Brynnan and the Sea Raiders

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence and rape which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

The Dread Portal

Hrafn, naked and immersed in the sea, grappled a rope tied at the stern of Falke’s ship. Having completed its ritual circuit of the nearby island, the vessel was drawn up on the beach over log rollers to take its place between the other ships. Raiders pulled ropes attached to the bow and stern, and Hrafn revelled in the cleansing action of the seawater bathing his body.

On the shore, the pyre of Aelgud stood ready for lighting. Men had brought out barrels of the grave-ale to make toasts when they drank to his memory. They had ritually slaughtered animals as offerings, but the raiders roasted most of the meat for the funeral feast, leaving the heads tied to a high post erected in the sand for the God-Portion.

After Falke’s ship was beached, Hrafn met with the First Chieftain. “I must reach Aelgud’s spirit if it still has not crossed the threshold.”

Falke responded, “It is customary for us to send a companion with our noble dead. A man’s favourite slave is often chosen, but I think you know that I choose you, Hrafn. You will drink the grave-ale in the Cups of Memory. You will find your spirit takes flight, and you will be able to recite the death chant for my cousin before you join him.”

“But I must still be alive to send his spirit on its path to the Otherworld.”

“You will have time. But first, you will be fucked by each of the chieftains in turn so that you can deliver their messages to my cousin’s spirit.”

*    *    *

A platform erected on the sand stood next to the funeral pyre, and it was here that Falke, as First Chieftain of the raiders, planned to fuck Hrafn.

Men gathered around. They drank heavily, but the mood was sombre instead of raucous. Alvar the One-Eyed, their Seer, first smudged a black powder around Hrafn’s eyes, then brought him the first Cup of Memory. Their captive swiftly drained it.

Hrafn could discern the drugs that laced the drink—a poison and a hallucinogen, but the raiders could not know they would have no ultimate effect on their captive. The combination of the Guardian Nijal’s blood in his veins, plus the Otherworld heritage of his father, meant he could metabolize poisons.

Hrafn was taken naked onto the platform, and Falke pronounced a eulogy for his dead cousin.

“He ever strove to be first ashore. His strong axe clove the heads of his victims, and he swiftly subdued and captured the most desirable women and boys. He plundered mightily and accrued many spoils. Now we speed him to the Halls of the Valiant. Take this message to him, Hrafn, along with the love of his brothers.”

Falke then pushed the captive onto all fours and proceeded to fuck his ass. He spent no time on foreplay except to spit on his penis. With one hand on his captive’s hip and the other guiding his large, stiff cock, he pushed his shaft in, groaning, and Hrafn felt tears dripping on his back. This was one occasion the raiders would openly grieve. Falke’s pace rapidly increased until he pounded vigorously, making Hrafn gasp as he attempted to accommodate the rigid member. The surrounding raiders watched solemnly.

The sensations from Falke’s cock faded away, and Hrafn found himself surrounded by the familiar grey mist. His surroundings opened up to reveal a strange sight. A large portal stood in empty air; its doors shut. Before the portal crouched a vague man-like form which clarified in Hrafn’s vision into the soul of Aelgud, who had not yet crossed the threshold.

‘You who were Aelgud: what keeps you here?’ Hrafn asked him.

‘The way is shut. The door will not open.’ The words formed in Hrafn’s mind.

Hrafn felt no empathy for this soul. A violent man, Aelgud had spent his adult life in pillage and murder, bringing untold suffering to the coastal inhabitants. In other circumstances, Hrafn/Brynnan would have called on his father, Arawn, to hunt the man’s soul with his deadly hounds; but today, that was not his purpose.

‘I will give you Falke’s words in exchange for your memory,’ he told the soul.

‘Speak, man from the living world. I will answer.’

Hrafn recited Falke’s message and then asked his question. ‘Have you taken a captive, an old man but a vigorous warrior, onto your ships?’

The soul, bound to reply, answered him.

‘My bodily form has seen such a man on our ships. Alefr took him. Now, let me through the Gate.”

‘Not yet,” replied Hrafn. ‘I have other messages to bring to you . . .’

His surroundings faded, and once again, the captive found himself on the platform just in time to feel Falke ejaculate inside his ass, shooting hot ropes of cum. Hrafn allowed a little of the poison he had drunk to affect his body, and his head drooped. Falke slapped his face to awaken him.

