To Redeem His People

Well Of The Unicorn

Brynnan and Jehanadir’s spirit-forms ventured into the Shadow Realm of Annwn, guided by the dog Ysbryd-Ghost in his otherworldly aspect and the woman, Mavrenn, the spirit-form of his harp. The twilight woodland lay thick around them. Rich, moist vegetation provided seeming obstacles that nevertheless opened into a path. As in Brynnan’s previous visit to Annwn, when his father, Arawn, led him to the Stone of Seren, they seemed to travel for a long time. But looking back, Brynnan could still see the glade. Time and space here were not consistent.

To travel to this shadow-realm, Brynnan and Jehanadir had joined their bodies, fucking each other to orgasm in a sexual ritual. Here, they hoped to discover the hidden source of the Water of Life, necessary for the Spring Rite of Divination that the Prince must perform.

They penetrated deeper into the woodland. Mavrenn was a dim figure ahead of them. Occasionally she would turn and beckon. Finally, they reached another clearing.

Mavrenn spoke. “This is as far as I can lead you. I cannot stay. I am being made to return to the Material World by King Arawn.”

Jehanadir asked, “Will I see you again, Lady?” 

The woman laughed. “My Servant will lead you to me. You have but to ask.” She bent forward and kissed Jehanadir on the lips. His form shivered and wavered in the air as if the wind could blow him away.

Brynnan said, “Have a care, my Lady Mavrenn! Do not disturb him. He is inexperienced in travelling in this form. Would you snuff him out like a candle?”

“Ah, Brynnan, it is the memory of what I once was that urges me to do this thing, and the Prince is a fair youth. Have me sing his theme for him again. Until we meet, my Servant.”

She stepped towards Brynnan, cloak swirling, but her form dissolved into a flock of ravens before she reached him. Croaking noisily, the ravens encircled the Bard then dispersed into the trees.

Jehanadir reached out an arm and called her, “My Lady?”

“Do not call her, Jehanadir. It is quite useless. Put all thought of her from your mind and let us search. We still have a guide—” he indicated Ghost, who stood patiently waiting for them.

The dog led them to a rise in the woodland. Brynnan and the Prince ascended to a ridge in the trees. Following it, they saw Ghost pause to sit and watch them.

There was movement in the trees. A large white shape was barely visible in the green shade. Brynnan discerned it was a horse. With a cry, the horse sensed them. It kicked its heels and ran, and Ghost pursued it. The two men followed.

The horse had gone, but Brynnan could hear running water. Tall ferns were thick about the place, and he nearly missed the spring. He discovered it welling out from a rock face and pouring into a stone basin carved with the figures of horses. It overran the bowl on one side, forming a pool at its foot. It turned into a stream flowing down the forested slope. Brynnan and Jehanadir approached cautiously.

“Do not drink from it! Let us wait and see,” replied Brynnan.

Ghost went to the small pool at the foot of the basin, lowered his head and lapped the water. Emboldened, Brynnan cupped his hands below the pouring outflow and drank. It tasted clean, like moonlight. The Bard tried to detect any poisonous properties, but his senses told him that the water was pure. Jehanadir came closer, but Brynnan waved him back.

“Eat or drink nothing in this kingdom without King Arawn’s dispensation, in case you are bound here and cannot return.”

“Do you think this is the Source?” asked Jehanadir.

“Yes, actually, I do,” Brynnan replied.

Jehanadir sighed with exasperation. “Wonderful. How do we bring back water from the Underworld?”

“We don’t. We find its counterpart in the Material World. Remember the roots. All things connect.”

“I don’t even know how to look,” Jehanadir said, his voice tinged with despair. “And I don’t know how we return.”

“There will be a way.”

They heard a sound in the forest. A loud baying of hounds. It became fainter.

“Good, they draw away from us!” exclaimed the Prince, and he shivered.

“No, they approach. It is the nature of their call.”

Jehanadir’s eyes darted in fear. “They will hunt me!” he cried.

But the dog, Ghost, stood tall, facing the sound. He barked. Stones and branches did not fall, as had happened in the Material Realm, but there was a sound of thunder. Then the dog barked once more, and his tail began to wag madly.

