To Discover His Truth

Crossing The Boundary

The longest night in the Wheel of the Year drew closer, and darkness would come early. Snow fell continuously on the trail ahead. The four companions sought shelter for the night. They had left the mountain passes and were now on the coastal side of the range, entering Ar-Morica, Brynnan’s home country. Now that their goal was close, the Bard felt eager to continue, but good sense slowed his feet.

A large stone building became visible in the swirling snow. Coming close, they saw a surrounding wall and a gateway. Beside the gate, a tall stone stood sentinel. It bore a deeply carved triskele symbol, surmounted by horns, and surrounded with incised runes on the granite face.

Brynnan halted his mare Rhiannon, and the old Warrior, Geraint, brought his horse, Shade, alongside.

“That’s the third one we’ve passed,” he said, “Can you read it, Master Bard?”

Brynnan dismounted and approached the stone, which exceeded his own height. He took a gloved hand and brushed away the snow from the carvings. “It translates as, ‘The boundary begins here. Beware you who enter where the Lord of the Woods has his… dominion or territory. The Mother watches all’.”

“Cheerful stuff,” commented Geraint. “The other stones had that triple-circle symbol but no horns.”

Brynnan shrugged the black, wolf-fur trimmed cloak tighter around his shoulders and approached the gate. He struck the bronze bell affixed to the wall with its hammer, and the resounding note swelled to resonance then faded. They waited.

A crunching sound in the snow indicated someone’s approach. A man appeared, middle-aged yet grey-bearded and dressed in a dark brown hooded robe.

“We seek shelter, Gatekeeper. Four men and six horses.”

“You are fortunate, traveller. There is room for all of you. You may enter.”

Brynnan secretly breathed a sigh of relief and beckoned to the others. They were not asked to surrender their weapons, and the two young monks who appeared to take their horses were courteous also.

After seeing to their beasts and packs, they were escorted into the stone hall by another brown-clad man with long white hair in braids decorated with gold disks.

“I am Shon-Lias, head priest and Keeper of the way-shelter of the Forest God. May he grant you the freedom of his wood.”

The hall was designed as a longhouse with a fire trench, only part of which was filled with burning charcoal, but over this sat a cauldron, large enough to cook a lamb and full of bubbling water. High above, an opening in the roof led the smoke away and allowed oxygen to enter. Panels of coloured glass inset into the window embrasures showed deer and other forest creatures.

 A sleeping platform ran the length of the hall behind curtained alcoves separated by stone pillars. On the other side, tables with benches were placed. The end of the hall was closed off, probably for the monks’ quarters and the kitchens.

They were shown spaces where they could rest and put their gear and a room off to the side for bathing. Brynnan claimed an alcove and laid Mavrenn, his harp, there, unceasing her and setting her on the floor to warm.

Sion-Lias, the Keeper stared wide-eyed and suddenly bowed. “Forgive me, Lord Bard, for I see that you are Ruithin. I did not know at first, not seeing your collar. But your noble harp proclaims you of high estate.”

“I am called Brynnan, Marec Mavrenn and Servant of Ravens. The torc you did not see around my neck is held in trust by another.”

“Powerful must be that man who holds the torc of the Marec Mavrenn. We have not heard from you in years. Forgive the humbleness of this abode.”

“It is a place of the Forest God. Were it a bed of leaves, I would be contented.”

Brynnan then briefly introduced Geraint, Nijal and Andri, but said nothing of his mission or destination. The Keeper left them then with the promise of food to follow. A young lad brought pitchers of wine and water. Meanwhile, the companions stripped off their snow-dampened outer clothing, spreading their cloaks, coats, and shirts over a table to dry.

Geraint took four bronze tankards, filled them with wine and water and placed them on the outskirts of the hot coals to heat. “This is a handy place; it must be one of those way-houses the trader Hazrad mentioned. I hope we encounter more of them.”

“We’ll join the main coastal road shortly, which will take us to the hall of our High Lord, Cyndyllan. That is where I must pay my respects first before we seek the ArMor-ys Redoubt, the college of my Ruithin brothers and sisters,” he paused in his undressing and sighed, “I would like to meet old friends or spend time at Cyndyllan’s court, but I am conflicted.”

“Oh? In what way?” queried Nijal.

“I am eager to complete our mission – spreading the warning on our return journey to those we encounter, but most of all, to see my Lord Samir once more. I have a vulnerability in loving him that never afflicted me before, Nijal. Although I truly believe he’s in the best position to spearhead the resistance to the invasion that will affect us all.”

Seeing Brynnan's distress, Andri turned to the Bard and embraced him, “Maybe Master Geraint will allow me to love you tonight. I wish I could contribute more to our mission than being able to sing.”

“Don’t denigrate yourself, lad,” said Geraint as he passed out the mugs of hot wine. “You have already accomplished a lot by singing with Brynnan. You freed him from the Death Cult in the caves. Just continue to learn his techniques. I’m glad you’re on our side. And yes, you may love him tonight if these priests will give us peace.”

Just then, the two young monks who had tended their horses came out from the back rooms, bearing platters of food. The young lad with them carried bowls and utensils. They arranged the fare on a table and invited the companions to eat.

Brynnan said, “We thank you deeply for this hospitality to strangers. If Shon-Lias agrees, you are welcome to come hear my harp’s voice.”

The elder of the two monks replied, “That is too great an honour from the Marec Mavrenn; nevertheless, my heart says yes!”

“So it shall be,” replied the Bard. “I will offer a sacrifice of music to the Lord of the Wood in thanks. Give my word to your master.”

