To Redeem His People

Fox-Fire

Geraint, Brynnan and Samir greeted the day seated at the fire outside, sipping hot drinks, while Danan served fresh pan-bread, cheese and dried meat strips. Nijal joined them for the food. Others in the camp came by to greet Samir, and Alanus received his daily orders.

“We will be gone most of the day, Alanus,” said Samir. “Have the men stay on alert. Listen for any strange and unusual noises, especially from the air. If by any chance you encounter the Invaders—the Sojourners, as they style themselves—do not directly confront them. We as yet cannot stand against their weapons. Post guards where they can surveil the surrounding mountainside.”

“It shall be done, my Lord. Are you sure you will not take your Guard with you, at least?”

“No, Alanus. But post more guards partway up the trail so they may more quickly convey news if necessary.”

“My Lord,” said Alanus, saluting Samir before turning away to follow his orders.

But at last, Samir had the camp disposed of as he wished, and he and Brynnan, along with Geraint, set out for the waterfall site higher up the trail. Their destination was one they had visited before, and it held significant memories for the Bard.

Appointed Lord Samir’s representative, Nijal stayed behind to talk to the warriors, telling them of more challenges to be faced.

When Brynnan and the Warlord reached the clearing in the pines by the waterfall and pool, the memories surged thick and fast. Most were of the intense lovemaking in which they had engaged. While Geraint guarded the approaches with Ghost, Samir and Brynnan talked. Brynnan attempted to explain the supernatural events that had befallen him.

“My true Father is the Lord of the Wild Hunt. As he can operate in our world, he can choose between a corporeal and incorporeal form. It was in human form that he impregnated my mother. So it seems my own form can also be mutable.”

“This is difficult for me to understand, but my love and trust for you is deep. I will stand by you in all things.”

Brynnan simply kissed his Lord’s hand.

They made love again after that, with Brynnan lying on Samir’s cloak on his back. Kneeling between Brynnan’s legs, the Warlord kissed him hungrily, and the Bard returned the kisses with equal fervour. Samir’s huge erect cock, freshly lubed, pushed at his lover’s rectal passage, seeking entrance. The Warlord pinned Brynnan’s wrists to the ground as he kissed and probed, until with a firm thrust, the head of his cock entered past the first constriction. Another thrust took his cock all the way in. Brynnan gasped in pleasure as Samir began to pump in and out, hard. All through the fucking he kept eye contact with his Lord, willing his soul to join with Samir’s. When he came, his ecstatic surrender to the Warlord took him completely.

“I can’t let you go again, my lover. I want you with me. You are all of my heart,” Samir murmured after he had filled the Bard’s ass with cum..

“As you are mine, my dear Lord,” Brynnan replied.

They lay embracing each other tightly and touching each other. When the two men finally arose, they swam in the pool below the waterfall and dressed.

It was while they rested afterwards that a strange sound filled the trees. Samir immediately knew it spelled danger to them, and he scrambled up to stand in front of Brynnan, shielding him. Then their two horses reacted, neighing loudly and bolting down the trail. This action of Samir’s horse, Malpaisan, was alarming, as the beast was trained to stay by his master in all cases, defending him in battle. But no horse could have been trained to stand for the monstrous white form that hovered above the trail.

It was a ship, undoubtedly of the Invaders, but different from the one Brynnan had previously encountered at Hesperon. This one touched down on the trail above them almost gently.

The dog, Ghost, stood before the two men in his unnatural aspect, his monstrous size almost doubled, and his long canine teeth formidable to behold. He growled as the engine noise from the ship died down, and the growl sounded like thunder.

A door opened on the ship, and troops poured out, weapons levelled. A man stepped out between the two ranks. He gestured, and two guards approached the Warlord and the Bard.

Ghost did not hesitate but leapt upon the two men even as they fired at him. Twin blue beams of light struck the dog but had no apparent ill effect. Indeed, Ghost seemed even larger as he was on the two men in a blur. He seized their souls in his powerful jaws and disappeared, taking them with him as the bodies collapsed.

Shock reigned amongst the remaining troops, but the man said, “If you control that creature, any further action on its part will be met with your deaths.”

Samir spoke, “Leader Ilchi, is this the patience you spoke of?”

“Alas, Lord Samir, there have been developments. You shelter one who killed our fellows in Hesperon. In addition, he has caused great disruption among those he calls the ‘Watchers.’ Our Necromancer has found him out. This is a dangerous man you shield.”

“Nevertheless, he is mine. What trouble do you bring me?” said the Warlord.

“Only trouble if you provoke it. Do not move! We bring you an invitation, Warlord, to visit us in our home. There you will see and understand. Come peaceably, and we will leave Brynnan Marec Mavrenn alive.”

“They lie, dear Lord,” muttered Brynnan.