“He comes,” cried Jehanadir, falling back. “The Dread King!”

“My Father!” Brynnan felt hope rising within him as Arawn, King of Annwn, cantered into the clearing on his dapple-grey horse. His pack of white hounds surrounded him, their voices swelling to a loud pitch now they had arrived. Arawn swung from his horse. Ghost threw himself at the King, rearing up and putting his great paws on Arawn’s shoulders and licking his face.

Brynnan stepped up and pushed the dog aside, and he too embraced the King. “Well-met, my Lord,” he said.

Black-haired Arawn, dressed in green and silver, embraced his son, and Brynnan could feel his touch on his naked body. The King felt solid and real, and Brynnan briefly rested his head on the Arawn’s shoulder. The King then gently set him to his side, but he kept an arm about the Bard’s shoulders. He looked across at Jehanadir.

Brynnan knew that Jehanadir was probably terrified, but nevertheless, the Prince held his ground and faced the King.

“Dread Lord,” he said quietly but steadily, “Am I to be your prey?”

“Why would you think that, Prince of Narib?”

“I am guilty of murder. I have heard your pack hunts evil men.”

“It does. But I look into your heart. I see the capacity for great evil . . . but you do not act on it. I also see the capacity for great love, which you do express. Just beware of jealousy: you know of what I speak. Give with an open hand, and your heart will open. It is your strongest protection. So, no, you give me no cause at this time to set you before my pack.”

Jehanadir bowed his head.

Brynnan spoke, “My Father, we have found this well, but we do not know how to seek its counterpart in the Material World. How do we follow the secret roots of a well-spring?”

“This is the Water you seek? In this land, it is called ‘The Well of the Unicorn.’ Let me lead you.”

He walked with his horse, and the pack followed behind. Brynnan, Jehanadir and Ghost accompanied him. Arawn idly fondled the dog’s ears.

“He is well named ‘Ysbryd.’ Does he give you good service?” The King smiled.

“As a guard dog, he is unparalleled. As a companion dog, he brings me great comfort, coming as he does from your largesse.”

“Ysbryd is a part of me. A wild fragment of my own soul.” He looked at Jehanadir. “Yes, do not look surprised. Even Shadow-lords have souls.”

“I thought you were a spirit,” said Jehanadir.

“It’s complicated. There are many parts to our being.”

They moved downhill, following the stream from the spring. Then Arawn exclaimed, “Here we are!”

Jehanadir looked down, then drew back in horror. King Arawn pointed to a large sinkhole in the ground, the stream swirling and rushing around it before pouring in and disappearing. They could hear the Water distantly striking a pool far below.

“Surely, you do not mean that we should leap down there . . .” The Prince was unable to continue speaking.

“Yes, that is where your path leads.”

“Fear not, for I shall go first, Jehanadir. Then you must follow me. Ghost shall join us,” Brynnan told him.

He turned to his Father. King Arawn embraced him, then kissed him tenderly on the mouth. “We will meet again very soon, my Son,” he said.

Brynnan turned, and without further hesitation, leapt down the hole in the ground. Ghost followed. Jehanadir took one look at the King. Not wanting to be left alone with the pack, the stuff of his nightmares, he took his courage in both hands and followed.

*    *    *

The Prince lay on the grass and knew that he was in his own realm, but something was wrong. He tried to grasp a young sapling in front of him to help him rise, but his hand went right through it. He looked at his hand, and to his panic, he could faintly see through it.

‘Do not fear!’ called a mind-voice. ‘I am with you.’ Brynnan was suddenly beside him. ‘Look well, Prince, and memorize this place.’

They were in a clearing where another stone basin was set below a rock face from whence a stream of water flowed, filling the basin and spilling over.

‘Drink now,’ said Brynnan in the Prince’s mind.

‘But I am a ghost!’

‘Not so, you are merely in shadow-form. Try,’ Brynnan insisted.

Jehanadir bent over the bowl and touched his lips to the water. He drank and found that somehow, he was ingesting it. ‘This is the Source now!’ he thought with elation.

‘By drinking the water, it will become part of you, and you can follow its thread out to this spring. But come, I fear we have overstayed. Our bodies cannot be left too long without being whole.’

