To Discover His Truth

The Water Dancer 

Andri lay under the Bard, receiving a thorough ass fucking. The small company was about to break their morning camp when the urge came upon Brynnan, the need to hold and make love to the young singer.

Many days had passed since men of the Brotherhood of Deieros had tried to take Andri from them, and before that, the young singer had been a prisoner of the cruel overlord of Redstone Holding, so they had nearly lost him twice. Therefore, he assumed a special place among the small group.

Andri faced Brynnan, who paused in his thrusts and, gripping the rope harness across the boy’s chest, leaned down and kissed him on the mouth. The youth returned the kiss, his tongue exploring and teasing Brynnan’s.

“Brynnan, you are Teacher and Master to me. I love it when you fuck me like this.”

“Your love inspires me. You are a balm to my soul. Now, be silent and let me take you harder,” Brynnan replied.

“Yes…” the young singer couldn’t help saying.

Brynnan pounded him hard, and Andri responded, thrusting back as best he could.

“Bring yourself to orgasm; I’m coming in you now; I want to see your cum….”

Andri rapidly stroked himself, offering himself up to the Bard. His ejaculation came on, and cum spurted from his cock, splashing onto his partner. The sight of it and the hot, liquid sensation of cum on his skin triggered Brynnan into his own orgasm, and the two cried out together as erotic desire overwhelmed them. It was an encouraging start to the day.

The companions had reached a long, wide, meandering river that flowed out into the dry autumn land. The banks still supported green grass by their camp, but the dying reeds rustled in the cold breeze as the Wheel of the Year turned towards winter. Andri and Brynnan exited the tent, wearing nothing but their cloaks.

Geraint and Nijal sat before a fire. Geraint stirred a pot supported by a rough tripod and looked up.

“A fair morning to you both,” he wished them, “You two were noisy enough.”

“The moment demanded it. It was a spontaneous expression of joy,” Brynnan smiled at Geraint. “We will be back after we wash up, then it will be your turn, old Warrior.”

It did not take Andri and the Bard long to return and dress. Brynnan kept his word and made Geraint stand while he gave him his morning cock sucking. 

"Breakfast will burn..." Geraint began.

"Then I'll stop."

"Don't you dare stop, lad; I'm halfway there!"

Brynnan continued until Geraint experienced his orgasm, pumping cum into Brynnan's throat.  They joined Nijal and Andri at the fire, where Nijal, who had taken over stirring the pot, dished out servings of cooked grain and dried fruit. As they ate, they discussed their plans.

Nijal leaned towards Brynnan, placing a hand on his knee. “I should think your ass is healed up by now. It has been several suns since those fifteen men took you, and neither Geraint nor I have fucked you since then. I want to explore that option later today.”

Andri muttered, “What about me? Nobody ever mentions that I could perform a dominant role.”

“What about you, lad? You are our trainee. There will be a time and place when we encourage you to fuck ass. You have not learned everything a submissive may learn just yet.”

Andri flushed and dropped his gaze. “Yes, Master Geraint.”

“On the other hand, your lessons in defence are coming along well,” Nijal put in, “so we shall soon have you training in the Dance of Cuts with Brynnan and myself.”

Ever since Brynnan had been forced to perform the Dance back at the camp of the Brotherhood of Deieros, the Bard had trained in it each evening with Nijal, recalling his earlier days at the Ruithin College at the ArMor-Ys redoubt.

“What is our next move?” Geraint asked.

“Easy. We now follow the river,” replied Nijal. “It leads directly to the Broken Hills yonder. And there is our crossing of the mountain range again, which will bring us close to Brynnan’s home country.”

Brynnan felt an unexpected wave of emotion, hiraeth - a deep longing for his homeland. “Do you know of our path through the hills? It must approach the mountain pass.”

“Yes, but through that path, we will find many caves. We must be aware of inhabitants, animals or humans. And I would like us all to stay together and not wander alone. Where there are caves, there are sinkholes where one may suddenly disappear.”

“I hear you, Nijal. Perhaps that was the trouble the Seer, your Eleni, spoke of,” mused Brynnan.

“I think that is most likely,” agreed the Guardian.

“And you, in particular, must stay close with us, young man,” admonished Geraint to Andri.

“Why don’t you train in the Dance, Geraint?” asked his protégé.

“Don’t need to. Too fancy for me. I just stab and slash – I’m a simple man,” replied Geraint.

Brynnan raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Geraint was anything but simple, but he liked to put on a front that would fool his enemies, but not his friends.

