To Redeem His People

Journey to Annwn

Brynnan watched the boy, Shahin, dance before the court. His lithe but strong body twisted and leapt to the sound of the flutes and drums, reminding the Bard of a living flame in an outdoor fire that flickers in the wind. The boy’s vitality was reflected in the seemingly effortless moves, but Brynnan, as a gymnastic practitioner himself, appreciated the dedication and training Shahin must have undergone.

The Bard glanced at Jehanadir, the Prince, noting his rapt expression. He was clearly a man in love, and Brynnan was sure that when they retired for the night, their lovemaking would be intense.

It was difficult not to desire the boy: he danced nearly naked except for a kilt of soft leather. His pale golden skin and hair gave him the look of a spirit of the air. Gold bands encircled his upper arms and wrists, and his long hair whipped around him as he moved. With a final leaping spin that transitioned into a controlled tumble, Shahin threw himself to the floor at Jehanadir’s feet in a show of surrender.

Jehanadir beckoned his boy, and Shahin approached. The Prince kissed him on the lips and handed him his own drink. Brynnan could see the youth’s chest rising and falling from his exertions. Shahin tipped the goblet and drank, but in moderation. Meanwhile, Jehanadir signalled a servant who took a warm, crimson cloak and cast it around the boy’s shoulders. Shahin settled at the Prince’s feet and smiled up at his Lord.

It was in Brynnan’s mind that tomorrow he and Jehanadir would engage in a mystical search to find a new source for the Water used in the Spring Rite of Divination. Brynnan planned that he and Jehanadir journey to the Shadow Realms, to Annwn in particular. It would be a dangerous venture, and the ritual required Sex Magic both to send their soul forms and bring them back. To this end, it would be necessary that Brynnan be fucked by Shahin on the return journey, while Jehanadir would be fucked by Dronnadh. He did not know how Jehanadir would react to the sharing of his boy. Their bond was obviously profound.

A voice interrupted Brynnan’s train of thought. “It was good fortune that brought us Shahin. As Nijal has told you, the Prince was newly blinded by his uncle, who ruled as the Prince’s guardian at that time. We were all appalled.”

The Bard looked to see Kambiz the Seneschal settling into a chair beside him. The red pupils of man’s eyes burned against his blue-black skin.

“Why did you not remove Demir as a ruler?” Brynnan asked, curious.

“Because there were only two people who could pass on to their progeny the characteristics of blood-red hair and violet eyes, which signals the ability to control the Spring Rite. That was Demir himself and Jehanadir. We could not afford to lose either one of them.”

Brynnan suspected that once Demir had a child of his own with the necessary characteristics, Jehanadir’s remaining lifespan would have been short. He began to understand the Prince’s desperate act when he murdered his uncle, partly out of revenge for his rape of Shahin and partly for survival.

Then Kambiz said, “The Prince has spoken to me of this working that you and he must undergo tomorrow. He said Shahin would be involved and asked if I might take his place. I attend to thoroughly practical matters here, the running of the citadel and the good order and maintenance of the villages and the people. Magical workings are not part of my purview . . . but I am of the Yanartaş, the people of the Flaming Stone. Our very land is filled with unknown and mystical powers. Fire erupts from the earth in unpredictable ways, and while the phenomenon does have a natural explanation, the land is a locus of power because of it. But I am afraid that any innate ability I have would be inimical to your own, Brynnan Marec Mavrenn.”

“I appreciate your candour, Lord Kambiz. You are saying that we would not be sexually compatible in a magical working because of the nature of our spirits.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Brynnan. I find you an attractive man. In a non-magical situation . . .” Kambiz left the remainder unsaid, but his inference was clear.

Brynnan merely smiled and changed the subject. “How was Jehanadir introduced to Shahin?”

“The boy came with the trader, Hazrad, who has supplied us with the Water for many years. Shahin is from the southeastern desert in the Tagrest mountains. He was Hazrad’s pupil and had learned several languages by the time he arrived here. He is young, but he is educated and swift of reason.”

“I imagine you will keep an eye on him for Jehanadir as he gains maturity,” said Brynnan.