‘How do we return to them?’ Jehanadir thought.

Brynnan came close to Jehanadir. ‘Kiss me, Lord. Let us become aroused. Back where our bodies are, Dronnadh will notice and initiate our return. For me, Shahin must also do his part, and fuck me.’

They entwined with each other and kissed. It seems that their forms began to meld, and Brynnan felt suffused with erotic heat. A silver mist surrounded them once more: the  Realm of Between—a place connected to countless other realms. He was drawn back.

*    *    *

In the stone hut, Brynnan and Jehanadir’s bodies were unmoving. But Dronnadh, watching, saw their cocks stiffening. He called to Shahin. The boy immediately came to Dronnadh’s side.

“They are ready for us,” said Dronnadh, beginning to stroke himself. Both the Diviner and the boy were now naked.

“How can I . . .what do I do?” said Shahin, sounding panicky.

“Hold still a moment.” Dronnadh dropped to his knees in front of the boy and took the youth’s cock in his mouth, caressing it with his tongue.

Shahin let him do it. He made a sound in his throat, part protest, part desire. As Dronnadh sucked, he felt Shahin getting hard with the quick response of the young. Dronnadh took the anointing oil and rubbed it on both his own cock and on Shahin’s until their shafts were slick and slippery with it. As he massaged the young man’s cock it grew even harder.

“Now, take Brynnan, as I shall take Jehanadir. Do not delay.”

Obediently, Shahin knelt on the cedar bedding and drew up Brynnan’s ass to his cock. He used more oil to pour some on Brynnan’s ass. Then guiding his shaft, the boy pushed it inside the Bard.

Dronnadh, too, had introduced his erect cock into Jehanadir’s ass, and the two began to fuck Brynnan and the Prince. Jehanadir began to respond slowly as Dronnadh called his name. “Jehanadir, I summon you. Reclaim your body. Come home.”

When Shahin was silent, Dronnadh instructed the boy, “Call his name!”

Shahin said out loud, “Shadow, we call you. Come to us. Let us join our minds. We call you, Shadow. Cum with me, now!” He thrust harder, then both Shahin and the Bard spilled their hot seed.

In Dronnadh’s mind, the Pattern suddenly broke apart and fractured. Dronnadh was filled with consternation, but he could not stop his fucking at this juncture. He had to block his mind from what Shahin was calling. The Diviner fucked the Prince as hard as he could, seeing the man’s erection grow. Dronnadh held onto the the prick as he pumped and felt his orgasm impending. Calling Jehanadir again, he felt the Prince’s cock in his hand spasm suddenly, and crying out loud, the Diviner ejaculated into Jehanadir’s ass even as the Prince shot his own cum and opened his eyes.

The Prince witnessed his boy, Shahin, fucking another man and calling him by a strange name. “But that’s not his name,” he said, confused. “His name is B—”

“Do not speak, Prince!” commanded Dronnadh. “Do not say his name. It must be Shahin who says it!” He turned to the boy, “Speak his name, call him!”

“We name you Shadow,” said Shahin once more. “Shadow, join us. Speak to us!”

Brynnan’s eyes abruptly opened and gleamed wildly. He stared up at Shahin. “We have come. We are Shadow.”

Jehanadir sat up, confused and angry. “Diviner, what is happening to them?”

“They are possessed by the Watchers. The Invaders are in their minds.”

“But what can we do?” Jehanadir asked desperately.

“Calm yourself a little. I am calling Nijal.” Dronnadh closed his eyes, going still for a moment. Then, “He is coming, as fast as he can.” He closed his eyes again, communicating with Nijal even as the Guardian galloped his horse to the hut’s doorway.

But Brynnan was starting to sit up. He spoke to Jehanadir as Nijal burst in.

“Jehanadir, we name you. You must listen to us. We have a secret you will learn. Open your mind to us.”

At that moment, Nijal seized the necks of both Shahin and Brynnan and pinched the nerves at the side. Both Bard and boy dropped, unconscious, to the floor.

