on me!” he admonished.

Brynnan laid his head against his lover’s shoulder. “No, I want to live with you instead.”

*    *    *

To be continued . . .