Brynnan and the Sea Raiders

Black of the Seas

As Aegir’s court reacted in shock, King Arawn spoke in a deep and resounding voice with sub-echoes that made it heard over the entire hall.

“I am the Huntsman. You have summoned me, Logi of the Fires, and it seems I arrive none too soon. My son has suffered much at your hands.”

“I did not summon you . . .” the Fire God stammered.

“Then why did you awaken the runes on my son’s chest?”

“Your son? This mortal, Hrafn, is your son?” Logi took a step backwards.

“You heard me correctly. Brynnan is his name, and he is my son, half-mortal, half of the Shadow Lands.”

He walked over to the table where Brynnan/Hrafn lay and laid his hand over his son’s naked chest, brushing the burning runes. Immediately the fiery glow ceased, and the flesh looked healed.

Hrafn shuddered. The experience had been one of intense pain, but he was alive. He accepted his Father’s supporting hand and rose to his feet, but a weakness was on him after the ordeal.

Then the Huntsman turned to King Aegir, who stood, fists braced, on the table before him. “I have intruded into your hall, King Aegir. Perhaps you will explain matters to me here. I have been aware of my son’s sufferings, but, as you know, the protocol of our neighbouring realms prevented me from arriving without invitation until Logi awoke the Runes of Transformation.”

“King Arawn of Annwn, I cannot say it is a pleasure to find you here; your hounds are too well-known in mortal lands: news of your hunts reaches even here. With you abroad, even Rán and my wave-daughters are at risk when they cross the boundaries to bring the storms at sea.”

“I keep the Balance in mind when I hunt. Your daughters are not at risk until their appointed time.”

Aegir replied, “As for how your son came to be here, the wave-riders in their longships occasionally brave the encircling fog that keeps others from my land to bring me sacrifices. Your son was taken by them and cast into the sea as an offering to my Queen and me. Rán recovered him and brought him here. He passed my tests, and I allowed him to live.”

“Only to be consumed by the fires of your own brother, Logi.”

“That will be between Logi and me, and I will require weregild for that act of treachery in my hall. But what will satisfy your honour, Lord of Death?”

“I will take my son with me and go. Aegir’s Fire shall remain dimmed as a reminder of your treatment of him.”

Aegir looked thunderstruck. “Aegir’s Fire has burned bright for ages uncounted!”

“Nevertheless, green its dimmed fire shall remain, not bright gold,” repeated the Huntsman.

Unexpectedly, Hrafn/Brynnan stepped up to his Father. “They did not know, my Father. I did not enlighten them. That fault is mine.”

“Your silence was necessary. I do not need you to be held as a hostage against me so they might curtail my hunts among those they favour. I think you realized this.” Arawn’s tone was severe.

Brynnan looked down. “Yes, my Father. However, I cannot go with you just now.”

“Oh? And why not?”

“Give us privacy and shield us while we three mind-speak.”

‘You have it, my son.’

Brynnan switched to that mind-speech with his Father and Geraint that none nearby could penetrate. ‘I have found Geraint, and I will not go without him. But he cannot travel the Shadow-ways with you without his soul’s ultimate destination being forfeit. When he dies, he would belong to Annwn, and as much as I would selfishly like that, I will not deny his soul a choice.’

King Arawn turned to look at Geraint, who protested, ‘King Arawn, already the souls of m’Lord Samir and my beloved lad Brynnan belong to your Kingdom. I also would choose Annwn.’

The Huntsman replied, ‘Annwn is both beautiful and terrible, but you do not know what other realms may lie across the Desert. My son is right; you must maintain your freedom to choose. However, that leaves me with a dilemma.’

Brynnan said, ‘There is another way.’ Then he spoke alone to his Father privately and mentioned a name.

‘It may work if you can convince the Black One to aid you in my stead. I shall summon him.’ Arawn replied to Brynnan’s mind.

King Aegir, unaware of this exchange, said to Arawn.

“But come, despite your ire, no guest, uninvited or not, has ever been denied my hospitality unless he brings treachery with him.” He sent a dark glance at Logi. “Allow my faithful servant, Eldir, to offer you mead of our brewing.”

King Arawn was well aware of the dangers of taking food or drink in another realm, but he laughed, knowing it would not harm him. “I will accept for hospitality’s sake.”

Eldir came forward, bearing two goblets and handed one to the Huntsman and one to Brynnan. “Drink, and may the pain of the fires be eased,” Eldir told Hrafn.