The monks bowed happily. Then the lad with them spoke, “I am instructed to ask if you wish any of your garments washed. They will dry overnight by the fire. We will provide you with robes while it is done.”

Geraint replied for them, “We’d welcome that, lad.”

So, it was done. The companions stripped, washed, put on robes and ate their fill. The main portion was roast venison, provided by the Forest God, they were told. A savory soup, loaves of whole-grain bread, roast winter vegetables and dried fruit completed the meal.

Geraint sat back on the bench with a sigh when they had finished. “I was going to ask you, Master Bard, to keep your songs short as I want to sleep… and make love. But the hospitality shown us is very, very welcome after that long trip through the mountains, so I say play to your heart’s content!”

Brynnan laughed, “I will play, and Andri shall sing with me, but I, too, crave love and sleep.”

Whenever the monks of the way-shelter gathered afterwards, they would long remember the power and grace of the music given that night. Brynnan sang songs mostly in his own tongue, especially hymns to the Forest God and the Mother-of-All. Still, he also included some songs that he had taught Andri, not the Shadow songs but others that took advantage of Andri’s beautiful baritone voice.

When Brynnan finished plying, the monks performed a choral piece for their guests, their voices harmonized in an echoing plainsong chant. Finally, Brynnan drew the music to a close. The Keeper, Shon-Lias, thanked him and Andri but then added a piece of information that put the Bard to wondering.

“I am duty-bound to inform the King of Redmark, who rules over these borderlands, when significant visitors arrive, so I am dispatching a messenger, by your leave, Brynnan Marec Mavrenn, to inform him. If he decides to summon you, will you go?”

Brynnan considered. His friends were silent, awaiting his response. Finally, he said, “It would be deeply discourteous of me to refuse. We are on a mission of some urgency, yet it may be that the Powers have some purpose in guiding us hence,” he stated diplomatically.

Brynnan took himself for a further wash and light cleanout when the companions were alone. He walked back to the alcove naked, carrying the robe and climbed inside. Many sheepskins had been thrown on a layer of sweet-scented dried grasses, creating a soft bed. Brynnan found sheets of linen to place on top. As he settled himself, Andri, followed by Geraint, entered the alcove, closing the curtain behind them. The space would have been dark without the orb Geraint brought with him. Its soft greenish glow bathed their naked bodies.

There was no need for talk. Geraint and Andri together embraced Brynnan, and the three shared kisses that were slow at first but then increased in urgency. They ran their hands over one another’s bodies. Brynnan delighted in the contrast between Geraint’s furry, muscular shoulders and chest and Andri’s smooth, lean young form. As he sucked their nipples, his erection grew.

Geraint knelt on his haunches against the far wall. Brynnan stretched out on his stomach and laid his head in Geraint’s crotch, his face against the growing, thick cock. Precum dripped against his cheek, and he turned his head to lick the tip, pulling back the foreskin with his fingers. Geraint’s cock had prominent veins that seemed to throb as the Bard stroked it.

Meantime, Andri tentatively positioned himself between Brynnan’s legs. His fresh, shapely cock was already rock-hard from their foreplay. The young singer slid his hands under Brynnan’s loins and hips, raising the firm ass. He pushed his cock into the furrow, seeking entry. “Am I doing this right?” he asked.

Geraint was busy feeding his cock to Brynnan’s mouth. He gripped the Bard’s hair with his other hand. “You forgot the lube, m’lad,” he said shortly, “It’s right beside you where I put it.”

Andri gasped in embarrassment and sought to correct his misstep. He squeezed the thick, herb-scented lotion on his hand and rubbed it all over his cock, before pouring some on the entrance to Brynnan’s anal passage. Then he pushed his thumb in the hole, circling it to spread the lotion. Brynnan sighed.

Again, Andri attempted the gentle assault on the enticing ass before him. This time, he found his place and pushed as he had been taught. His cock passed the constriction and gained entrance. But this time, Andri was intensely aroused and could barely pause or hold back. He pushed further, then hesitated, but the only cues he received from Brynnan was a further raising of his ass. He shoved all the way in and began to move back and forth. Brynnan encouraged him by squeezing his muscles tight around Andri’s cock, milking him, as it were. Andri moaned aloud.

Brynnan, at the same time, was deeply engrossed in sucking Geraint’s cock. The old Warrior moved his hips in and out, fucking his lover’s eager mouth and throat. Geraint did not try to hold back. Gripping Brynnan’s hair with both hands, he pulled him tighter and came in hard, jerking thrusts. Then he gave an animal grunt of satisfaction and stroked Brynnan’s head.

Naturally, Geraint’s orgasm triggered Andri, who also ejaculated without ceremony, pumping his cum into the Bard. Brynnan rolled to his back. While Geraint bent down and kissed him thoroughly, Andri lay on the Bard and sucked his cock. This he took slower, concentrating on pleasuring Brynnan. When the Bard came, the young singer drank in all his cum.

After they had lain caressing each other lazily for some time, Brynnan sent Andri and Geraint to their own alcove to sleep. Just as he was drifting towards the realm of dreams, Nijal joined him. “Would you like some company? I feel I should guard you.”

“We are in a place where I know of no enemies, Nijal, but by all means, follow your instincts.”

Nijal slid his body alongside, wrapping Brynnan in an embrace. “I checked our horses. They are well, but the messenger has already left for the King’s house. Perhaps we are safe here, but I will look to the days ahead,”

“What can possibly go wrong?” Brynnan joked as he nuzzled his head on Nijal’s chest.

“You just had to ask that, didn’t you?” Nijal responded.

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