*    *    *

They covered a fair distance before Geraint called a halt in the afternoon: a rainstorm swept towards them over the vast expanse of plains, but it promised to be brief. However, Geraint did not believe in being caught out unprepared, so they erected a two-sided tarp in a grove of willow trees by the riverbank, one tarp as a windbreak and another tarp overhead. As the rain began, Geraint cooked soup over a modest fire. His arm had healed enough that he could now perform most tasks using it.

Postponing an ass-fucking with Nijal, Brynnan took the time out to train Andri’s voice. He wanted the young singer to become proficient in the minor Shadow songs. The complex technique would take Andri a long time to master – a matter of years, even, but for now, Andri’s unexpected baritone augmented Brynnan’s own rich voice. Considering how he had used Shadow-singing to escape their predicaments, it seemed like a prudent idea.

“Just don’t sing us to sleep,” quipped Geraint. “We need to cover a lot more ground before we turn in for the night.”

The rain passed, and the sky cleared. The companions continued long into the evening, travelling late because they did not need to seek a water source: the river ran alongside their trail. They made camp as the light began to fail. Nijal turned out the tired horses to graze.

Night fell, and stars appeared. Brynnan played a little on Mavrenn, his harp, singing a teaching song that named the constellations.

During the night, Brynnan came outside to relieve himself. After doing so, he walked down to the river and along its shore for a little way. A waxing moon shone in the sky, casting silver reflections over the river and creating patches of light and dark in the trees. He sat on a boulder listening to the lap of water, wrapping the black cloak tightly around himself. His breath misted in the cold air.

A movement on the river commanded his attention, and he instinctively drew the cloak’s hood over his head. An urge to remain invisible gripped him. The figure of a woman appeared on the river’s surface, and she danced. She seemed to be standing still yet moving with the current. Dark drifts of hair partly obscured her form as she gracefully bent from the waist and waved her arms and hands slowly in intricate patterns. Her long, white gown reached her feet, dipping into the water. Her skin looked oddly blue in the moonlight.

Brynnan resisted the urge to shake his head in disbelief. For some reason, the desire to remain invisible turned to fear of being seen. He desperately did not want her to notice him. But as she passed opposite him, she nonetheless turned her head and seemed to look straight at him. The moonlight was on her face, but where her eyes should have gleamed, black holes showed instead. She was terrifying. Then the river took her, and she passed out of sight.

Brynnan felt deeply shaken but knew he was not dreaming, although he wished he was. Some instinct kept him there, among the shadows of the moonlight, in that liminal place. He waited, and his patience was rewarded.

On the far side of the river, riders appeared heading upstream. Their black robes obscured their figures, but Brynnan noticed their bluish limbs. Among them rode a woman in a white gown – the water dancer, he surmised. A shiver ran down his spine, and he received the sense of a Presence among them: of something inimical to life.

After a long time, he returned to the tent. He slipped off his cloak and curled his naked body up against Nijal, who turned in his sleep and took the Bard in a welcome embrace.

Just before first light, Nijal awoke and felt Brynnan in his arms. “Why, your muscles are rigid, Brynnan. Whatever is the matter?”  he whispered.

“Just make love to me, Nijal. I will speak afterwards,” the Bard replied.

Although mystified, Nijal quite obliged without question. He rolled Brynnan onto his side and gripped him from behind. Stroking the Bard’s stiff body, which started to relax a little under his soothing touch, the Guardian slowly pushed his cock into Brynnan’s ass. His lover pressed back against him, reinforcing their connection in a sensual rhythm. Nijal reached around and held onto the Bard’s cock. Thus, Brynnan was embraced and caressed until he came, quite helplessly. Then Nijal followed suit, and his lover finally surrendered and relaxed utterly.

They rested together awhile, then dressed and left the tent. After Nijal had made up the fire outside, the Bard told his tale of the night’s events. “I swear I was not sleepwalking,” he said.

“I believe you. However, I have seen dancers who seem to use the water’s surface, but in reality, dance upon floating poles that are not visible to the casual eye. I can’t explain the blue skin and eyeless face, but it must be a solvable puzzle, as the riders will also be. She must have recalled some fear or memory in you that has not yet surfaced.”

“I should have confronted her. Yet with all my mind, I wanted not to be seen – it was an instinctive reaction. And then when the riders passed upstream, I felt as if someone walked over my burial cairn.”

“Then there is some threat present but not apparent – yet,” replied Nijal, “for your instincts in the past have proven trustworthy.”

