Brynnan and the Sea Raiders

Sea Voyage

The oars swept through the water, propelling the Einheri swiftly out of the mouth of the Great Estuary. Rowers, fifty men to each side of the longship, two to a bench, moved the oars in a smooth rhythm, following the shouted commands of Geir, the Helmsman.

Falke’s drakkar, or warship, was a sleek and powerful vessel. Her lines flowed into a high prow and stern. The carved dragon head mounted on the stem post peered into the horizon, giving the ship a fierce appearance that struck terror into the people targeted by such vessels. The lapped boards of the clinker-built hull were designed to curve and flex with the heaving seas.

Hrafn, seated at a rowing bench, felt the life in the hull as she responded to the growing swells in the open water. His partner, Arvid, on the outside of the oar, was a young warrior with the first growth of a light brown beard, but he was tall and strong. Occasionally he glanced at Hrafn, Falke’s captive, with a speculative look.

Hrafn, now Falke’s chosen blót, or sacrifice, was to be offered to the jötunn Aegir who lived on the forbidden island of Hlér, their destination. Hrafn’s role as the doomed guide to the soul of Falke’s cousin, Aelgud, had resulted in the freeing of Aelgud’s soul, the death of the raiders’ Seer and his own appointment as a new victim for the sea-gods. But Hrafn had designed this to happen in his quest to find his missing friend, Geraint.

It was early morning, and, as they rounded the point, they picked up the offshore wind. Geir shouted the command to ship oars and hoist sail. Accordingly, the oars were pulled in and bundled near the hull while assigned men manned the windlass, which raised the huge, square, crimson sail. Hrafn was directed to help haul on the brace, a rope which positioned the yard or supporting arm of the sail. As the Einheri steadied on her new course, the sea chests that served as rowing benches were lashed in the ship’s centreline, and men erected striped tents over top to provide shelter.

The Helmsman Geir, second in command, called Hrafn over. “You did well. Continue to obey my orders, and you will not be shackled. Work none of your magic upon my crew, and you will not be killed before Aegir gets his due. I have appointed Arvid to look out for you and teach you what you need to know. He is young but responsible, and you will also do as he says.”

Although he detested the raiders for their cruelty, Hrafn respected Geir for his skills. The capable Helmsman was well muscled but older than most raiders, with long, loose grey-blond hair and a braided beard fastened with a gold ring at its tip. “I will heed your words, Helmsman,” he agreed.

*    *    *

The raiders’ ships ranged around the Einheri, which led them. Falke’s captured slaves had been apportioned to the other vessels in exchange for tangible goods they had looted, which were stored with other cargo in watertight boxes under the deck planking so that the ship would be free to pursue her destination.

A brisk and steady wind with minimum swells on the sea kept the ships on their northwesterly course. All that day, they sailed until evening, when a reef was taken in the sail to counter the strengthening wind, and the lamps containing the bright, glowing orb-stones were placed in the holders. Smaller orbs in the tents provided light to those not on watch.

Hrafn ate dried, salted meat and hard biscuits with Arvid, who relaxed enough to talk to him about his other raids. The captive listened attentively, asking subtle questions to elicit more information about the raiders’ habits and plans. It was a rare opportunity for Hrafn/Brynnan to learn facts that might help his lover, the Warlord Samir, overcome them.

But eventually, they were given leave to rest. Arvid and Hrafn, wrapped in their oilskin cloaks, curled up side by side for warmth, as did other men. The ship’s motion rocked them to sleep. However, in the night, Hrafn awoke to feel his oar-partner’s hand stroking his body. The hand rested on his loins and opened his breeches to expose his cock. Hrafn shivered at the erotic sensations produced as his cock was slowly jerked off, and he felt the developing hardness in his swelling erection. Then a mouth sought his, and a tongue intruded. Hrafn, unwilling to rebuff or antagonize Arvid, returned the kiss, gently probing his partner’s mouth with his own tongue. Their kisses deepened as Arvid continued to massage Hrafn’s precum-dripping cock. Its slipperiness excited him even more, and he felt under Arvid’s long tunic for the young man’s exposed cock. As expected, it was erect. Its girth and length were substantial, and Hrafn jerked it off in turn.

Arvid broke off kissing to move down Hrafn’s body until his mouth could reach the captive’s penis. Hrafn sighed in satisfaction as the warm, wet mouth took in his shaft all the way and began to suck it with a practiced motion. Hrafn caressed the young man’s head and stroked his long hair.

Then Arvid moved back up and whispered, “Fuck me, Aegir’s slave. Put your cock in my ass.”

