To Discover His Truth

Lamp Of Knowledge

Late morning and a parting of ways: the horses stood impatiently waiting, saddled and packed. It remained for the little company to say their final goodbyes.

“Go with the Bari Devláika, the Mother-of-All’s blessing, Mule-vi Brynnan. May her winds blow at your back and her rains fall softly on you. May darkness cover you as a blanket but may you also see the light.” Eleni said as she embraced him. “I will not say anything about ‘luck’ because what happens to you depends on the will of the Mother and your own courage. Nor will I invoke spirits, good or bad.”

“Púridaia Eleni, I will miss you. This meeting has been of great significance to me. You started the healing of my spirit,” he replied.

“And you and my beloved, my ves’tacha Nijal, healed this old body. There are no debts between us.”

“I hope to see you again, this side of the Veil.”

“Bater, may it be so.”

“Look for us before the geese return, after the long winter, as the wheel of the year turns.” Then she looked Brynnan in the eye with an unreadable expression and continued, “When your journey across the plains ends at the shadowed hills, then be aware. Some trouble haunts you there, but the reason is clouded from my Sight.”

But Brynnan just smiled, “I knew I could not escape you without another foretelling, but I will be cautious. As for your other visions, they will come as the Mother wills.”

Eleni kissed him on both cheeks and gently let him go. She turned once more when Nijal came up beside her.

Brynnan left them to speak privately with each other. He said farewell to Rafe and Kyan, who again repeated his invitation for the company to join them at the Gathering in spring. Then he walked over to where Col held Andri’s black horse, the one he had ridden to escape from Redstone Holding.

The boys were deep in conversation. As he drew close, Brynnan saw that both had tearful eyes. He put his hands on their shoulders.

“Andri, we are invited to the Kumpania’s spring gathering.”

“But anything may happen before then,” said Andri, disconsolately.

Col interrupted him with urgency in his voice, “Tut kamav, beloved friend, if you are unable to come to us, I swear I will come and find you, wherever you are.”

Brynnan wanted to caution Col against swearing oaths, but he wisely held his tongue, considering the strength of their emotions.

Instead, he asked Andri, “Have you named your horse yet?”

“Col suggests ‘Kalo,’”

“‘Darkness,’ She is that, but she is not without light also,” the Bard remarked. The horse had been well-cared for; her coat gleamed.

Geraint joined them. He wore Brynnan’s wind silk cloak as the Bard wore the black mantle over his fur-lined coat.

Geraint said, “Eleni told me if she were ten years younger, she would dance with me.” He looked bemused.

Col laughed. “Be careful when you dance with a Wanderer. It may not be easy to leave them. Púridaia Eleni uštarea bašk! Nijal might become jealous,” he said.

“What did he say?” Geraint demanded of the Bard.

“Grandmother Eleni with a warrior,” Brynnan replied helpfully.

“Have respect for your Elders!” admonished Geraint sternly.

Col looked down, apparently repentant, but he was trying not to grin.

Then Andri said, “We had better go. I hate saying goodbyes. I will remember your pledge, Col.”

Col held out his arms to Andri, and they embraced and kissed each other like lovers. Then the young Wanderer kissed both Geraint and Brynnan.

“I won’t forget you!” he said.

The little company mounted their horses and moved out. A heartbreaking sound reached them - the stallion, Buino, neighed loudly and pawed the earth, straining at his tether. Shade, Geraint’s mare, answered him and balked, dancing on the spot. Geraint did not chastise her; he knew she had become attached to the stallion. He merely circled her twice and moved out, and she obeyed once more. Geraint stroked her neck and soothed her with his voice.

Brynnan turned in the saddle and saw that Rafe had gone to reassure their stallion. Col had Eleni’s arm around him, and his father stood next to him. They raised a hand to him, and Brynnan returned the gesture. Then the trees hid them from sight, and the trail before them pushed its way through the tangled forest. Nobody spoke for a time, their hearts being full.

* * *

That evening, they camped near a small lake. Brynnan played his harp, but he did not sing. He attempted no Shadow Song to influence his companions’ emotions: what each felt belonged to themselves alone. The others listened to Mavrenn’s haunting notes as Brynnan played what he heard around them; grass blowing in the wind, lake water lapping at the shore, birds calling and sighing trees.