“What should I do, Nijal? I don’t want to spend my nights watching for them, instead of sleeping – or making love – ” here, he squeezed Nijal’s hand.

“You are not thinking quite straight, my beloved friend. Of course, we shall post watch in turns. They may have continued to the Broken Hills, or they may have headed elsewhere.”

Brynnan told the tale to Geraint and Andri. Geraint showed concern, but it was Andri who had the most pointed reaction.

“My mother used to tell me never to ignore premonitions, as there are other parts of our minds who know better than our conscious selves. We will face this as you have taught me to face other threats, Brynnan, head-on.”

“Your mother was wise, and so are you!” Brynnan smiled and ruffled Andri’s blond-streaked hair.

*    *    *

Two more days brought them to the foot of the Broken Hills. The night watches had disclosed nothing of import, just a few foxes and once a herd of antelope, but no people – blue-skinned or otherwise. The river flowed out of a deep gully in the hills, becoming a rioting charge of water. Following this trail, they found evidence of horses, dung and hoof-prints. The rock type of the hills changed to a hard, white stone and shrubs and trees grew in narrow defiles.

“I see a cave over there, but it is likely flooded with water,” commented Nijal, “But I would rather camp in the open tonight and keep a careful watch.”

An area of mildly sloping ground, with grass for the horses, enticed them to set up camp in a sheltered space in a patch of shrubs. The clearing was quiet save for two hawks circling in the sky far above, calling their high-pitched cries. It seemed a fair enough place, but Brynnan felt a sense of oppression. He did not share his feelings.

In the night, Geraint came into the tent from his turn at watch and quietly notified Brynnan, “I heard a distant crying sound that I assume is some animal, then it faded away. Other than that, there is nothing.” He kissed Brynnan as the Bard left the tent. “Just be careful,” he admonished.

Brynnan intended to be careful as he climbed a little way among the rocks overlooking the meadow. Drifts of cloud in the sky occasionally covered the moon and created moving shadows on the ground below. Then Brynnan heard the soft crying sound. It was close.

Curious, he ventured from his observation spot and walked up the trail. A small figure stood in the moonlight: a girl-child in a long dark dress, and she was weeping. Very cautiously, Brynnan approached her.

She paused in her crying and looked up at the Bard, seemingly unafraid, and spoke to him in a dialect that he mostly understood, “I have lost my mother,” she said.

Brynnan had the thought that he should take the child down to the tent and rouse the others. But she was pointing up the trail.

“Just there. Mother went back into the water cave. She carried me across the pool, but I ran and hid once I was here. Then she was gone. I can’t get back; the water is too deep. Please take me across.”

Brynnan was of two minds, but he could see a dark opening in the white rocks near them. It would take very little time to carry the girl across the pool. Then he would return and wake Nijal and the others.

“What is your name?” he asked the girl.

“Martya. What’s yours?”

“You can call me Bryn.” For some reason, he felt reluctant to give her his proper name.

So, he took the child’s hand. Again, she looked at him and blinked. Her eyes were shadowed heavily with kohl. Brynnan had a disturbing feeling as if he was missing something. But they approached the cave together, and Brynnan stepped within the entrance. Moonlight shone on a sheet of water spanning the width of the cave.

“Pick me up, Bryn.” She held her arms up to him. 

Reaching down, he took her slight body in his arms. He ventured to the water’s edge. He could see white stone under the pool’s surface. Wading in, he moved slowly across. At its deepest, the water just came up to his waist. The other shore was obscured in darkness.

“Do you have a light to see your way?” he whispered to the child.

“I don’t need one. When you put me down, I will call them, and they will come.”

Brynnan was not entirely happy to hear this, but at that moment, the ground under his feet rose, and he stepped out of the pool. He put the child down. He was just about to caution her not to call until he had crossed the pool once more when the child called aloud.

“Come, oh Mother; it is I, Martya! Come, oh my family!”

For a few moments, there was no response. Then Brynnan swore he could hear a fluttering sound, like doves' wings. A white glimmer appeared in the blackness. Moving closer, it resolved into the figure of a woman carrying a small, white orb that lit her features. With shock, Brynnan recognized the water dancer. Her blue skin confirmed it. This time, she had eyes, heavily blackened with kohl. But then she shut her eyes and held them closed, and it looked as if there was nothing but black pits where her eyes should be.

“Welcome, my child. I have you at last,” she said. Then she extinguished the light.

Brynnan turned towards the pool, seeking freedom, but many shadowed figures stood silhouetted against the distant moonlight. They moved towards him. The Bard realized he was trapped.