Brynnan drank, and it quenched his raging thirst.

After King Arawn drank down his goblet of mead, he continued speaking, “My son has chosen to find his own way home, as he will take the mortal, Geraint, with him. Best you do not hinder him when they leave, or my wrath will bring me once more to your shores.

“So it seems I will lose my teacher,” said Snær. “Had I realized that the sea-raven knows Geraint, I would have taken my teacher’s memory to keep him with me. But I, at least, will not pursue him. He has taught me gifts that I may employ. Perhaps one day a road will again lead him to my mountains.”

Geraint was about to swear that he would die first before he recalled King Arawn’s words of realms across the Desert, and he shuddered.

King Aegir again spoke, “As for my impetuous brother, Logi: for his transgression, I banish him from my hall until such time as Aegir’s Fire glows in its bright, golden glory once more.”

“I concur with my spouse, Logi,” said Queen Rán to the Fire God. She rose from her seat and walked towards him, her multi-hued hair trailing on the ground into nothingness. All the destructive power of the sea was in her gaze. “You knew that Hrafn’s life was under my protection, yet you tried to take it from him. It is an affront to King Aegir and to me.”

Logi replied, “Then I am bound by no oaths to let Hrafn go freely. The damage is already done. Let him leave this realm at his peril, lest I break open the fires of my mountain and trigger earthquakes.”

King Aegir replied, “Careful, Brother. Remember, earthquakes will bring the monstrous waves which would engulf even your mountain and quench your fires. My Queen would rejoice, and my daughters would sing their joy. But Kári, what say you?”

Kári replied, “I would rather Hrafn and his teacher stayed.” He turned to King Arawn. “Lord of Annwn, what can you do against the wind to compel it to your will? And mariners believe in me too much to let their awareness die.”

The Huntsman smiled a strange, distant smile. He did not immediately answer Kári, but it seemed he looked into the god’s soul.

“The Wind from the Abyss is stronger than any earthly wind. Did you truly examine the runes I caused to be branded upon my son? ‘Eternity, Wind and Night.’ The very Abyss is marked into his flesh. I would not attempt him further harm if I were you.”

Kari started in shock as the implications of Arawn’s words sunk in. The gods had played with a seemingly weak and helpless mortal who actually had the power to sweep them into oblivion if he had but summoned it. Hrafn’s willful defiance of Logi began to look far different: he had used the impetuous Fire Lord’s temper to activate the runes that could call to the Abyss. If the Huntsman had not arrived, they all might have been swept away in a dread tide far more dangerous than the engulfing sea.

But of a sudden, Brynnan clutched at his Father’s arm and swayed on his feet. Geraint stepped forward, saying, “Brynnan is hurt, King Arawn. What can we do?”

The Huntsman said to Aegir, “My son merely needs some time to recover before he leaves here. If he were to go with me, there would be no need to stay longer. But now, we will use a chamber for a short respite.”

King Aegir hurriedly summoned his servant. “Eldir, take them to your chamber. See to their needs.”

Eldir bowed, “Yes, my Lord King.”

He held to Geraint as King Arawn clasped his son to him, and they swiftly took the Shadow-ways to Eldir’s rooms. Eldir then bid Geraint to help him fetch potions and some clothing for Hrafn.

King Arawn laid Brynnan down upon a broad couch when they were alone. He stood and made a gesture with his hand, and they were surrounded by the silver mist.

“Now, we are in that space outside of time, where none may disturb us. I will heal your soul as I did before when you rode in the Hunt, scouring the land of our enemies.”

Without further words, he swiftly stripped and lay beside his son. Taking him in his arms, he kissed Brynnan’s mouth, pushing his tongue between his lips: his son tasted him and their tongues danced. As their kisses deepened, the Hunter of Souls breathed into Brynnan, and they exchanged their breaths. Looking at his Father, he saw that the Dread Lord’s expression was no longer the face of annihilation but something tender and encompassing.

“They have used you hard, Brynnan. But rest in me now, and I will banish pain and care.”

Arawn moved to his son’s cock. He licked at it gently, and Brynnan felt its hardness quicken. The Huntsman took the stiffening cock deeper in his mouth and sucked. Brynnan sighed as the moist warmth of his Father’s mouth tightened around his engorged penis, feeling the tongue sliding up and down the shaft and lingering at the tip to lap the dripping precum. The sensations repeated in an increasing rhythm, and Brynnan thrust his cock further into that warmth feeling his orgasm building.