Kambiz glanced sideways at Brynnan, “I will attempt to keep him humble and grateful. He is not spoiled or ambitious—yet!”

But Brynnan was struck by the patterns he saw. Dronnadh, the Diviner, had been passing his knowledge to the Bard. There was a synchronicity in Hazrad’s involvement in both the Water and bringing Shahin to the Prince. He resolved to watch Shahin while he was here, not because the youth boded ill, but because he was firmly entrenched in the patterns. Foreknowledge pricked his awareness.

*    *    *

When he returned to the room he shared with Nijal and Geraint, he found the dog, Ghost, who wagged his tail and greeted Brynnan effusively, but no sign of the old Warrior. Nijal entered the chamber shortly after him, so he asked the Guardian.

“He is still with Bertholf, I think. While you were with the Prince, they went to Bertholf’s room. I saw them briefly in the hall where Shahin danced. I imagine our Geraint will be back shortly, and we will inform him of the ritual you must perform tomorrow. Come, dear friend, you must rest tonight. You played your harp for the Prince to relieve his anxieties. Why don’t you let me relieve yours?”

Brynnan realized he did feel a certain tension, as if a high sound shrilled just beyond the range of hearing, grating on the ear. Something was going to happen, but the possibilities were open at the moment. Events had not yet focused on a resolution, but he had a feeling there was not long to wait. It was more than the impending search for the Water.

But he stripped off his garments and allowed Nijal to lead him to a bed. Lying on his back, he waited passively while Nijal undressed and joined him. The Guardian began to kiss Brynnan’s body, sucking on his nipples, then kissing his mouth, before working himself back down to Brynnan’s cock. Nijal ran his fingers lightly over it as it became erect and played like that for some time. Brynnan felt surprised that the gentle teasing was so effective. Nijal found a drop of pre-cum at the tip, and he put it on a finger, swirling it slowly around the head of the cock, lubricating it. He switched the fingering to Brynnan’s ball sac, touching it so lightly that it raised the hairs on it and wrinkled the tightening skin. His fingers slid down to the Bard’s ass and played there.

Nijal’s lips traced kisses down the defined abs and flat stomach, smoothing the dark hair with his tongue. Brynnan’s cock twitched, hungry to be sucked. The Guardian finally found the head of the cock, and he began to lick it with light strokes. Brynnan was silent, although his breathing deepened, and a groan finally escaped his lips when Nijal took the cock in his mouth. Then he began a slow, sensual sucking, bathing the cock with his tongue as he continued the action. Nijal’s fingers probed deeper, teasing the prostate. Brynnan felt a small amount of cum gathering at the tip of his cock, only to have it sucked off by his friend.

Nijal’s sucking became more focused and intense. The rhythm was smooth and steady, urging the Bard to a state approaching ecstasy, such was the power of Nijal’s mouth and fingers.

“If you keep that up, I am going to cum,” Brynnan gasped.

Nijal kept it up.

Brynnan felt the orgasm building towards release, urging a surrender of his inner self to its power. With a low moan, he let himself go, and the orgasm took him in its wave. Cum spurted, and it seemed he kept on cumming for a long time. Brynnan half-stepped into a shadow state, where time slowed, and the orgasm continued.

Nijal released the cock and said, “Come back, Brynnan, none of that here. I don’t want you to lose your mind at a critical moment.”

“You are right, beloved friend. It was foolish of me, but you are so good at what you do. I didn’t want it to end in a hurry.”

Nijal uttered a low laugh, “I am not going anywhere tonight. We can always do it again.”

Later, Geraint entered the room. “I didn't mean to be so late, but Bertholf and I just took Dronnadh back to the Diviner’s wing. Jehanadir – bless his heart – sent word earlier that Dronnadh might attend us one last time.”

“Yes, old Warrior, we need him tomorrow,” murmured Brynnan lazily, lying as he was in Nijal’s arms. “The Prince and I are doing a working, another soul journey.”

Geraint groaned. “Not again. Do I have to be there to bring you back?”

“Not this time, my friend. This is strictly close work. Dronnadh will be the main attendant, with Shahin assisting.”