Jehanadir scrambled forward and took Shahin in his arms. “What have you done—”

“Peace!” commanded Nijal in a tone of authority. “Neither are harmed. Merely unconscious. The Invaders were in their minds. They may have lost contact now.”

“I wonder when they got to Shahin?” said Dronnadh. “I know that Brynnan was uneasy even before the ceremony. I sensed a current of change in the Pattern, and I foresaw a disturbance but not specifically this. The Watchers are new. We are still learning to recognize their imprint upon the time-to-be.”

“How can we get them out of Shahin’s mind?” said Jehanadir. “He asked me last night if the Invaders came, would I listen to what they had to say. I thought it strange, and I wish I had mentioned it to you both.”

Nijal said, “Let me wake Brynnan. If the Watcher is still in his mind, I will call on his Father as I did at ArMor-Ys. But he must be made aware.”

He bent over the unconscious Bard and placed a hand on either side of his head. Brynnan simply woke, completely and naturally. “Is Shahin still possessed?” were his first words. There was a quiet fury in his dark eyes.

“Who are you?” asked Nijal of the Bard.

“I am Brynnan, and I am angry. Now, is the boy still possessed?” he asked again.

“We don’t know,” Dronnadh replied, sounding weary.

“You must help him, Brynnan,” Jehanadir pleaded.

“I intend to. Jehanadir, try not to hinder me. Despite what you see, I shall not harm your boy.”

Nijal said, “Brynnan, you are in no condition for mind-travel so soon again.”

“Watch me. There are other ways to set fire to my soul.” He raised his arms. “My Father, I call on you. Come to me now!”

They heard the loud neigh of a horse outside the hut, and Brynnan stepped past the hide curtain, bidding the others stay. He looked and saw the semi-solid form of King Arawn sitting majestically on his gray horse. Brynnan came up to the horse’s side and looked up. “Father, the Watchers have attacked my mind and tried to take over the mind of young Shahin, Prince Jehanadir’s boy. Give me leave to take Ysbryd with me and then help bring me home again.”

“As you wish, my son. This threatens our own realm. Go into the hut, and I will join my mind to yours.”

Brynnan bowed his head and returned. He lay down near the fire near Jehanadir, who held Shahin in his arms. “Wake him, Nijal,” he said. Nijal complied.

As Shahin’s eyes opened, he saw where he was and began to weep. “Something is in my mind . . .” he sobbed.

“Surrender him to me,” Brynnan said to the Prince.

“Go lie with . . . the Bard,” Jehanadir said, guiding the boy to his feet.

Shahin lay down with Brynnan, who embraced him. Ghost raised his head from his paws at the wall near the door and watched them.

“Dronnadh, give me fire,” he demanded of the Diviner.

Dronnadh took a burning branch from the fire as Brynnan lay on his back. He traced the fiery wood over the three brands on the Bard’s chest with the end that glowed a bright cherry red. Jehanadir bit off a protest as the smell of burning flesh arose.

The pain filled Brynnan, but he drank it in; he welcomed it and was aware of his Father’s strength. He loosed his shadow-mind, and it flew like a fire-tipped arrow into the aether. There were stars and darkness. The voice of the Mother sounded in the cosmos, and Brynnan found himself beside the gigantic ship speeding in the void. A grey spirit hovered beside him. Focusing his mental powers, he sought the chamber of the Watchers.

Recognizing a certain mind, he pulled it towards him. He seemed to pass through the ship’s wall and found himself in the Chamber of the Watchers. The mind before him belonged to one of the Watchers in the machines. The dog, Ghost, materialized beside him. It bared its teeth, exposing canines like that of a saber-toothed tiger. It growled.

The profoundly deep sound made the chamber lights flicker and interrupted the hum of the machines. Alarm sirens sounded. Brynnan heard shouts as Watchers awakened from their trances. He blazed into the mind of his own Watcher with a sheet of fire, demanding from him that he disclose the Watcher who controlled Shahin. Ripping the information from him, he sought the other Watcher. Finding him, he also blazed through his mind but with more intensity. He heard the man screaming and, with effort, pulled back before the psychic attack could destroy the Watcher. He did not want to confront death in this alien place. Let them come on the planet!