“Father! I’m going to give you my cum. I can’t stop it now.” With a cry, he released his load, feeling his cock pulsing and his balls contracting as the semen flooded into his Father’s mouth. He felt a further ecstasy as Arawn swallowed, and his constricting throat muscles milked every last drop of semen from his cock. The orgasm swept through Brynnan’s body more fiercely than any storm as he surrendered to his Father.

The King of the Shadowlands looked up, “You are returning your life-essence to me, my son when I swallow your cum, but now I will give my essence to you. The circle will be complete.”

Then he positioned himself between Brynnan’s legs, raising his son’s hips to meet his own hard cock. He seized his son’s testicles with one hand, simultaneously penetrating his rectum with two fingers. Brynnan was caught in the inescapable grip as the Shadow King worked the tight opening, then he released his hand only to rub the head of his cock against his son’s hole. As his rectal passage was pushed open by Arawn’s penis, Brynnan gazed into his Father’s eyes. The eyes were no longer pools of darkness but a soft midnight blue. Brynnan felt that sense of homecoming he experienced only with his heart’s love, Samir, and with his Sire. No elaborate techniques were involved here: his arousal and surrender did not have to be coaxed; they were given gladly in an exchange of pure love.

“Fuck me, my Father. Put your cock deep in me. I have had need of you on this strange journey.”

Brynnan felt every increment of his Father’s cock as it slowly and deliberately entered him and withdrew again and again. He felt the heat of hands tightly gripping his buttocks and the Huntsman’s warm ball sack slapping against him. His own now-stiff cock pressed against his Father’s belly, dripping pre-cum.

“Do you feel my hardness pushing in you, my son? Know that when I cum, when I spill my seed in you, it is life, not death, just as it was when you were conceived.”

Arawn thrust in ever deeper, fucking his son in a timeless rhythm. Brynnan responded, pushing against the cock as it surged in, riding it, impaled by his Father’s desire. He raised his legs over Arawn’s shoulders, making himself open to the insistent pounding. It could have been a few brief moments of ecstasy or a near-eternity of fucking: it did not matter in this timeless space. Only the ever-present now surrounded them.

Brynnan gave up his cum to his Father again, the spreading ejaculate as a balm between their two bodies as he felt it soaking the silky black hairs that patterned his stomach and chest.

Then, throwing his head back in abandon, Arawn ejaculated, filling his son with his seed and claiming his ass. They held tightly to each other as his cum pumped into the rectal passage, and it seemed as if a wind, not of earthly realms, blew around them—the wind from the Abyss.

 But Brynnan had no fear. These winds had blown him like a leaf in the universe, and he knew where his soul’s road led. He had traversed the lands of Death and had been reborn. He had no words to express his gratitude to his Father. But Arawn knew.

They returned from the Shadows just as Geraint and Eldir arrived back in the room. King Arawn was clothed once more, and Brynnan sat on the divan, recovered, with only the memory of pain from Logi’s fire.

Eldir had brought him garments, and Geraint helped him dress. The old Warrior gazed into his friend’s eyes as he did so. “Did you and your Father . . .” he began, but he did not finish the sentence. There was no need as he saw satiated love residing there.

Eldir had made up a potion that Brynnan drank quickly. For some reason, he trusted Eldir. The servant took his reputation as Aegir’s brewmaster quite seriously, and he had no personal stake otherwise.

“You have recovered exceedingly fast, Hrafn, sea-raven,” Eldir said.

 “My Father’s touch spells doom for some—those that harbour evil in their hearts, but he shows me only love. I strive to be worthy of it,” Hrafn/Brynnan replied.

*    *    *

They did not return to King Aegir’s Hall but gathered on the shore in the sandy cove where Brynnan, had first washed up. Eldir, who had transported Geraint, bid them farewell and left.

“Let me discard this name that Jarl Falke put on me. It has been like a slave collar around my neck. I am no longer ‘Hrafn’ but ‘Brynnan.’”

“Will we pursue vengeance against those who enslaved us?” asked Geraint.

“Not vengeance but justice, and we will seek to restore the Balance,” Brynnan told him. “As my Father has made me aware, It would be too dangerous to call on the powers of the Void in the mortal realm and unleash destruction on both sea-raiders and their victims, but I will not refuse my other powers as the Huntsman’s son. They will be stopped.”

