To Discover His Truth

Journeys Of The Mind

Brynnan and his friends, and six Ruithin escorts, came out the deep pass below the Crag of the Angels and onto the mountain plateau that housed the College.

Riding up to the gates, the Bard received his first look at the ArMor-ys Redoubt in eight years. Built into the mountain in the years of First Settlement, one would never guess the interior construction extended so deep, as the buildings on the outside seemed the whole of it. But the nature of a redoubt is a defensive structure that can shelter large numbers of troops—or people, and conserve technology and records. In present times, few knew how to access their inner secrets, but it was there that Brynnan and Nijal hoped to learn the truth.

And now they were welcomed into the Great Hall. The bards, priests and apprentices and acolytes wore similar robes in varying dark colours to distinguish them. Dark blue for bards, dark green for apprentices,  black for the masters and crimson for priests and acolytes. They would have engaged in conversation, but Brynnan, with an unaccustomed lack of formality, asked if they may be quickly settled so he could bathe and change and be brought to see their Grand Master, Neven-Tanet.

Their wishes were accommodated, and the Bard found himself, dressed in the black and silver robe from Cyndyllan’s hall, escorted to the Hall of Meditation. In a large anteroom, he finally met Neven-Tanet. He sat cross-legged on a thick carpet, clad in white, with a rust, grey and gold woven cloak. Long, loose white hair spread about his shoulders, bound on his forehead by a silver fillet. The multiple braids of his snowy beard covered his chest and concealed the golden torc about his neck. His erect posture belied the signs of illness that Brynnan observed in his face.

Brynnan set down the harp, Mavrenn, and sank to his knees before the Grand Master, touching his head to the floor in a show of deep respect. He waited for the high lord to speak.

“Master Bard, Brynnan Marec Mavrenn, you have returned to us. You may sit at ease.”

Brynnan sat cross-legged, facing the Grand Master, who looked at him searchingly with storm-grey eyes.

“I read a story in your face; suffering, endurance, perseverance and determination in overwhelming odds. Events have shaped you but have, I think, melded wisdom with experience. You come on a mission of grave importance, so be assured, while I live, I will give you and the Guardian Nijal every aid we can offer.”

“Your words are like water poured on parched ground, allowing a green shoot of hope to spring, my Master. But what of yourself? I have heard that your physical health wanes.”

“As eventually happens to us all. But in my case, it is more than a physical illness. It is a spiritual attack that I have been fending off for a long time. For once, I cannot pierce the veil of the spirit world and learn the cause for this. If I have an enemy, it is a powerful one. I tell this to you, Marec Mavrenn, but to few others. The Servant of Ravens knows the spirit world.”

“Then allow me to soothe your spirit before we talk further. Do you wish the High Priest to attend us?”

“Just ourselves—and Mavrenn.” The Grand Master smiled, and the lines of age and pain on his face were banished.

Brynnan smiled in return as he uncased his harp.

“Bring her close and let me see her. She is one of the treasures of our people and has her own potent protection against loss or destruction, but I feared for her these past two years when we received no news of you. I tried many times to reach you mind-to-mind through her, but there was only silence.”

Brynnan brought the harp to the Master. Neven-Tanet reached out and stroked the satiny purple wood and touched a finger to the bone figurehead’s face. The ruby eyes in it glittered, and a stray current of air caused the strings to sigh.

“She would speak to me. Use your art, Marec Mavrenn, and give her voice.”

Brynnan bowed his head to the Master. Kneeling with Mavrenn supported by his body, he played to evoke a meditative calm at first; then he began to sing softly in the Shadow-style. It seemed as if time slowed within the chamber and eventually stopped. Opening his eyes, Brynnan saw the silver mist around them, and the floor had become a field of purple grass. They had gone directly into the Shadow-Realm, bypassing the gate. It was a place only souls could enter, or a great adept or one born of Shadow.

Neven-Tanet kept his bodily form, as did Brynnan. “What has brought us here?” the Master asked.

“Not what, but, I suspect, who. Let us await the One who will come.”

Neven-Tanet’s head and body showed an aura in this realm, but the shining golds were mixed with dull purples and grey-blues. They were not healthy colours. Brynnan sought to understand them. But at that moment, the mists receded a little, and Brynnan started in shock. A woman stood near them. She wore purple and black robes, and her long, dark hair fell in clouds about her. Her red eyes glittered. The Bard recognized her from his dream-vision when he was in a coma at Torrent Mountain.

He bowed low. “My lady Mavrenn,” he said.

She turned her blood-red gaze on him. “My Servant,” she replied.