“I know it, my lover. The instant I move, try and get to safety. I cannot pause here. Even now, Geraint will be coming to defend us, and he definitely will die.”

Brynnan knew then he should have ducked into the Shadow-ways, but he could not bring himself to leave the Warlord. “Don’t go, my Lord. Let me surrender to them in your stead,” he insisted.

“No, stay here and do what you can. I will go with these Invaders.”

“My Lord . . .”

“I have spoken, my lover.”

Samir kissed Brynnan on the mouth and turned away towards the Invaders. But as he started between them, Leader Ilchi instructed his men: “Destroy this Bard.”

Brynnan was caught in cross-beams of blue fire. His body did not disappear but fell lifeless to the ground.

The Warlord turned with a cry of animal rage, but before he could move, the Invaders had seized him. They took him into the ship. Leader Ilchi took one last look at the body on the ground before following his men.

*    *    *

Geraint, riding hard into the clearing upon Samir’s own horse, was just in time to see the ship lift up over the forest and rapidly withdraw skywards. Then the old Warrior saw Brynnan upon the ground.

He rushed over and knelt, checking for a pulse in the Bard’s neck. There was nothing, but he had been in that situation once before when Brynnan had nearly bled out. He would not give up. The body was seemingly unmarked, and he began to work on it with everything he had, pumping the heart and giving breath.

So it was that Nijal and the men from the camp found him there, bent with exhaustion at Brynnan’s side, still trying to give him life.

Nijal knelt beside him and checked the body. “Geraint, my friend, stop this. He is dead. The body cools.”

“No, he can’t . . .”

“Death comes to all men, as you should know.”

“But not to Brynnan. And my Lord is gone, taken in that accursed ship. Tell me there is an answer to that!” said Geraint, tears finally coming to his eyes.

“There will be, I swear it. Come now.”

Geraint looked around. “But where is Ghost? He would never leave our Bard!”

“Nor has he, I believe. Wherever Brynnan’s soul is now, Ghost will be with him.”

*    *    *

The men built a tumulus of stone, a chamber big enough to hold Brynnan and his harp. Geraint had bathed the body and dressed it in its bardic robes. The air temperature was cool for the two days it took, and the body remained incorrupt. Finally, they sealed the opening with a boulder and piled many smaller stones and earth upon the cairn. Eventually, they left, heading down the mountainside.

A solitary raven came and perched on the tomb. It tilted its head as if searching for something. Then it croaked and shook its feathers. Eventually, it flew away.

*    *    *

Nijal gathered the men together at the camp to address them.

“My friends, we have suffered a grievous loss in the taking of our Warlord by the Invaders, and the killing of his Bard, Brynnan Marec Mavrenn. We can do little for the Bard now, but there is still our Lord Samir to consider. I believe he lives. To bring a ship down to fetch one man must be a massive undertaking, so I believe he is of most value to them alive. Lord Samir can do nothing to aid the Invaders’ cause from within their ship, so I think they will return him alive!”

Alanus, the Captain of Samir’s personal Guard, spoke, “But what condition will he be in if they return him? My Lord is a strong and resilient fighter, but how long can any man last if they attempt to control his mind?”

Geraint said, “Brynnan didn’t break in more than a year when he was m’Lord’s captive, and I saw the trials he was put through before m’Lord found the men who had falsely accused him.”

“But who knows what cunning methods these Invaders have? Did not the Bard tell us they had tried to control his mind?” said Kyros.

Nijal held up a hand. “My friends, many of you know me as simply a battle surgeon. But some also know that I have another heritage. I am of a race called Alsar that predates your own settlement on this planet that is our mutual home. Once, your ancestors had powerful weapons and embarked on a path of war with each other and with my kind, wreaking great destruction. We Alsar interfered in that and destroyed the weapons and the knowledge of their making. Lest you say that we need these weapons now, would you see your citadels destroyed and your lands wiped clean of life?”

“But you are just one man, Nijal Silver-hand,” protested a guard.

“No, my brother Alsar and I can join minds. If we know the source of the Invaders’ power, we can band together and destroy it.

“Why don’t you just destroy the Invaders’ main ship?” one young guardsman, Vidal, asked.

“They are what you were, once upon a time. I am sure there is a core of aggressive and destructive men, but there will also be ones who are just settlers fleeing from some unspeakable past, as your ancestors once did. We Alsar still value life, but we cannot allow our planet, our home, to be raped and exploited, nor its people enslaved.”

“What do you propose?” they asked him.

“If, or rather when, they return our Lord, it will be at Torrent Mountain. If his mind is corrupted, I can attempt to heal him. Should a full-scale invasion occur, we can send out messengers and prepare the Redoubts to take in their people. Certain of us have knowledge of the Redoubts, and they have great value.”