“Shahin! That boy can dance. Made me hard. We caught part of it before we returned to Bertholf’s room. But is the lad not too young to be involving himself in the darkest workings of your knowledge?”

“He is young, but he is in the pattern somehow. Jehanadir himself is not that much older.”

Geraint shook his head. “What happened to honest fighting? I may as well go lodge with the Men of the Boar.”

Nijal interjected, “And was your visit with Rune-Master Bertholf to your liking?”

“A Wolf and a Bear together. We two old animals fought a good fight. Not toothless yet.”

“No? I have heard that it feels better without teeth,” said Nijal.

“Guardian! I. Am. Scandalized!” the old Warrior laughed.

“Enough, you two. I am tired,” interjected Brynnan, “Let me sleep.”

*    *    *

The next day, Brynnan, the Prince, Shahin and Dronnadh rode up the mountainside above the citadel. The dog, Ghost, accompanied them. They dismounted before a hut built of rough stones, circular in its dimensions, with a conical moss-covered roof. A pillared stone doorway crossed by a heavy lintel formed the opening, covered by a large animal hide. A pile of firewood was stacked against the wall.

Lower down the slope, Jehanadir’s guard, along with Nijal and Geraint, pitched a tent and established a temporary camp where they could wait for their Lord.

Brynnan set down his harp and looked about the hut. It was bare of any furnishings, but a hearth lay at the centre with a smoke hole in the roof above it. A freshly-cut layer of green cedar branches covered the dirt floor, and a rich, resinous scent permeated the air.

Dronnadh fetched wood and kindling and made up the fire. Shahin relaxed and sat against the wall opposite the doorway, wrapped in a cloak as warmth spread. He was silent, but his eyes watched, taking in everything. Brynnan, noticing his look, felt a faint disturbance as a swirling within the patterns but could not pin it down. Perhaps, he told himself, he was just uncomfortable about his impending sexual involvement with the young man. Still, he did not dismiss the change. He turned his attention to Prince Jehanadir.

“Do you understand what we must do?” he asked.

“All I know is that we must have sexual congress with one another and ejaculate at the same time. I will invoke the mind-state that engulfs me when I perform the Rite of Divination and hope it carries me to follow your spirit-form to the Shadow Realm of Annwn.”

“It is more than a spirit journey—but you will see what I mean.” Brynnan felt reluctant to speak of the mysteries in front of Shahin. And suddenly, he wished that the Prince had chosen Nijal in his stead.

“My dog, Ysbryd, known as Ghost, has a part to play in this. He will act as our guide,” said Brynnan.

“How can a mortal dog guide us to where we must go? In our ceremonies, dogs are not permitted. They do not have the instincts of a truly wild animal,” protested the Prince.

“This one is a gift from my father. I will say no more on it.”

Jehanadir eyes widened in sudden understanding.

Dronnadh spoke up then, “It is near time, my lords. Will you play the harp, Marec Mavrenn? It will relax us all. And Lord Prince, I would ask you to start focusing on what you wish to accomplish on this journey.”

Brynnan took up Mavrenn, gently adjusting one or two tuning pins as the wood had warmed in the chamber’s heat. Then he began to play; music that induced calm and meditation. The sounds flowed between them, binding their senses. Brynnan introduced some hypnotics into the tones. He noted when Shahin fell asleep and felt oddly relieved.

At last, his playing ceased. He and Jehanadir stripped off their clothing. Dronnadh offered the Prince a large silver cup containing a potent liquor, and the Prince drank as Dronnadh began an invocation. Then Jehanadir passed the cup to the Bard.

After both men had partaken, Dronnadh took oil and anointed the cocks, breasts and foreheads of the two men. He took their hands and painted sigils on their palms and then on their feet.

“Go now to the Shadow realm, entwining your souls together. Let the beast known as Ghost be your guide.”