Then she turned to Neven-Tanet. “Master whose name is Sacred Fire,” she acknowledged him, “my Servant has summoned me to aid you. Take strength from my sounds. From beyond the stars, one comes who seeks to invade your mind. Do you ask how this is possible? The Invaders come, and they now have powers we never dreamed of—powers of mind. I have felt them. We will need more than talk or force of arms to counter their threat. I sense them in the World Wind, in the voice of the Mother-of-All. They are coming soon. Guard your dreams!”

The Master listened attentively. Then he said, “Lady Mavrenn, this is grave news, and we will heed your warning. But I sense your living soul. You are Alsar!”

“You are perceptive. Once I was a living woman, one of the Guardians, as you call them. I transferred my soul to the harp before I was meant to enter the Shadow-Realm. But the one who rules here, Lord Arawn, has been gracious to me, allowing me to exist in this form in his realm. One day you will know my story, but now . . . now I hear the King approaching. Hear his words also.”

A pale horse pierced the mist with his rider. He reigned his horse in front of them, and it danced on the spot. The rider quieted the beast, and it settled, blowing steam from its nostrils. Arawn’s hounds were not with him, but the great, grey dog was. It lay quietly at the horse’s feet.

“I see you, Brynnan, my dear Son,” said Arawn. “I see you, Grand Master of the Ruithin, and you, Lady Mavrenn. I used my son to bring you here. You will be able to pass safely to the Material World again. To the point: not only your world but my realm is threatened. I rely on you, my son, as my emissary and champion. You shall encounter the Invaders from the Stars. I know it is a great burden, but if you serve me in this, you serve our world and the Mother-of-All. Do you accept?”

Brynnan felt a great weight oppress him, but he was born, it seemed, to serve the Powers and now not just his people, but all people. It could have been overwhelming, but he replied, “The stories frequently speak that a champion should be reluctant and refuse many times until he is forced to accept.” He smiled grimly, “But in my case, I was trained to serve since I was a child. I accept this geas and will work to fulfill it to the end of my life and beyond if need be.”

Arawn dismounted. He enclosed Brynnan in a fierce embrace. “You are my son, and one day you will come into your inheritance,” he said.

Brynnan rested his head on Arawn’s shoulder. “My Father,” he said, finally accepting the truth.

Arawn placed his hands on Brynnan’s shoulders and held him there. “There are three more tasks I would lay upon you. The first is to accept my torc around your throat. It is a key to our realm. You may return it when your own is restored to you by the Warlord Samir. 

“The second task is to accept the companion I will send you to replace the one you will lose.

“The third task is for you to return to the material world and surrender your body to the Guardian Nijal. Do not delay. He can hear the Mother-of-All’s voice and can feel the World Heartbeat. You must learn these techniques from him. The Mother is aware of the invaders.”

Arawn solemnly removed the thick, golden torc that ringed his neck. It was open at the front, and the two ends were fashioned in the semblance of snarling hounds, facing each other. He fastened it around Brynnan’s scarred throat.

Finally, King Arawn turned to the Master. “My son will do what he can to shield your mind. But through Nijal, he may find the knowledge to fight back. I do not call you to the final Gate at this time, but you and I will meet again. May the Mother keep you!”

To  Mavrenn, he did not speak, but he took her wrist and kissed it.

“You may take them home now, Brynnan, my son.”

Brynnan turned and reached for Mavrenn. As he embraced her, she melted into his arms, becoming the harp. Her hair streamed behind her as she transformed, and a flock of ravens materialized and flew away into the silver mist. The Bard closed his eyes and continued to play the Shadow song. Then he was back in the material world, in the Grand Master’s antechamber, and Neven-Tanet was seated before him as if he had never moved.

*   *   *

On his way back to his chamber, the Bard reflected on all he had learned. The bond between his father, King Arawn, and himself was strengthening. Then Lord Arawn had mentioned the companion he would lose: he struggled to accept this and couldn’t imagine anyone else as a replacement. Of his newfound knowledge of the Invaders, he wondered how to counter them, but perhaps his time with Nijal would show him a path.

*   *   *

Nijal entered Brynnan’s chamber. “You wanted me?” he asked.

“I do want you, and I need you. In bed. Do you remember making love under the twisted pine at the Wanderer’s camp? We went deep there, and I heard the voice of the Mother. I need to hear it again. I have prepared myself for you if you will take me.”

Then Brynnan opened up his heart and related to Nijal all that had taken place, omitting not even his relationship to the King of Annwn, the Underworld. He waited for Nijal’s judgement.

“So Arawn has gifted you again. I wondered when I saw the torc about your neck. It has an otherworldly feel about it. But it explains many things. Fear not, though, that I will judge you. In my time, I have seen things that you would count as beyond belief.”

 Nijal stepped towards Brynnan and embraced him. “But of course, I will lie with you, in this place, right now. Let me help you undress.” After he did so, the Guardian stripped off his own clothes.