“Speak to us, Hrafn. Did you encounter Aelgud’s soul?”

“He awaits at the dread portal but has not yet passed through. Give me your next message. Your cousin’s soul bids me call on Alefr.”

Falke looked surprised, but he beckoned the Seer Alvar, who stepped forward with the Cup of Memory, and again, Hrafn drained it. The Chieftain of the Second Ship, Alefr, he of the dragon tattoo on his skull, stood before the platform and raised his own cup of the grave-ale, non-poisoned, in a toast. His words were eloquent as he spoke of Aelgud. Hrafn half-closed his eyes, committing each word to memory.

After speaking, Alefr climbed onto the platform and pushed the naked and kneeling captive onto his back. Without being told, Hrafn made his ass available to the man. Alefr stroked his big, exposed cock into hardness while staring down at his captive before ramming it unlubricated into Hrafn’s ass. The act would have been excruciating but for Falke’s semen.

“Be sure to take my words to the soul of Aelgud,” Alefr told his victim as he pumped savagely. “If our Seer permits, you may follow the soul after my brother chieftains have fucked you.”

The sexual act seemed to take a long time, but partway through, the preternatural mist again claimed Hrafn, and he found himself once more at the shut portal.

He noticed that Aelgud’s soul had a strong morphic field, still resembling the man as he must have been in life. That meant that memory was still present. Hrafn knew from experience that once the soul crossed the threshold, all memories drained away from it.

‘Soul of Aelgud: I give you the words of Alefr. Receive them and describe the old Warrior he took captive in return.’

The soul turned a white face towards Hrafn after he had taken Alefr’s message.

‘Old, but powerful, he was. His white hair and beard were cropped short. A scar beside the left eye from a sword slash. He matched Thorold in height, and his arms could crush a goat’s skull. He fought with a great economy of motion. He seized Gifra by the beard and gutted him in one stroke before Alefr and his men overwhelmed him.’

To Hrafn, it did indeed sound like Geraint. But he could not ask a second question. A third cup needed to be drunk.

*    *    *

After giving him their messages, the remaining four ship’s chieftains, Taren, Vari, Thorvald  and Arne, took Hrafn’s ass. He received the soul’s answers to his questions, learning that Geraint had been put upon Arne’s ship. Arne fucked him last, and Hrafn faded into the Shadow Realm. It was time to assist the soul through the portal.

‘Soul of Aelgud, you have been given the message. Where did Arne’s ship take the old Warrior?’

“We sailed to the Isle of Hlér, where dwell the Jotnar, Aegir and his wife, Ràn. He was offered to Aegir, the mighty Engulfer,’ replied the soul.

Hrafn felt his blood run cold at the mention of Geraint as an offering, yet he knew his old friend and keeper was not dead. But right now, he had a duty to perform.

He approached the portal. Letting go of his earthly preconceptions, he felt his shadow-spirit form out of mist. He laid both hands against the door. The portal was just a construct that a human mind could grasp, but the image worked. As Hrafn’s hands touched the cold substance, the portal opened, revealing an unearthly vista.

Before his eyes, a copse of white-trunked trees grew up out of silvery sand. The trees quickly thinned, and the Desert stretched before them. The ambient light seemed to indicate dawn, with the promise of a sunrise, but Hrafn knew it would never come.

He did not venture to set foot across the threshold. He had done so twice before: once to confront the Angel of Death, and the other when he was actually killed, but his soul was eventually restored by his Father, King Arawn, who ruled the Shadow Realm of Annwn.

He turned to the soul of Aelgud. “Come,” he said.

The soul, brave and savage in life, balked at the threshold.

‘Where are the Halls of the Valiant?’  the soul queried uncertainly.

‘Whatever fate awaits you, the Desert must be traversed. Do not disgrace yourself. Must I tell your brother raiders you were afraid to cross?’

The soul’s eyes flared like fire on hearing Hrafn’s words. It finally stood and stepped through the portal. It paused briefly, then began to walk without looking back. Hrafn sighed in relief. But a strong desire came upon him to follow the soul. He knew it came from both the Seer’s urging and the action of the drugs in his dying body. His heartbeat slowed, but he fought against it, subduing the poisonous effects.