“So we should cower and hide?” said Vidal.

“Geraint, a father of many battles, can tell you there is value in knowing when to run and when to fight. And I know no braver man, except maybe our Lord Samir.”

“I support what Nijal is saying, but as for myself, I won’t go with you. I will stay here and keep watch by the Bard’s tomb,’ said Geraint.

Several men offered to stay with him, but he refused them all.

“Who knows what dreams, or nightmares, may come? I know some things you do not, and believe me, it could be an unchancy thing.”

Geraint quelled further arguments, and finally, Nijal concluded their meeting after the remaining men had their say.

That night, Nijal and Geraint lay in their tent. After they undressed, they embraced each other and wordlessly kissed. Passion built inside them: the battlefield passion from near-death experiences, their awareness of their own vulnerability and mortality and the need to affirm that they were both alive after the traumatic days past. At first, Geraint pushed Nijal face down on the bed. He rimmed, then fisted, the Guardian’s ass, breathing heavily. Nijal took the whole hand without complaint. When Nijal was close to cumming, Geraint introduced his cock, which slipped in easily after the fisting. He thrust hard and groaned, passion and sorrow mixing. Images of Brynnan sucking his cock with Lord Samir three mornings ago kept intruding on his mind.

“Let go, dear friend; it’s alright to feel your sorrow,” whispered Nijal.

With a strangled cry, the old Warrior ejaculated, even as tears poured down his face. Nijal turned and embraced him, and they kissed each other through the tears they both shed. Finally, their emotions spent, they rested quietly together: the lion and the bear.

Sometime later, Geraint stirred in Nijal’s embrace. “Guardian, I have a concern,” he said. “Is there no way that we can reach each other mind-to-mind, as you and Brynnan did?”

Nijal was silent a few moments. “There is a way, but there is a risk. I could share my blood with you, as I did with Brynnan when he was injured. I have never done it outside the scope of healing, and I am not sure of its effects. My blood contains an agent that would infect you and confer on you certain . . . qualities. I am not sure you would want all of them.”

“Such as?”

“We could probably speak to one another’s minds. Your sexual energy and intensity of your orgasms would be enhanced. You will heal quicker from injuries, and your life could be prolonged. Your body can metabolize certain poisons—render them harmless. Could you handle this?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Some men don’t want to live longer lives. You could outlive your friends.”

“Well, it didn’t help Brynnan live any longer, did it? And I have already outlived most of my friends.”

“I can’t argue with that, Geraint. If you are sure, I will fetch my kit. Extreme times demand extreme measures, or I would not entertain this.”

Geraint prepared himself mentally while Nijal hooked up the line, valve and needles. He applied a tourniquet to both their arms and located veins. Then he inserted the needles. He loosened his own tourniquet, then Geraint’s.

“My blood will flow into you because my blood pressure is naturally higher than yours. Blood will flow until there is equilibrium. Now keep very still.”

Geraint lay quietly while Nijal was seated beside him, his wrist above Geraint’s heart. Blood flowed. Eventually, Nijal stopped the process and taped the minor wounds.

“It felt like heat flowing within me, Nijal. What now?”

“Now, we wait,” replied the Guardian. “We will know in a day or so. Ideally, you should stay near me while you acclimatize, but I know you won’t.”

“No, I can’t wait, my friend,” replied the old Warrior. “I feel a need to be there, at the tomb.”

“Then be still with me until dawn comes,” said Nijal.

*    *    *

The soul of Brynnan moved through a silver mist. It was drawn to a portal that opened before it. It assumed human semblance and stepped across the threshold, noting the silver sand under its feet. Turning around, it looked back. The portal was gone. Then he began to remember a little of himself and knew he had once been a man. Ahead of him stretched a desert that seemed to shimmer under an early dawn sky. Presently, he became aware that footprints were forming in the sand beside him. He discerned they were dog paw-prints.

“Ysbryd. . .” he tried to whisper.

As if it heard him, Ysbryd/Ghost’s spirit form materialized. It did not look at him, but it stayed close to his side as they walked on. Time had no meaning here. The walk seemed endless, yet Brynnan could discern an object on the horizon. Suddenly he reached it. It was his cairn: his own tomb. It seemed insubstantial, surrounded by misty pines. As Brynnan paused there, he could feel a Presence in the mound. It called to him in his own voice.

Shivering, he resumed his journey, resisting an urge to investigate. The desert continued to call to him.

*    *    *

Nijal and Samir’s men broke camp in the morning, preparing to return to Torrent Mountain. The Guardian and the old Warrior said farewell to each other. Geraint rode Shade and led Rhiannon and the packhorse, Frieda, carrying their tent and food supplies.

“What do you hope to guard against, my friend?” Nijal asked him.