Brynnan admired the leonine body, running his fingers through Nijal’s pale hair and then down the muscled, golden-haired chest. He touched the Guardian’s thighs, his firm ass and finally, his handsome cock. On impulse, Brynnan knelt and licked Nijal’s cock in long strokes, swirling his tongue around the testicles. It caused his own arousal, and he could feel his cock hardening. He was compelled to take the Guardian’s cock in his mouth and suck deeply upon it.

Nijal stood, legs spread, hips thrust forward, twisting his hand into Brynnan’s shoulder-length dark hair. He let the Bard play with him for a while then stopped him.

“Up on the bed, face down,” he directed.

Brynnan complied. He gripped the sheet and raised his ass. Nijal took advantage of it, kissing, licking, and rimming. Then the Guardian rubbed a herbal lubricant gel onto the Bard’s rectum and lowered himself over his lover, slowly inserting his penis inside. He kissed Brynnan’s back as he pushed his way in deeper, sliding his hands now under the hips and raising Brynnan’s ass to meet his demand. He fucked him for some time this way before pulling out and turning the Bard’s body over to take him from the front.

Brynnan leaned up and kissed his partner deeply, then raised one leg over Nijal’s shoulder. “I want to surrender myself to you, my dear friend. What more can I offer you?”

“Give me your trust and your love. Close your eyes, my lover. Let me rock you,” Nijal replied.

Then, when the Guardian’s thrusting caused Brynnan’s arousal to peak, Nijal told him, “When we cum together, set your spirit free. I will carry you and keep you safe. Are you ready?”

“Yes, cum in me!”

Nijal pounded his cock hard into Brynnan’s ass, then he gasped and ejaculated. The Bard came with him. The deep thrill of ecstasy seemed to be prolonged, and Brynnan loosed his mind and spirit like arrows from a bow. Immediately, he became aware of a sensation of weightlessness: he soared into the ether, joined with Nijal. Their surroundings changed, and of a sudden, they were in star-filled darkness, but before them, they beheld a wonder.

Brynnan knew that he was seeing his world, a vast sphere with the hues of the jewel stone chrysoprase—a stunning blue-green swirled with turquoise and white. His human sight still was with him, and he knew that he had never seen anything so beautiful yet frightening. He was beholding the face of the Mother. Then he heard her voice in his mind; a repeating swishing sound, like the pumping of blood, overlain by a deep hum and embellished by a higher sound almost like a hunting horn. The sound filled his being: it became him, and he knew he was inextricably part of it. But faintly, another sound intruded, a discordance with a point source. With a flash of purest fear, Brynnan realized it was from the Invaders. They were within the sun’s system of planets!

He felt the warm waves of Nijal’s reassurance. He grasped it close to the centre of his being. They seemed to fall into the Mother’s embrace then, and Brynnan became aware of others, winking like fireflies in a stormy night. Nijal’s thought passed into his mind, ‘They are Alsar; others like myself who touch the ether. Thus we can communicate with one another. You will learn to do the same.’

But now, they were whirling deeper into the blue world.. Total disorientation claimed the Bard, and he abruptly came to himself, lying on the bed, wrapped in Nijal’s embrace: the Guardian’s arms were around him, and one leg pressed between Brynnan’s thighs. Brynnan was shaking. The two men held each other for a long time.

When he could speak again, the Bard found he could only whisper. “The Invaders are nearly here! We have run out of time!”

“Calm yourself, my lover. Yes, they are within our solar system, but there will not yet be an approach for many moons. Years ago, before your birth, I researched some of the material in the Deep Redoubt when the Grand Master took me there. It seemed the original mother ship was the size of cities. The inhabitants were self-sufficient to a high degree, but most of the passengers were in a frozen deep sleep throughout the journey, the records said. I do not know what they would use for landing vessels, but the process of reawakening and planning must take a long time; thus, we have a window to act yet.”

“I sensed them. But I had no idea you could communicate with the other Guardians in this way. No wonder you could counter the threat the First Settlers posed,” whispered Brynnan.

“And I had no idea you could also reach my brothers. Your body has adapted well to my Alsar blood—or rather, to the virus carrier within it that has altered your physical making. But we will repeat this process of dancing with the Mother-of-All, and I will teach you how to discern individuals and communicate with them. For instance, if we are separated, we can always find each other. Now, sleep for a little time, then we will seek out Geraint and Andri. They should be apprised of this.”

*   *   *

They found Geraint and Andri in the company of another apprentice in the Redoubt’s Hall of Music. Andri’s eyes were shining.