He came to consciousness lying on the platform. The stern face of Alvar stared down at him. The man held a long knife, which he raised above Hrafn’s breast. The captive, unshackled, suddenly seized the Seer’s wrist in an iron grip. The man gasped in surprise as his numbed fingers dropped the knife.

Hrafn hissed, “It is not yet my time. And your poisons will not kill me!”

Falke intervened. “Stop! Hrafn recovers. What madness is this, Seer?”

“Or the Gods have spared him,” said the Seer, reluctantly, a trace of fear in his eyes.

But Hrafn said, “Aelgud sends you a message, Falke Stronghand. He bids you make of me a propitiatory offering to Aegir and Rán on the Isle of Hlér.  

“The Forbidden Island,” exclaimed Arne, “home of the sea jötunn.”

“But why would my cousin’s spirit need to offer a propitiatory sacrifice? He was sent with all due honour.” Falke seized Hrafn by the hair, bending his head back painfully.

Hrafn whispered hoarsely in Falke’s ear, “He hesitated at the threshold. He did not want to cross at first.”

Falke shook the hapless captive. “Do you dare lie? Aelgud was one of the bravest of men!”

“Any man may balk at that crossing. Death is the last great test of courage. But he went in the end after I delivered your messages. I felt myself dying with him, but when he refused to cross, my strength returned, and I questioned him. Act on my information or not. It is your decision to make.”

The Seer roused himself to say, “I will fuck him and invade his mind to judge the truth of his words. Hold him down.”

Four of the Chieftains seized Hrafn’s wrists and ankles, and he was pinned to the platform on his back.

“0nly the dying may approach the threshold,” Hrafn cried out to Alvar. “If you would see for yourself, drink your own poison. Fucking me will tell you nothing!”

“We must know in truth Aelgud’s words,” Falke said.

“From him, I learned that you offered a captive, an old Warrior with a scar beside one eye. Arne took him in his ship to the island of Hlér,” Hrafn told him.

The gathered captains looked uneasily at each other. Finally, Arne said, “It was so. I was preparing to slay the old Warrior, but a sudden storm arose, pounding our ships as they lay beached. You were all witness to my vow.”

“Aye,” agreed Thorvald. “You vowed to send him to the Forbidden Isle, and the storm abated in the time it takes a gannet to dive into the sea. It was uncanny.”

But the Seer said, “Hold him tightly. I will take him, and my spirit and his will strive together. I will give you the truth.”

Alvar acted on his words swiftly. Gripping Hrafn’s buttocks, he tilted his hips and forced his cock into the man.

Hrafn had thus far endured what had been done to him, but this rape stirred his anger. However, he allowed the Seer to continue and actively sought sexual arousal to bring himself to ejaculation. A raw lust flooded him despite the restraining hands of the other men. He sensed Alvar’s excitement mixed with a tide of cruelty: the Seer was enjoying this rape.

They came simultaneously, and as sensation took him, the grey mist descended again.

He immediately saw Alvar’s spirit-shadow form. Reaching out, he grasped a ghostly hand. He bent his mind to transfer the memory and structure of the poisons within him and activated them.

Alvar’s form struggled but could not free himself. Even in the Shadow Ways, the poison had its deadly effect on the unprotected Seer.

The portal appeared before them, open. With a wild expression, the Seer staggered through. He stilled and looked around before walking away without any word, and Hrafn knew Alvar’s memories flowed away from him. But in the distance, out of the Desert, Hrafn could hear the baying of hunting hounds. Then the portal shut, leaving Hrafn on the side of the living.

Hrafn regained his senses, lying unrestrained on the platform. The pyre burned beyond him, casting an orange glow across the beach in the evening light. Waves of not-unwelcome heat flowed over him.

 A voice distracted him. “You slept long. We thought you might be dead, too.”

Falke stood near him, legs apart and arms folded. His face held a grim yet curious expression.

Hrafn slowly stood up, looking about him. “Where is the Seer?”

Falke pointed to the blazing pyre. “Aelgud will have a companion after all.”

“And what of myself?” Hrafn asked.

“It seems you will take a sea journey.”

Hrafn bowed his head in acceptance. He was one step closer to his goal.

*    *    *

To be continued . . .