“I will do so tonight, but tomorrow you must clean yourself, and me, with seawater. I perform better that way,” explained Hrafn.

Arvid chuckled softly. “I already have the habit because I sleep with Geir, who fucks me almost nightly. From him, I learned this.”

“I am pleased to hear it. Now lie facedown.“

Arvid rolled over, and Hrafn sought his ass. The young man’s hips were slim, but his ass cheeks were muscled, firm and round. The captive lay over him, spreading the cheeks and guiding his precum-moistened cock to the rectal passage. Unlike the Chieftains who had raped him at Aelgud’s funeral, Hrafn decided to go easy. He slipped his cock into the passage and held still. Then he began to move, employing all the ass-fucking skill taught to him by Geraint, who was a master in the sexual arts. Arvid certainly noticed it, for he moaned in appreciation.

Hrafn took his time, enjoying the hot, moist tightness squeezing his cock. He reached under his partner, grasping the youth’s rigid member, sliding his hand up and down.

“You will make me give my seed into your fist,” gasped Arvid as he ground his hips in time, masturbating himself into the hand.

But Hrafn would not let him cum just then. He continued to fuck the youth’s ass and jerk him off, edging him again and again until he sensed that Arvid could not hold back. He increased his pace until he was thrusting rapidly. Their climax arrived, with Arvid cumming first, spilling his hot ejaculate, and then Hrafn, shooting into the boy’s ass, making him cry out.

“Quiet down, lad,” someone nearby said in a loud whisper, and there was laughter.

*    *    *

Life on board ship fell into a predictable rhythm in the ensuing days. Hrafn’s work was varied, from handling lines when the vessel changed tack to emptying seawater from the aft compartment below the deck planking. He stayed quiet and obedient but nevertheless was given the nickname of Fjölkunnigr-Hrafn, meaning ‘Raven skilled in Magic.’ Word had spread through the crew of his part in Aelgud’s funeral feast and the Seer Alvar’s death that had occurred as he was fucking Hrafn. One positive effect was that he was left alone, not subject to rape or beatings, which was usually the fate of any captive. Only he continued to fuck the youthful warrior Arvid at night and had his cock sucked.

One day, he was summoned by Falke. He was invited to sit in the tent behind the mast, the most stable place on the ship. Falke greeted him.

“We will be approaching the region where Arne sought out and found the Forbidden Isle. There is a barrier, an area of fog on the sea. Past there, many ships have disappeared or have been discovered unmanned, floating on the sea. It is rumoured that Rán, Aegir’s Queen, takes them with her nets. It is perilous to the uninvited. Therefore, the rest of our fleet will hold back while we enter. We should be safe if you are accepted as an offering to Aegir and Rán.”

Hrafn said nothing, but he waited for Falke’s further words.

Falke continued, “When we approach the fog bank, you will be stripped, blooded and tied to the stem post below the dragon head. All will know that you are an offering, and this action will ensure Einheri’s safety.”

“I will comply,” Hrafn replied simply.

“Since you are the blót of Aegir, I will not put my seed into you. That is now his prerogative. If we had let you live without forfeit, I might have kept you as my slave, but your magic is unpredictable. However, since you are here, I bid you suck me off. Geir has informed me of your trysts with young Arvid and that you suck each other’s cocks, and you fuck him. So I demand my due.”  Falke’s voice was stern, but a glint of amusement sparked in his pale blue eyes.

Hrafn thought of Geraint, a man who was exceedingly dear to him. ‘He came this way also and doubtless endured much. I will do this for his sake.’

So he did not protest when Falke stood and exposed his hefty cock. Instead, he knelt before the proud raider and took the cock in his mouth. It soon became hard as his mouth and tongue worked over it. Again, he decided to employ his skills. Geraint had taught him the finer points of cocksucking in order for him to please his heart’s love, the Warlord Samir. Thus he teased Falke with his tongue, running the tip around the glans of the penis. He sucked the raider’s balls before taking the cock again in his mouth, working it with his throat muscles.

Falke threw his head back, totally absorbed in Hrafn’s ministrations. As the captive sucked on the throbbing cock, the Helmsman Geir entered the tent, then stopped and watched in awe.

Falke shot his load, cumming into the captive’s mouth. Hrafn swallowed, then licked the cock and balls slowly, catching every drop of cum.

Falke breathed deeply, caressing the captive’s hair. “If I had known you could suck cock like that, I might have assigned another fate to you. You were wise to hide this skill from my men!”

Geir said, “Use him while you can. Arne’s ship is taking the lead to guide us on our course. I judge it may take just another two days to approach the forbidden region.”