“This is Celyn,” Andri announced. “He has been showing us how the apprentices study music here. It is like our Hall at Torrent Mountain, but the music is different. I have been listening to the singers. I recognize some techniques from your teaching, Master Brynnan, but there would be so much to learn here.”

Brynnan smiled at Andri’s evident enthusiasm, but he addressed Celyn. “I thank you for your attention to my apprentice and the Warrior Geraint. Who is your Master, Celyn?”

“It is such an honour to meet you, Master Marec Mavrenn. My own master is the head of music studies here, Master Daraou. I hope he will ask you to play for us. I have never seen Mavrenn.”

Brynnan laughed, “‘Master Brynnan’ will do, Celyn. I would be honoured to play for you.

He added, “I must speak with your Master. I plan to be here for at least a moon’s turning, and perhaps I can arrange for Andri to study here while I am engaged in other business.”

“I know my Master would be honoured to have Andri, your apprentice, study with us. I could look out for him and show him how things work here. Master Daraou is free now. May I take you there?”

“Go ask him first; then if it’s convenient, we will come.”

Celyn took Andri’s hand and quite literally dragged him off with him. Andri turned, and Brynnan had one glimpse of his flushed and hopeful face.

“That was a good idea,” said Geraint. “It will keep him occupied and out of mischief. But you—you look as if you have survived a battle or run full-tilt up a mountain. Are you well?”

Nijal answered for the Bard. “Events have transpired, and we have learned news that will give you pause, old Warrior. When we three are alone, Brynnan and I shall share with you. You will find some things hard to accept, I think, but we must face our trials together.”

“Why do I have misgivings about this? But we did not join this mission for fun. War likewise is not a laughing matter—” he paused, with a memory in his eyes, then rallied himself, “—although sometimes we do try.

“But see, here comes Andri and Celyn now.”

Celyn looked breathless but happy. “My Master will see you now if it pleases. Follow me.”

So Brynnan met with Master Daraou while Geraint and Nijal stayed behind, engaged in conversation. But in the Master’s offices, the two men quickly reached an agreement concerning Andri.

“It would be very instructive to have him study with us. Can you spare an hour this evening, Master Brynnan, where I can hear Andri sing so I know better where to place him?”

“I have another suggestion, Master Daraou. I have been asked to play Mavrenn this evening to a select assembly, including Grand Master Neven-Tanet. Come then—Celyn can attend you—and you will hear how Andri can sing. He is still learning our language, so his pronunciation needs some work, but I have taught him even some minor Shadow Songs.”

The music master seemed pleased at this and promised his attendance.

As Brynnan and Andri walked back to join Nijal and Geraint, Andri could scarce contain his enthusiasm, although he wrestled with comporting himself in a dignified manner. He profusely thanked Brynnan.

But Brynnan told him, “Geraint and Nijal and I will be very busy for some time, although I will try and squeeze in a harp lesson for the apprentices. This will keep you occupied, and you will be learning your art. I am afraid I may be too tired most evenings to indulge in love with you, although we can still sleep together at times.

“But although this day has tired me—too much to take the active role—I want us both to prep for tonight. If you wish it, you may take my ass.”

“Brynnan, I do wish it. I will try and do you honour tonight, both in song and in love.”

“I cannot ask for more.”

*     *     *

The evening’s performance was greatly appreciated among the Ruithin listeners. Brynnan played upon Mavrenn before singing a ballad and a song in the southern ‘Tarib’ style. Andri joined his voice to the Bard’s in a Shadow Song. Finally, Brynnan allowed Andri to sing solo in his deep voice, accompanied by Brynnan’s wondrous harp. They were well-received, and the Ruithin bards, who were not given to profuse praise, gave enthusiastic accolades, gathering around Brynnan to ask him questions.

Master Daraou was quite approving of Andri. “We look forward to having him while you are occupied. I have an idea now of which areas to direct his talents.”

*    *    *

Brynnan and Andri made love that night. Although Andri did much of the work, as Nijal had once told the Bard, the Alsar blood in his veins enhanced stamina and sexual response. Brynnan laid on his back, and the young singer knelt overtop facing him. They grasped each other’s rope harnesses as Andri fucked the Bard, riding him, and they maintained eye contact throughout. Andri cried out softly when they both came. He collapsed over the Bard, kissing him, before falling asleep in his arms.

Eventually, Geraint turned up to fetch the boy to his room. He awoke the sleepy Andri, who smiled and returned his other Master’s kiss.

“Get up now, wanton lad. I hope you saved some of that youthful energy for me.”

“Of course, Geraint. I could go all night.”

“Well, I can’t. Brynnan, Nijal and I have a difficult task ahead of us in the morning.”

“What’s that, Master?”

“We will attempt to penetrate the ArMor-ys deep redoubt. Wish us luck, m’lad. We will need it.”

*   *   *