They turned in early. Andri was unusually shy about undressing, and Brynnan found out why. Andri stripped off his shirt, revealing a rope harness around his chest, forming a simpler design than Brynnan’s own. It incorporated the Wanderers’ good-luck knot. The Bard instinctively turned to Geraint in the soft light of the tent’s green orb. Geraint looked back at him and nodded: he already knew and must have given his permission.

Andri, catching Brynnan’s look, dropped his eyes.

“Andri. It’s all right. You and Col have pledged friendship with each other. Your Master approves. No one is going to fault you.”

“Col and I saw how your harness binds you to Lord Samir, and it seemed like an important thing to do. I… I don’t want to forget him,” he looked straight at the Bard now, “Col said to tell you there are no spirits of the dead in this binding. It’s not a mulengri dori. We hope for the blessings of the living, like you and Master Geraint and Col’s grandmother.”

“You have my blessing,” said Brynnan quietly, “and you don’t know how much it means to us to have recovered you safely.”

“Come lie with me, Andri, lad,” said Geraint.

In the night, Brynann, curled up with Nijal, heard Andri and Geraint making love. The old Warrior seemed to be fucking Andri’s ass. He was not gentle about it. The Bard could tell by his grunts as he pumped his cock into the youth and Andri’s moans of submission and ecstasy. Brynnan’s own cock stirred and became erect as he listened; he stroked it, edging himself to a plateau on the cusp of orgasm, but holding there. He timed it with Geraint’s actions until he heard the old Warrior cumming. Then Brynnan allowed his orgasm to flood his body, and he shivered.

As they descended from the mountains, the land gradually turned to moorland. Rolling low hummocks covered in golden wiry grass, bogs and tea-coloured lakes stained from the underlying accumulation of peat moss. The tree cover dwindled until there was just the occasional stand in the drier areas.

Brynnan was glad for the map details he had memorized and for Nijal’s sensibilities concerning the land. Nijal found them solid trails between boggy areas and places to camp where there was fresh water from upwelling springs. Presently, they noticed an increase in stones and boulders lying on the land. Massive stones formed large, interlocking circular depressions, indicating dwellings from a distant past.

Nijal confirmed it. He stopped his horse on a mound overlooking one such circle. “This is what remains of a people who lived millennia ago,” he said. The Guardian looked pensive, even sad, at what only he could see.

Brynnan rode up beside him, “What people were these, Nijal?”

“They were destroyed by the original invaders, the First Settlers, as you refer to them. The remnants became my own people,” he said in a subdued voice.

Geraint joined them. “Let’s rest here for a while. My back is a bit stiff, and I saw a pool nearby that will provide water for both the horses and us.”

Nijal nodded his head absently, still lost in thought. So Brynnan called to Andri, and together they led their six horses to the pool.

“Brynnan, what is the matter with Nijal?” Andri asked.

They looked back at the stones, but Nijal had disappeared. “This place once held his ancestors, he says,” replied Brynnan, “Let’s just give him some time to be alone with his thoughts.”

Back at the wall, Geraint had put up a tarp as a windbreak and made a small heath-fueled fire. He handed Andri a collapsible bucket and told him to fetch water. “May as well wash up,” he said, “Do it while the air is milder. Better than freezing at night.”

They cleaned themselves and adjusted gear while they waited. Presently, Nijal returned. He sat with them and showed them a stone object in his hand. To Brynnan, it looked like a creature, but what type he could not guess. The ancient maker had hollowed the stone in two places.

“Lamp,” said Nijal, “See? A place for oil and a hole to stuff in a wick.”

“What is that metallic spot on it?” questioned Andri.

“Hmm… I didn’t see that. I wonder….” Nijal went to the packhorse and removed a bottle. “Oil,” he said, returning. He looked around and pulled the tufted head from a clump of marsh cotton grass. “Wick,” he said as he stuffed the fluffy head into the smaller hole with the tip of his knife. He took a twig from the fire and held it to the improvised wick. A small, steady flame started to burn. He set the lamp on a stone.

“Now we wait,” he said.

