Brynnan: The Alsar Imperative : Chapter 4

Azander

Under the shelter of the ruined wall, Brynnan watched as two guards escorted the stranger, who walked between them with a confident step. The Bard felt his Lord, Samir, focus on the visitor.

Just like in the vision sent by Nijal, the Guardian was a tall man of lean build with curling, shoulder-length rusty hair. His well-shaped face had an exotic cast, the blue and gold eyes set in a slight cant. His jawline was clean, sporting only a sparse beard. Dressed in greens, his leggings were cross-tied from ankle to knee, and a long, red-brown cloak, fastened with a bronze triskele cloak pin, covered his shoulders but opened at the front. He wore a curved sword at his side and a dagger inside a sheath that hung around his neck.

Samir remained seated and gestured for the stranger to join him. Brynnan understood the tactical and psychological implications: with the lead parties sitting, any signs of threat were diminished. However, Geraint stood close by with Asirin and his lieutenant, Cadmus. Geraint watched the man like a hawk.

Samir spoke: “My Bard tells me your name is Azander, and you are an Alsar Guardian. I am Samir, Warlord of Torrent Mountain. What is it that you seek?”

Brynnan noted his Lord was unusually straightforward. He listened as Azander replied.

“I intend no harm. I am drawn to a gathering of some of my people in Narib. I have learned that you are travelling there, and I wish to accompany you and your party.”

“Why? I have heard that the Alsar travel swifter alone,” Samir pressed.

“It is because of the Marec Mavrenn here—” Azander turned his gaze to Brynnan, then continued. “As keeper of the harp, Mavrenn, he travels with you. The instrument is important, not just to your Bard’s people, but to mine, and I am interested in seeing that she is safe. I offer your Bard my protection. My powers can sense danger coming well in advance.”

“Were you told of her presence with us, or is this something else you ‘learned?’” Samir’s expression gave nothing away, although his words were challenging.

“You are suspicious of me, and perhaps rightly so. But I truly mean no harm. Something I sense in the aether is gathering. But if you are uncomfortable with me, I will leave and make my own way to Narib.”

The words were disarming, but Samir responded, “You may travel with us as long as you understand that you will be under my orders if you stay. Can you accept that?”

Azander courteously bowed his head. “But, of course, Warlord.”

Samir, however, was not quite finished. “My Bard tells me you attempted to probe his mind forcibly. That is not acceptable to us. Brynnan will speak to you mind-to-mind, and he will contact other Alsar, but I will brook no interference in our thoughts. Be warned: I have had deep experience with this.”

Just for a moment, Azander looked discomfited. “A regrettable lapse on my part. When I discover a mind that can range the aether, I naturally want to tell if it is a threat.”

Samir smiled knowingly. “Then I refer you to speak with Brynnan Marec Mavrenn here. He is highly skilled in diplomacy and discernment.”

The Bard glanced at Azander to see if he had taken offence, but the Guardian’s expression showed only a quiet amusement.

The Warlord turned to Geraint. “Call Danan and have him bring tea for our guest and me.”

* * *

Before they left the site, Brynnan walked by himself, skirting the great, fallen stones. He saw more incisions carved on the blocks but did not touch them, wanting no more flashbacks to a distant time.

“May I join you?”

Brynnan turned to see Azander. The Guardian’s arms rested at his sides in an easy, non-threatening pose.

“You may. Can you feel the sadness in these stones?” Brynnan replied.

“The energies surrounding them are still strong. They hold our history and stood for uncounted ages before your people arrived.” Azander said.

He walked shoulder-to-shoulder with the Bard. “And what do you feel?”

Brynnan was inclined to be honest with the Alsar and see where it would take him. “I touched some carvings, and memories, seemingly of another mind, flashed into my consciousness. The actual destruction. Walls blasted into rubble, the inhabitants dying. Screaming. I didn’t know the Alsar could feel such distress.”

“You are unusually sensitive. Yes, we can feel distressed. We are not human but have emotions, thoughts, and memories.” Azander ran a hand over the banded stone. “There was a tower here, a lookout point on this hillside. We could see out a long way around. We had no enemies when it was built; the tower was where one could follow the moons on the horizon and dream.”

“A place for meditation?”

“Even so. Perhaps you touched the mind of a dreamer,” said Azander.

Brynnan shuddered. “How do your people not hold a deep-seated resentment towards those who settled your world?”

“I’m sure many did at first before we struck back at your destructive technology and before we convinced you to respect this world. Brynnan, the people of your own ArMorican culture were first to join in the Mother’s plan. Now that a balance has been restored, our enmity has no purpose. But I only wish . . .”

“Yes?”