“I know you think it may be a fool’s errand, and I know he is not coming back, but at the very least, there may be tomb robbers. Not every man’s heart is pure. Brynnan—the body—wears a fortune in gold about its neck, and then there is Mavrenn. Also, Brynnan once spoke to me of other dangers. I just need to be there.”

“Maybe we should have kept his harp and returned it to ArMor-ys,” mused Nijal.

“No, they belong together,” Geraint replied shortly.

“Very well, dear friend. Let’s hope my blood might bring a change in you for the good. I will attempt to call your mind in a day or so. May the Mother-of-All keep you.”

So saying, he turned Myst and rode down the trail. Samir’s men followed him. Geraint sat quietly on his horse, feeling the burden of his aching heart within himself, then he, too, turned. Only he headed towards Scarfell Pass.

There was no need to push the horses, and sometime later, he arrived in the clearing, changed now by the presence of the mound. Geraint’s heart froze within him, and he quelled the tide of feelings and memories that threatened to overwhelm him. He had a job to do.

He established camp within the trees so that it was not visible to anyone who arrived. He briefly made a small fire, just enough to heat water for his evening meal, a mix of beans and rice, and dried meat. Afterwards, he soaked the ground where the fire had been and covered its traces with forest duff. Then, wrapping himself in his bear-furred cloak, he found a position where he could overlook the tomb from a distance.

The moon arose, just past full. Stark shadows and highlights painted the clearing, and the waterfall sparkled in the moonlight. But then a strange thing occurred. The tomb took on a glow of its own.

Geraint was familiar with fox-fire, from glowing marsh gasses to the green fire that limned mast and sails on a tall ship before a storm, and he believed it was fox-fire he was seeing now. Geraint sniffed the air, but all that he could discern was the aromatic smell of pine trees. He kept watching.

Presently, he heard voices. The figures of two men appeared. They tried to keep to the shadows, but the moonlight revealed them occasionally. He recognized one of the voices as belonging to Vidal, the young soldier—not a member of Samir’s personal Guard—who had dissented with Nijal the previous evening. Geraint heard the words carrying in the night air.

“The tomb is accursed! Look at it. Let’s go from here, Vidal.”

“Think of the gold, Romnus. And the harp, if we can get it out. Even if we cannot, did you not know there are two rubies set into the harp? We could pry those out.”

Geraint felt the slow burn of rage building in his chest. Even worse than that they were grave robbers was that Vidal was a traitor to his oath as a soldier. The two men approached the tomb and pawed at the earth covering. The other man, Romnus, carried a javelin he began to use as a pry bar.

Geraint rose up, intent on vengeance, when the two men froze.

“What is that? On top of the mound—I see a shadow. O, Mother! I see a face.”

“No, it’s a giant bird. It is haunted! We have awakened the barrow-wight!” cried Vidal.

“It comes!”

A wind from nowhere sprang up and moaned in the pines, tossing the branches. As the two men turned to run, Geraint swept towards them from the shelter of the trees, sword out. The two grave robbers ran right into him. The old Warrior cut them down without mercy.

After making sure they were dead, he backed away into the trees again. There was something at the mound, but he felt nothing of Brynnan’s lightness of spirit.

“Draugr, go back to sleep. I will not disturb you further.”

The wind suddenly died again.

Resolute and unafraid, Geraint wrapped his cloak around himself once more and returned to his post. He remembered his wolf-spirited lover, the Rune-Master Bertholf, trying to explain how many parts of a man’s soul existed according to his peoples’ beliefs. The Draugr was associated with its corpse. Geraint firmly refused to believe that a malevolent creature inhabited Brynnan’s corpse. Instead, he prayed for his friend’s spirit. Had not Vidal seen a giant bird? Could it have been Brynnan’s Raven-spirit carrier? Besides himself, something was guarding the cairn as evinced by the mysterious green fire. He resolved to set the mystery aside until morning, when he would dispose of the bodies of the tomb robbers and free their horses.

*    *    *

On the glittering desert sands, Brynnan’s spirit-soul trudged onward. As he walked, memories came to him like islands passing a sailing ship. From his earliest childhood ones to the most recent memories, it was as if he re-lived them all. The final memory was Lord Samir’s capture and his own death.

Looking down, he sensed a change. The sand under his feet disappeared to be replaced by purple grass. Ysbryd was now looked solid and real as he walked beside the Bard. Low hills surrounded him. He heard the noise of hounds, loud then growing fainter. They were the sounds of the Wild Hunt. He heard hoofbeats on the grass, and a rider appeared, silhouetted against the bright twilight sky.

King Arawn came up to him. He reached down an arm. “Welcome to Annwn, my son, to your new home.”

Brynnan reached up and took the Underworld King’s wrist in a firm grip, leaping to the back of his horse.

*    *    *