“Well, I have a score to settle with Arne of the Mjothvitnir and his men. But what is our plan now if your dread Sire will not take us through Annwn or through your Shadow-ways, as you call them?”

The Huntsman, looking out to sea, turned and said, “I have already called our ally. Be careful of him! He may help, hinder you, or even drag you down to the sea depths. But I am sure you will persuade him, my son. And now I must go, lest I draw down these vengeful Gods upon you.”

“But they implied that they would not pursue us!” protested Geraint.

Arawn threw back his head and laughed. “They are gods! They are also elemental forces and must be true to their own natures, as must I.”

He placed his hands on Geraint’s shoulders and kissed his forehead. “If your path eventually leads you to Annwn, you will be welcomed there. Never fear my hounds!”

Then he embraced Brynnan. “Farewell, my son. You may keep your mind open to me now that the gods are aware of you. Come to me in Annwn when you are able.”

Still holding his son, he faded, and Brynnan felt a bitter loss.

*    *    *

The sky darkened, the winds beginning to moan.

“If we were back home, I’d say a storm is coming,” commented Geraint. “Look! The waves pick up. They are gathering their forces against us.”

“These gods will not strike just yet. They are not sure what we will do. Have patience a little longer, my friend. I sense our ally has entered this realm. A new and alien presence in the seas speaks to my mind.”

The wind whipped up spray on the incoming waves that crashed onshore. In the distance, the smoke from the fire mountain billowed up into the sky, the white of it now mixed with an ominous grey.

“Logi starts his revenge,” muttered Geraint.

But Brynnan, staring at the ocean, exclaimed. “He comes, Du y Moroedd comes to us!”

Geraint followed his gaze. “There is something black in the water approaching the shore. By the Great Mare’s Tits, what is it?”

“You may well invoke the Great Mare, Geraint. When it comes ashore, be polite.”

“Be polite?”

“Hold, it comes now.”

In the surf, a great beast surged. It was bigger than the warhorse of Brynnan’s lover—a massive beast in itself—and totally black. Its lengthy mane whipped spray, and its eyes were red and crazed.

“This is our help?” muttered Geraint, stepping backward.

“Guard your thoughts. It can hear your mind,” cautioned Brynnan.

The monstrous horse was before them with a mighty leap. It stood then, extending its neck toward Brynnan and snorting, trying to catch his scent. Brynnan responded by gently blowing on the horse’s outstretched nose, careful not to touch it.

“Du y Morroedd, my Father’s untameable ocean steed. Du of Legend and Fame, Steed of Sorrow, Steed of Dread and Terror, Steed that carried the Eight Survivors, we ask your aid.”

Although he declaimed the words aloud, he sent images into the beast’s mind that reinforced what he spoke. The horse pawed the sand, looking at them. Then it stretched its neck, shook its mane and lashed its tail.

“He invites us to mount.”

“Mount that creature? It’s a fey beast, a water-horse out of a story! Don’t they drown whoever rides them?” Geraint said, alarm in his voice.

“Yes, they do. But Du here is not your typical ceffyl dwr, your water-horse,” said Brynnan. “He will grant us passage, but we must respect him. Du is a creature of Annwn, of the Lands of Shadow. But he roams the seas of all realms. This beast is far different from the horses mentioned in tales to scare children. But he likes flattery, so mind-call it like you do to me. Send it images of its prowess and strength . . .all that will build up his self-regard. And hurry; the wind increases.”

“I must be insane—all right! I am doing it now.”

The water horse repeated his gestures of shaking his mane and pawing the sand.

“Come,” said Brynnan, approaching the beast’s flank. “Let us mount. We are out of time.”

As he leapt lightly upon the horse’s back, a wave gathered near the shore, swelling upright until it was higher than a hill. It picked up speed as it raced towards them. Geraint reached up for Brynnan’s arm and scrambled up behind him.

“Du! Go now!”

As the wave began to break, the horse turned and ran. It sped along the shoreline, turned and plunged into the sea. More waves rose to meet it, but the horse lightly ran over the water as soft grass.

Looking back, Geraint saw the figure of Queen Rán, her hair flying behind her like a shredded banner in the wind. She entered the sea and disappeared below the waves.

“I think trouble is upon us,” shouted Geraint over the wind’s wailing voice.

“I know!” replied Brynnan, then cried out, “Move, Du, show your terrible speed!”