“I wish you could have seen this world as it was before. When our native plant species flourished: forests of giant “ferns,” you would call them, and fungi, taller than a human man, that glowed at night, which had spores that would have made you see true visions. Avian species taller than your horses, with trailing feathers in rainbow hues, and creatures you would have described as flying dragons with iridescent skin.”

“You awake a longing in me,” said Brynnan, reacting with surprise at Azander’s unexpected and personal disclosure.

“You have something of the Alsar within you, and so does your Lord. I’m not sure how,” Azander said.

“For answers, you should contact the Guardian Nijal’s mind and communicate with him.”

“He is your friend?” asked Azander.

“I’ve known him since I was a boy. I realize it’s just the merest drop of time to the Alsar,” Brynnan said with a wry smile.

“No, we have adapted to your concept of time, and I think we understand most of it. But there is much more to you than meets the eye,” the Guardian replied.

“The new Invaders left their mark on me. Perhaps that is what you sense.”

But at that point, Brynnan heard Geraint hailing him. He looked, and the old Warrior swiftly closed the distance between them.

“Brynnan, we are ready to leave.” Geraint switched his attention to Azander. “Our Guardsman, Danan, has fed and readied your horse if you will return with us.”

“I thank you, Warrior.”

Brynnan was amused but also relieved at Geraint’s disingenuousness. The old Warrior could have easily spoken to the Bard’s mind, but he suspected that Geraint was being protective and secret about their abilities to communicate mind-to-mind. The old Warrior inserted himself between him and Azander as they returned to the others.

The remainder of the day was uneventful. Azander rode mostly beside Lord Samir, answering his questions more than he asked any of his own. The two troops of Guardsmen and Deieros established a camp at a shallow river disturbed by rapids that they planned to ford in the morning when the light would be better. The rain had stopped, and the sky showed signs of clearing. A band of dusky purple, blue and gold hues showed under the edge of the cloud cover, revealing a bright star.

The Warlord, Captain Alanus, Geraint, Asirin and Cadmus drew together in a confidential leader’s council. Brynnan sat with them but offered no opinions, drawing questioning glances from his Lord. He felt the dilemma of Azander’s presence. Then an unspoken longing seized him, an impulse to be done with delays, to take the Shadow-ways to Narib and dispense with any threat to Mavrenn, using his powers, even to invoke the branded sigils on his breast. He schooled himself to be patient with an effort.

After the meeting, the leaders gathered around the fires with their men. Samir, at the central fire, bid Brynnan play for them. He obliged, delving into his deeper memory for pieces from far-off places with uncommon melodies. Although it wasn’t standard warrior’s fare, the guardsmen and the Deieros warriors listened attentively. However, his last piece was a ballad describing the few survivors of a fierce battle, lost in the hills while attempting to find their way home. The haunting song was an unusual choice. Still, Brynnan employed some of the Shadow-singing techniques to pull his listener’s emotions into finding comfort together against the lonely night. The song seemed to resonate with the Deieros Brothers, exiles from their original city-state of Xylon after that city had attempted to disband them. Asirin himself came up and embraced Brynnan afterwards, thanking him for his music.

When he walked over to join Samir and Geraint, Brynnan noticed Azander staring at his harp, and the Bard felt protective. Still, the Alsar Guardian did not ask to examine Mavrenn more closely, which would have roused Brynnan’s suspicions. He felt relieved when Samir expressed his wish to retire for the night.

* * *

Brynnan bathed with Geraint’s help in the river before joining Samir in their tent. Geraint stayed outside.

“I’ll stand guard here for a while, lad. Just for the first Watch, Alaric will relieve me afterwards,” the old Warrior said.

Brynnan knew that Geraint still did not trust Azander, and he felt a rush of affection for his friend. Embracing him, he said, “If you are truly concerned, I can always call my Father’s dog, Ysbryd, to watch for us. Being from the Otherworld, he can be subtle and effective.”

“The Good Spirits bless you, lad. But I think we’ll hold back and keep Ysbryd for our ‘weighted dice,’ if you know what I mean,” he replied and winked.

Brynnan entered the tent. A small orb lit the space within, and Samir sat naked on the bedding, awaiting him. He sank down gratefully beside the Warlord. “Be at ease, my heart’s love,” he said to his Lord. “Geraint watches for us.”

“I know, Brynnan. Come here.”

Samir opened his arms to his lover, holding him tightly, and kissed him with a slow sensuality. His tongue probed and explored the Bard’s mouth, and he responded, seeking to express the depth of his love in the kiss. After several such kisses, Samir pulled back and looked searchingly into Brynnan’s dark brown eyes. He seemed to find what he sought, for he pulled his lover deeper into his embrace, kissing him again. They continued for a long time, in no hurry to rush events. After being made to submit to the Strategos, Arcturus, Brynnan felt reassured of Samir’s love and appreciation. He responded by sucking his Lord’s cock with unhurried thoroughness.