*    *    *

The seas grew rougher the next day, with Einheri riding the heaving seas like a plunging stallion. The increased spray thrown by the waves which combed the swells meant that more seawater needed to be bailed out. Hrafn worked until he was sweating, despite the chill of wind and water. The rest of the men were kept busy adjusting lines: tightening the shrouds secured to deadeyes along the gunwales. These braced the tall mast and had to be kept tensioned depending on wind strength and direction.

Presently, a man at the bow pointed and called out, “Ice!”

Geir and Falke hurried to the bow. They observed large chunks of brilliant ice dotting the seas ahead.

“There should be no ice at this time of year!” exclaimed Geir. “Winds must have pushed it down from the North.”

But Falke said, “Or some other Power does not want us here.”

Geir set out extra lookouts. Some pieces were as big as hills, but the most dangerous were the ‘growlers,’ chunks of submerged ice that barely skimmed the surface but extended deeply underneath. If struck, one could tear a hole in the hull.

“Who has the guts to climb the mast and show us a path through?” Geir roared.

A raider named Birke volunteered. A knotted rope, secured at both ends of the mast, provided a way up for a skilled climber. Birke made it one-third of the way up before being slammed against the mast by the vessel’s action against the heavy seas. He cried out and started to fall but managed to grab the rope again. With difficulty and in obvious pain, he descended.

“I am sorry, Helmsman,” he said, clutching an injured right shoulder.

“Go and rest,” Geir ordered. “Who else will climb?” He looked out over the men, but no one instantly volunteered.

“I will go if you will trust me,” Hrafn said.

“Fjölkunnigr-Hrafn will send us into the ice!” cried one man. “He is the blót, the doomed one!”

“Then you climb the mast, Nils,” another raider responded.

Geir looked deeply into Hrafn’s eyes as if searching for an affirmation of the truth. “You will go up. Indicate with your arm our safest course.”

“Yes, Helmsman. I gave you my word that I would heed your commands. I will not doom this ship.”

“Good,” grunted Geir. “May Aegir grant us his protection.”

As Hrafn began to climb, he caught the anxious expression in Arvid’s eyes and briefly smiled back at the young man.

The ascent was not easy, for the mast swung like a pendulum. Hrafn’s immediate world consisted of the mast timber and the rope that he grasped, and he bent his focus solely on these. But his gymnastics training brought him to the top, and he balanced on the yardarm, holding on with one arm to the remaining portion of mast that extended above the sail. The sway of it was great at this height, and the deck looked like a mere footprint far below. Most men could not have borne it, but Hrafn, as Brynnan, King Arawn’s son, had led the Wild Hunt himself and had navigated clouds. He found his situation exhilarating.

He looked out over the green waters, surveying a seascape of moving hill-like swells. Ice studded the sea like giant, grazing white cattle. The ice gathered in dangerous clusters to the North, but he could see a track of open water, free of chunks and growlers, which offered safe passage. He pointed along its course.

The direction was relayed to Geir, who had taken the tiller controlling the steering board at the stern. He brought the drakkar skillfully through the mounding seas. Geir was a tall, muscular man, but even he accepted help from Arvid, who leaned his weight into the tiller arm to steady it.

For a long time, they fought their way until the daylight began to fail, with Hrafn staying aloft to guide them. Then the seas began to subside, and Geir handed over his position to a trusted man. He walked forward and shouted up to Hrafn, indicating his watch was over.

As Hrafn dropped to the deck at the base of the mast, exhausted, Arvid flung an arm around his shoulders and ruffled his hair with a free hand.

“One of our heroes in distant legend sought land when he was lost at sea, releasing a raven who flew in a certain steady direction and guided them. It reminds me of you.”

Hrafn just smiled grimly. It would indeed have been easy to take the ship onto pieces of submerged ice. A significant threat to the coastal people would have been eliminated, along with himself, and Geraint would have been forsaken.

*    *    *

As night fell, the seas cleared, and the wind steadied, blowing them on their desired course. Orb lights on the ship made them visible. The other ships had turned back at the onset of the ice, but Arne’s vessel, the Draki Mjothvitnir, followed them. The distance between the two longships closed, and Falke had the lookout signal the other with the long horn.

In the tent behind the mast, Hrafn and Arvid shared their bodies once more. As he plunged his cock into the youth’s ass, he reflected on what Arvid had just told him.

“The horns say that we may find our destination in the morning. This may be the last night gifted to us. I would have it that you were one of us and that I could fight beside you on our raids,” Arvid had said.