As he settled back against the wall, Brynnan and Geraint exchanged glances, and a silent message passed between them. 

Geraint said, “While you were gone, we had a wash. It’s your turn. Why don’t you stand?”

Nijal’s mouth quirked, “You do pick the strangest times, old Warrior.”

Geraint replied, “Cleanliness is a soldier’s friend. A clean camp–”

“─is a happy camp, yes. I know,” said Nijal, but he smiled a little.

Nijal, heedless of the wind, stripped off his clothing and stepped away from the shelter. He took the refilled bucket and cloth and a handful of dried flower heads from a bag, crushed them and started to wash himself. The crushed flowers, combined with water, produced a light green foam. Unasked, Andri walked over to help him. He scrubbed Nijal’s back and then his genitals, kneeling down to do so. Naturally, that led to him tentatively taking Nijal’s cock in his mouth, glancing up at Nijal for permission. Nijal nodded and stroked Andri’s mop of sun-bleached hair. The young singer started to suck in earnest.

Geraint and Brynnan exchanged looks while he was doing so, and Geraint indicated in the pair’s direction with his head. So they both arose and crossed to Nijal, kneeling on either side of Andri, and the three of them began to suck Nijal’s cock and lick his balls and ass.

“Hey, hey! What’s this?” Nijal protested, but he was smiling now, the dark expression lifting from his countenance.

“Comfort and distraction,” replied Geraint, succinctly. “A reminder that you aren’t alone, either. We stand  –  or kneel – together.”

When Nijal reached orgasm, each man took a share of his cum, sucking it off him. It felt to all of them like a pledge or a bonding.

They retreated to the shelter of the wall. Geraint let the fire die down. Meanwhile, Nijal picked up the little lamp and held it cupped in both hands, enclosing the small metallic circle embedded in its side. He closed his eyes, his face bearing a faraway yet tranquil expression. The others watched him. Presently he returned to an awareness of his surroundings. Wordlessly, he passed the lamp to Brynnan, who took it and held it as Nijal had done, and also closed his eyes.

Flashing lights in his vision took him by surprise. Then a kind of shift occurred. Something happening in his brain: he knew things that he had not known before. A stream of… certainty? But he could make no sense of it, could not place it in any frame of reference he knew. Then another shift showed a place: hallways and arches of golden stone with a floor of red-gold. Passages with carved sigils above their entrances. He received a sense that he was deep underground, but slowly recognition dawned on him….

“Careful! Don’t drop the lamp!” the voice of Nijal cautioned him, and he abruptly opened his eyes. His friends were staring at him with puzzled expressions.

“What was it?” inquired Andri.

“I was in some part of the ArMor-ys Redoubt, but before that, I was in another place… how?”

“So it also spoke to you,” Nijal said with grim satisfaction.

“Can I try?” asked Andri and reached for it impulsively.

Simultaneously his hand was slapped away by Geraint, and Nijal blew out the lamp and took it from Brynnan.

“Don’t mess with things you don’t understand!” admonished Geraint severely.

Nijal interjected, “You would have seen nothing in any case, Andri, and you might have been harmed. This… device is activated by heat, which causes a therm… never mind,” he sighed. “But to satisfy some of your curiosity, it is both a map and a key. But it was made for members of my race alone, or, should I say, of our blood.”

“And I carry that blood‒” Brynnan murmured as if to himself, then he flushed. “Nijal, forgive me; I was not aware I had spoken aloud.”

“It is all right. Geraint knows, and Andri needs to know −some of it. I will explain when we have more leisure. But now, the horses, and ourselves, are fed and rested,” he smiled again, “so let us depart.”

As they left, Brynnan committed the ruins to memory as part of his mental map. These moorlands, fed by seeps from the mountains behind them, would descend to dry plains in the mountains’ rain shadow. They travelled towards ArMoric, Brynnan’s country, but the long mountain range was between them and the coastlands. They had taken this less hospitable way to avoid enemies, but their current route would lead them across grassy steppes to the Carved Hills, where Eleni had predicted trouble would find them. But it was the only path they and the horses could use to reach the coast across the mountains.

They rode until the sun hung low in the sky. Their path descended from the moorland, and the land became flatter and drier. They had reached the high plateau.