Eventually, Samir pushed him to his back on the bed and ran his big hands over Brynnan’s body. He started at the neck above the Bard’s golden torc collar, lightly touching the scars which laced his throat. Then his hands roved over his lover’s chest, stroking the dark, silky hairs and fearlessly tracing the brands. Samir leaned forward and licked Brynnan’s nipples as they stiffened into hard nubs of flesh. He sucked them before trailing kisses down the Bard’s abdomen and loins, then lay down between Brynnan’s raised knees and thighs and licked his balls. He concentrated on sucking his lover’s testicles, one at a time, and Brynnan melted into the sensations, sighing deeply. His cock was kissed, then taken into Samir’s mouth.

When Samir reared above him, Brynnan raised his ass and spread his legs more. The Warlord took lubricant and drizzled the slippery liquid over the exposed anal opening and penis before him. As Brynnan felt his cock being stroked in Samir’s fist, he marvelled at the unaccustomed gentleness his lover was showing. Everything was deep and thorough, especially when the impressive phallus pushed its way inside Brynnan’s rectal passage, making him thirst to be fucked.

As if listening to his lover’s soul and its desires, the Warlord did just that: fucked his Bard with long, slow thrusts. Brynnan raised his legs in response, resting one ankle over the Warlord’s shoulder. He was almost shocked by Samir’s continuing gentleness, accustomed as he was to his Lord’s fierce and almost violent love. As his passion rose, he felt Samir’s mind engage with his, intimately sharing their goal. Brynnan felt what Samir was feeling, and the line between their minds blurred until Brynnan‘s very soul engaged. He gently shielded his heart’s love from the full force of it, tied as it was to the Shadow Realms and able to dance on the edge of the Abyss. Not since his powers had matured had Brynnan allowed so much of himself to meld with Samir. In a sudden shift of perspective, he knew that he was the one who must be gentle with his lover’s soul. Then the boundaries dissolved as they reached their mutual climax, their souls combining.

Samir lay unmoving, stretched over Brynnan’s body, and the Bard was suddenly afraid that he had taken their joining too far. He recalled the image of himself at the Mirror of Souls in his Father’s realm of Annwn: the black lake that showed him his own soul, a gigantic construct of blue, sparking, whirling fire, with eyes like burning suns. It had been terrifying to see at first until, at his second death, Brynnan had become that soul in truth. Now he was back in the flesh, but the knowledge was burned into his mind.

“My dear one, do you hear me?” he whispered, his heart beating faster.

“Of course, my Bard. You sound concerned.”

Brynnan suddenly laughed in relief. “I was worried about you finding your way home,” he admitted.

“Like your last song this evening? Don’t be concerned. I have not lost myself yet.”

“Thank the Mother-of-All! I am a little foolish where it concerns you, dear heart.”

“I know you are. But trust yourself, and trust me . . .”

Samir shifted to lie at Brynnan’s side, pulling him against his breast. They lay on their backs, legs intertwined, in restful peace.

* * *

Towards the cusp of the deepest part of the night, Brynnan woke his Lord.

“What is it, Brynnan? Does Nijal call?”

“In a sense. I promised him I would make a short foray of the spirit, only until dawn at the latest. Will you give me leave to go and watch over my body until my return?”

Samir became more alert. “Do you place yourself in danger?”

“No. my Lord. We meet in a deeper way than just a mind-sending. There is something I need to test.”

“Very well, dear heart. But send in Geraint, and we two can watch over you together.”

“Yes, my lover. You know what to do if I am slow in returning—”

“Yes: both of us will fuck you and call to your spirit.”

“But in any case, I will return soon.”

“Then go swiftly and with resolve.” Samir kissed his lover.

Brynnan got up and went to the tent’s entrance. Geraint was still there, resting on a spear, his warm, bear fur-trimmed cloak gathered around him.

“Come inside, old friend. We have need of you.”

Geraint chuckled. “It’s always nice to feel wanted.”

Brynnan briefly explained what was required. Geraint obligingly stripped down and, as Brynnan returned to the bed beside Samir, lay on his other side.

“Return soon. Don’t make us have to fuck you to bring you back—what am I saying?” Geraint shook his head. “I must be crazy. I’ll fuck you anyway when it’s the appointed time, just to be sure.” He then asked, “Is Mavrenn safe?”

“She’s right behind our heads, in her case,”

“Good. We’ve got you, lad.”