They lay down face-to-face on the pile of thick greenery. Brynnan looked into the Prince’s violet eyes. Jehanadir gazed back, lightly touching the Bard’s face. They ran their hands over one another, exploring. Brynnan felt the warmth of Jehanadir’s body; in fact, it seemed to radiate heat. He embraced the Prince and pulled him closer. Slowly, they kissed. It was a journey into discovery as their mouth’s melded, like exploring a new land. They continued kissing, and Brynnan felt the Prince relax into him. Their cocks were pressed together, slippery from the oil, and Brynnan felt the Prince getting hard, as he did. He ground his hips, pushing into the cock with his own shaft. They continued to kiss as Brynnan reached down and grasped both cocks, squeezing them together with his hand. His arousal heightened.

As if a signal had passed, they turned their bodies so that each faced his partner’s cock. Jehanadir took Brynnan’s cock in his mouth, and Brynnan moaned, moving his hips, even as he did the same to the Prince. They sucked each other, their passion building. Then Jehanadir knelt upright and pushed Brynnan down on his stomach. He seized the Bard’s ass cheeks and parted them, guiding his substantial cock into the rectal passage. As the cock entered his ass, Brynnan felt a strong current of sexual energy flow, binding their spirits as well as their bodies. The Prince began to fuck him, sparing nothing, moving with a steady rhythm until Brynnan felt something building.

Then the Prince pulled out and lay on his back while Brynnan came up and crouched between the Prince’s legs. Without pause, he plunged his cock into the willing ass. Jehanadir raised his knees, opening himself. Their gazes locked, their hands stroked each other. Brynnan felt his spirit melding with the Prince’s. As he pumped hard into the Prince’s ass, the Bard knew he would cum very soon, even as he felt Jehanadir’s rising excitement. He massaged his partner’s cock with his hand, feeling the silkiness of the outer skin over the rock-hardness beneath.

“I am in you, as you are in me,” murmured the Prince.

Brynnan pulled out and fell into the Prince’s arms with a cry, their cocks grinding together. Cum flooded them, slicking their shafts even more. Brynnan felt the pulses of both cocks, and he was aware of a giving, a pouring out of himself, even as he felt the Prince’s life force enter him.

“Now . . .” he whispered.

Their spirits combined. It was a shocking intimacy that Brynnan had encountered only once before when he and his Lord, Samir, had made love to one another. But in this current union, that deep love was missing, nor did Brynnan desire it. This union was not about love but joining. The Prince’s mind was exposed to his, and it was a dark and tortured place, although lit with small areas of brightness. Brynnan felt Jehanadir’s love for his land and for Shahin. He felt his fear and pain when he had been blinded. He felt the joy of sight regained. He felt the Prince’s desire to discover the Water of Life. This he fastened on.

A silver mist surrounded them, and there was a sensation of movement, of journeying. Brynnan sought in the fog for the passage to the realm of Annwn. He knew it was close. Then he became aware of another presence with them—the dog, Ysbryd. He was an enormous ghostly grey beast in his shadow form, shaggy and long-bearded. The dog’s red eyes blazed like torches. He looked at the Bard and his companion, then turned and headed into the mist. Brynnan followed him.

The mist receded, and they were in thick woodland under a twilight sky. White flowers studded the purple grass at their feet, ferns and mosses grew in profusion and vines of ivy veiled the trees. The air was moist and humid, and the earth’s richness put forth its scent. It was a part of Annwn that Brynnan never had before experienced, rich and full of life.

Jehanadir stood beside him in a bodily form again. He looked at Brynnan in amazement. Then he looked past Brynnan’s shoulder, and his face stiffened in shock. Brynnan turned to see.

A woman stood there. Her skin was pale, and long black clouds of hair flowed from her head. Her eyes glittered like red jewels. She wore a purple gown and a black cloak that flowed and twisted as if in a strong wind. A raven perched on her shoulder. Then she spoke.

“Welcome to Annwn, Jehanadir, Prince of Narib, and welcome Brynnan, my Servant. It is good to see you both again.”

“Lady, we have never met,” replied the Prince.

“But we have, my Lord. My name is Mavrenn, and King Arawn bids Ysbryd and myself to guide you.”

Turning, with a secret smile on her face, she beckoned them with her hand and began to walk away.

*    *    *