He would have done further damage, but Ghost gripped his arm, and he heard the voice of his Father say, ‘Enough, my Son. Come back now.’

Brynnan let go. Blackness and stars surrounded him again, and then the loud, pulsing harmonic sound he associated with the Mother-of-All. Then he was falling, blazing like a meteor into the planet’s atmosphere. The intense pain caused him to black out.

*    *    *

Brynnan spent several days in bed with a high and persistent fever that even Nijal could not bring down. The battle-surgeon stayed at his bedside, sponging his body with ice-cold water. “It is an illness of the spirit. He overspent himself,” Nijal commented to a worried Geraint.

Finally, despairing of a recovery and fearing brain damage, Nijal called King Arawn of Annwn once more. He was alone in the chamber with Brynnan at the time, having forbidden others lest they disturb the Bard. He kept the room darkened, with the light of only a single orb.

The King materialized. This time he seemed fully solid and real. “Nijal, Guardian, you should have called me sooner,” he said.

Examining his son, he saw burn marks with reddened, blistered flesh overlying the brands. He placed a hand over each wound. A fleeting expression of pain crossed his face, but when he removed his hand, the burns were gone, leaving only the brand-runes. Then he turned to Nijal.

“Leave us, Silver-Hand, and guard the door against all comers on pain of their death. Brynnan and I must engage in a working that I have been most reluctant to do, but I fear it is the only way,” said the pale King.

Nijal bowed his head and left the chamber.

Arawn removed his garments. Then he gently tipped Brynnan’s head forward with a supportive arm and helped him drink from a cup of cold water.

“Father . . .” Brynnan’s voice was just a whisper.

“Hush, my Son. I am going to join with you. Your health is fading in this world, so I will stitch it to my own world. For nine nights, you will be half in the Shadow world. The connection to Annwn will keep you alive while you heal because, in Annwn, there is no burning, no fever, and no swelling in your brain. My actions will go far beyond what is acceptable between Father and son, but put your trust in me.”

“Father, I do.”

Arawn leaned down and brought his lips to his son’s. He kissed his mouth and gently opened it with his tongue. Brynnan strove to respond and kiss him back, but Arawn admonished him. “Hush, just relax. I will take you.”

He stroked Brynnan with his hands, smoothing the silky, dark body hair on his chest and stomach. The patterns matched Arawn’s own body hair. The King was a tall, muscular man, and his cock was large and proud. He ran his hands down to his son’s cock and stroked it, spreading the precum at its tip over the hardening shaft. He bent down again and sucked his son’s nipples, and Brynnan moaned.

Judging that Brynnan was sufficiently aroused, he put himself between the Bard’s knees and lifted the slim hips, hoisting Brynnan’s ass up to meet his own straining member. Precum dripped from it, and the King used it to lubricate his cock. He pushed it against his son’s ass, seeking entry. Brynnan tilted his hips to make it easier for his Father to enter him.

King Arawn’s cock entered Brynnan, and he shoved it in deep until it could go no further. He settled there for moments and rubbed his son’s penis that stood erect over the hard stomach.

The King murmured, “That’s it, my son, take my cock. I will soon cum in you, and you will begin to heal.”

He began to rock his hips, thrusting in and out, fucking his son’s ass. He kept up a steady rhythm until Brynnan was moaning in passion. Eventually, his own desire overwhelmed him. “I am going to put my seed in you, my son. Cum when I cum and let us mingle our life force.”

He stroked Brynnan’s cock faster, in time with his own hard thrusts, until Brynnan moaned, “My Father, I am cumming. Please, fuck me hard.” Then he ejaculated, spilling his seed across his stomach and chest. Arawn, too, groaned in empathy and shot his load into his son’s ass. It seemed to take long for the spasms to pass, leaving both Father and son shuddering.

“It is done,” said Arawn as he pulled out and lay beside his son, cradling him in his arms and kissing Brynnan’s mouth.

Brynnan felt his headache just . . . disappear, and he nearly wept in relief. “My Lord Father, how can I thank you?”

“By resting, my son. I will call Nijal back in, and he can bathe you in cool water.” Arawn arose and dressed. Then, kissing his son one last time, he quietly left the room.

*    *    *