“I know.”

* * *

In raven form, Brynnan’s spirit winged his way into the heavens. He was invisible to human eyes, but there was one who watched him go. To Azander, the spirit bird was quite clear.

Brynnan shifted, and the aether surrounded him. Then abruptly, he was in space, some distance from the planet. Even to his supernatural sight, the world presented itself as a gigantic, glowing azure sphere: she was the Mother-of-All, the anima mundi: the world’s soul, overwhelmingly sentient and alive.

Myriads of tiny, glowing spheres surrounded Brynnan: his spirit’s interpretation of the minds of the Alsar present before the Mother. Their thoughts entered his mind with gentle acknowledgment, recognizing him, and he touched them back. Some were familiar, others new. He felt the minds of Nijal and his fellow Guardian and friend Dronnadh as they welcomed him.

He had previously met with the Mother in spirit form, guided by Nijal. Tonight, he was present by his own powers. Focusing again on the giant sphere, he heard her song. It was underpinned by a deep humming, more vibration than sound, but overtones of harmonic ‘voices’ joined it in a complex and all-encompassing choir. Separating some of the components, Brynnan was aware of tones like deep-sounding wind instruments, reminiscent of what one might hear when blowing one’s breath over the opening of a glass bottle, only a thousand times louder. There was a pulsing, whipping sound like the echoes of blood pumping through the arteries of a human body. A soprano voice was interwoven with a bird-like chirping. All was impossibly complex but worked into a harmonic whole.

He did not know how long he drifted before that supernal vision. He might have stayed there indefinitely, so entranced was he, but a familiar energy pulled at him and thoughts from the Alsar touched his mind. ‘You are called. Come away,’ they said. ‘It is time you returned to those who wait for you.’

He felt the Guardians’ acceptance of him, not just as an individual, but of himself as the Marec Mavrenn, Keeper of the harp inhabited by an Alsar spirit. Gratitude flooded his being, even as he drew himself away. For a moment, a region of unknown possibilities surrounded him, but he turned to focus on his Lord Samir’s mind, which shone like a distant beacon.

There was no wrenching sensation this time as his spirit returned. His ghostly raven’s form perched on his body’s breast then slipped smoothly inside. He opened his eyes, breathed deeply, and felt a flood of sexual arousal. He lay on his side, and Geraint’s hairy arms clasped him as the old Warrior’s thick cock stretched Brynnan’s anal passage, fucking him slowly.

“Welcome back, dear heart,” Samir whispered. “

“I am reeling you in,” said Geraint. “Dawn is not far off.”

Without warning, Brynnan ejaculated, his cum flooding into Samir’s hand, which gripped his rigid member. After some moments, he said, “I thank you, but my energy is sufficient for now, old bear. There is much on my mind, and I need a chance to decipher the puzzle.”

“What can you tell us, my lover?” asked Samir.

“My spirit form encountered many Alsar minds gathered before a great mystery, our planet’s soul. I heard her song and became part of it. The main thing is that I was welcomed. The Alsar knew me: not just as Brynnan, but as the Marec Mavrenn. I felt in no danger, and I felt no threat from them to Mavrenn. Whatever the problem, it isn’t a concerted Alsar plot to destroy her. I am partially reassured, but there was almost a protectiveness surrounding me as if a threat does exist.”

“Was Nijal present?” asked Geraint.

“Yes, but I only got the sense that he still awaits us in Narib. But I will tell you that it was on his suggestion that my spirit travelled tonight.”

“Interesting,” Samir reflected. “Perhaps his intention was to reassure you in some way.”

“I believe so—but there is also a warning. I must think more upon it,” said Brynnan.

“What you need to do now is sleep and recover,” said the Warlord.

“But my spirit seems to be getting stronger,” the Bard admitted.

“Yet you still need your Father’s seed to restore you when you travel to his realm,” the Warlord persisted.

“That’s somewhat different. My Father’s realm is as close as the blink of an eye, yet sometimes seems as far as eternity; besides, it has its own protections.”

“Does our new Alsar guest know of your heritage, do you think?” asked Geraint.

“No,” Brynnan replied. “But after tonight, he may suspect I am something other than the average human with a few gifts. He observed me leaving.”

“Did Azander follow you?” demanded the Warlord.

“No. I didn’t sense his mind at my destination. He is either very astute or very cunning. I still haven’t decided which,” said Brynnan.

Geraint started to question. “Do you think he—”

Samir interrupted him. “Enough questions, old Warrior. I bid my lover rest now. The morning will bring its own answers.” He embraced Brynnan. “Sleep,” he commanded.

“Yes, my Lord.”

* * *

To be continued . . .

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