Water, wind and spray surrounded them, and Geraint clung to Brynnan for his life’s sake. The storm was truly upon them now. The maelstrom was dizzying, and Geraint simply closed his eyes and tried to breathe against the spray.

The waves now broke against each other, seemingly going in all directions, the cross-seas battering at them. Du neighed: a thunderous sound, and thrashed his way up the mountainous swells. The sky was now a dark grey with ash falling from the burning mountain. The spray and smoke-filled air became suffocating.

“I’ve had enough of this!” cried Brynnan. “Give me your knife.”

Without a word, Geraint slipped his belt knife into his partner’s hand; Brynnan tore his shirt open, slashed his wrist lightly and rubbed the welling blood across the runes on his chest.

They could feel the wind change as a force was upon them. A deep roar filled the air, drowning out the storm’s noise, and an enormous funnel cloud towered above them. But immediately, they were surrounded by a silver glow, blocking the pull of the funnel and the storm while spray and smoke were sucked into the whirling vortex.

The wind died. It just stopped. The seas began to settle, and the ash-filled smoke abated. But still, the funnel cloud hovered above them, sucking the detritus of the ocean into itself.

Geraint clearly heard a voice in his mind, Aegir’s voice, begging them to cease. Brynnan bowed his head, and the tail of the funnel cloud lifted into the air, thinning to a long white rope that reached high into the roiling clouds. Then it simply dissipated. The sky turned pale and clear.

‘What did you just do?’ Geraint mentally inquired of Brynnan.

‘I was tired of the gods’ antics, and I gave them the barest taste of the wind from the Void. Don’t ask me how. It seems to be instinct. Now I am weary once more.’ 

“Your powers terrify me,” said Geraint aloud. “If you had used that on the Invaders from Beyond four seasons ago, there would have been no conflict.”

“Remember that we are not in the mortal world here, but in an Otherworld. The laws of reality can be bent here far more easily. I could not attempt that in the mortal realm, but Aegir and his family tried my patience too far.” Brynnan sighed and leaned back against Geraint, who tightened his embrace.

“I noticed there was no sleet or ice in the storm. Snaer kept his word after all.” Then Geraint paused, reflecting. “Can you use your power against the sea-raiders?”

“I will not dare unleash the forces of the Abyss, even if I could. This is not the way of a Bard, a Man of Peace, but my heritage gives me those options. It may just come down to bashing them with swords.”

“Suits me, but what now, my friend. We stand here in the middle of an ocean. I just want to go someplace and fuck you. You said that restores you.”

“We shall see, old Warrior. Look, the wall of fog lies before us, the entrance to this realm’s Shadow-ways.”

Du y Moroedd plunged into the fog. It seemed peaceful and quiet after the great storm within Aegir’s realm. They exited into gentle seas and blue skies with a fresh breeze, but Brynnan had one more thing to attempt.

“I don’t know if this will work, but the runes are still activated. Hold tight.”

He directed the black water-horse into a gallop, they began to encircle the wall of fog at dizzying speed, and wind came with them, at their backs. The encircling wall seemed much smaller than the realm it enclosed, and as the wind continued to blow, the fog bank became smaller still. The wind seemed to squeeze it, and it grew smaller and smaller until it shrank and disappeared. There was nothing above the sea.

Geraint clung tightly to Brynnan, who now lay across Du’s neck, barely moving. “What happened?” the old Warrior said, feeling confused.

“Aegir’s realm is now separated from mortal lands. The raiders will no longer be able to offer their sacrifices directly to the waters of the Forbidden Isle,” Brynnan murmured. “and without them, they will lose the sea-god’s favour.” 

“Thank the Good Spirits for that. This old soldier is too used to fighting human-sized foes without special powers. I still rely on my sword and my wits.”

“Your wits served you well in our adventure. But no more super-human cocks for you to play with. You will just have to settle for ours,” managed Brynnan.

“I’d hit you if you weren’t so weakened. You have to stop doing this!”

But Brynnan now addressed the horse. “Du, you have been a brave and inspiring friend to us. You may go.”

Then, to Geraint’s shock, Du y Moroedd neighed loudly and sank beneath the waves, releasing them from his back and leaving them adrift in the sea.

“What are you doing, lad? We’ll drown!”

Brynnan held Geraint. “Turn and look. Ships are coming towards us. Dragon ships. And I sense one of them is the Mjothvitnir.”

*    *    *

To be continued . . .