“And I would wish that you were traders. Men would pay well for your amber and fine metalwork. But our dreams do not banish what is in reality,” he had replied and realized that in other circumstances, he might have befriended the young warrior. Arvid had treated him without prejudice, teaching him many things about sailing and giving him his companionship.

Consequently, he put his skills again into fucking Arvid’s ass, making him moan. He thrust in deep, paused, and withdrew nearly all the way before plunging in again, sensing that Arvid would beg for it if it weren’t for the young man’s pride. When he began to thrust more swiftly, Arvid bit into his sleeve to prevent himself from crying out before cumming with almost sobbing breaths. Hrafn came shortly after, pumping his semen deeply into his oar-partner’s ass.

They fell to kissing afterwards before sleep overtook them, and the sound of the sea echoed in unceasing song.

*    *    *

They were awakened to take a watch in the early morning hours while darkness still cloaked the sky. The weather had cleared, and the stars were out, stitching the sky with brilliant jewels. The fresh wind blew Hrafn’s hair about his face as he performed the routine inspection needed to keep the vessel seaworthy. As the sky lightened in the East, one part of the Northern horizon seemed dark, the stars obscured. Hrafn began to suspect what caused it.

A short while later, as the light increased, the lookout at the bow called out, “Fogbank!” and pointed. At the same time, the horns sounded across the water from Arne’s ship. They had also seen it.

Falke was awakened, and he strode out of the canvas shelter to view the ominous bar of silver-grey cloud. Geir followed him.

“Sound the horn!” commanded Falke. “Warn the Mjothvitnir to stand clear. This is it. We alone will go in.”

As the moaning sounds of the horn echoed across the water, Falke approached Hrafn. “It is time, Hrafn. You will be bound to the stem post.”

He indicated two raiders to come forward. They took the captive’s wrists to strip him of his clothes, but Arvid warned them back.

“I will do it. The Helmsman assigned me to look after him.”

The two warriors stepped away, and Arvid began to remove Hrafn’s garments. He was not ungentle, but his expression was grave. He and Geir moved Hrafn to the bow below the stempost when he had finished the task.

Then a man approached, holding a drinking horn.

“Take it,” instructed Falke.

“More poison?” Hrafn inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“The Gods forbid we do that to you again. It is good mead: drink it!”

Hrafn drank from the horn, emptying it. The welcome taste of the wine flooded his belly with heat.

“It is time for the blooding,” said Falke.

Geir took his belt knife and, holding the captive’s wrist, plunged the point of it into the flesh just below the thumb. Blood flowed freely. Geir caught it in the empty drinking horn. Then Arvid came forward with a strip of cloth to bind the wound and staunch the blood flow.

Before he could do it, Hrafn lifted the bleeding wrist and smeared blood across the three rune brands on his chest. In his mind, he named them.

‘Eternity,’

‘Wind,’

‘Night.’

He felt a fire flare on his chest as if the flesh was newly rebranded. He suppressed a gasp of pain. Then his mind opened. He felt his father, King Arawn’s presence near him like a comforting arm and knew that his father was now aware of him. But he also felt another mind, unfamiliar and strange, and knew that this being was also conscious of him.

‘I come for you,’ intoned the voice in his mind, and the sound of the sea was in it.

Falke looked at him strangely. Arvid was already binding the wound on his wrist, but Geir seemed not to have noticed anything. Instead, he took the cup of blood and poured it over two runes carved on either side of the stempost. One was ‘Byrr’ for fair winds, and the other was the ‘Heill’ rune for safety and protection. Falke was taking no chances with his ship.

Now it was done, and one more thing remained. The two waiting warriors came forward and indicated that Hrafn should climb up above the rising gunwales to the stem post. He did so and found a shallow ledge outside the hull where he could place his feet. Then Arvid ascended the short ladder that had been brought.

“Put your wrists behind you, around the stem,” he instructed.

Hrafn complied and felt his wrists tied with rope, securing him to his scant perch.

Arvid spoke in a low voice. ”Farewell, my friend. When we approach the Forbidden Isle, you will be thrown into the sea to be received by Rán’s arms. May Aegir accept you as our offering, and may he be merciful to you.” Arvid squeezed Hrafn’s forearm and withdrew.

The dragon head loomed above him. Spray washed over Hrafn, but he did not feel the cold. Heat from the runes on his breast, activated by his own blood, kept him warm.

As they reached the outskirts of the fogbank, the watchman blew a single long blast of the horn. White tendrils of mist reached out like arms to embrace the ship and her crew and the human blót, the god Aegir’s offering, tied to the bow. Then the ship disappeared into the fog.

*    *    *

To be continued . . .