To Discover His Truth

Path Of The Sun

“I want to stay here, at the Ruithin school,” Andri said. “I realize you have little chance to teach me just now, Master Brynnan, but there is so much I need to learn.” Andri sat on the bed beside Brynnan and faced Geraint and Nijal. “These past thirty days have filled me with a new hunger for knowledge.”

Nijal looked surprised, but Geraint seemed shocked. “But lad, we can’t just leave you here . . .” he said.

“I don’t mean I want to stay forever, just for a while. I will be as safe here as I can be anywhere. Master Geraint, please give me leave also.”

Geraint still looked distressed, but Brynnan, oddly, started to smile. “It may be possible, my lad.”

“Can you arrange it, Master?” Andri said pleadingly.

“Not this instant, young man,” Brynnan mused. “I would have to find a Master to take you under his wing, and there will be certain caveats on your behaviour. We have spoiled you with our love, but can you learn to curb your desires? You would have to keep yourself chaste in your interactions with your new Ruithin brothers and sisters.”

“I managed it when I attended the Music School at Torrent Mountain. Remember I had never had a sexual experience with a man before you, Brynnan, and then Master Geraint . . . although I admit I will be lonely.” Andri bent his head and bit his lip. “It is tearing me apart. I will miss you and Geraint and you, Nijal, so much. But what can I contribute to our mission on your journey back, except still pose a risk to you?”

 Brynnan looked at the boy with deep compassion. “Be comforted, Andri. One will come to you to fill your heart and soul.“

“Brynnan, my Master, is that a prophecy?”

“No, it’s a promise.”

Brynnan put his arm around the young singer and kissed his neck. “Now come bathe with me, and I will send you to Geraint.”

Brynnan and Andri had just made love, and their bodies were filmed with dried cum from Andri’s ejaculate. He pulled the young man to his feet.

“Whatever you wished to discuss with me, can it wait until morning?” Brynnan asked Nijal and Geraint.

“Yes, I can see that your labours have strained you greatly. But send Andri to me, and I shall learn his mind . . . well, no actually, his body.” Geraint clapped his hand on Nijal’s shoulder and led him from the chamber.

*    *    *

Brynnan slept alone that night. A voice seemed to intrude on his mind, insistent and commanding. He escaped it by touching his father’s torc, which lay heavy around his neck. He was then transported to a vision, where he lay in a purple grassy meadow under a twilight sky amidst fair apple trees in full fruit. Rhiannon grazed nearby, her beautiful dapple grey coat glowing in the evening light. Brynnan sank into the land’s peace.

*    *    *

In Geraint’s chamber, the old Warrior and Andri made love. He was unusually tender with his protégé and devoted himself to giving the youth as much pleasure as possible. Geraint fucked the young, sweet ass, taking Andri from behind as they lay partly on their sides. He gripped the boy’s slender hips tightly as he worked his cock. Then he reached over and took Andri’s cock in hand, rubbing it in time to his fucking, until they both ejaculated. The old Warrior embraced his young lover afterwards, and they both fell into sleep.

*    *    *

In Nijal’s chamber, the Guardian was not asleep, although he was in a trance state. His spirit freely roamed the aether. Others were there, listening to the Mother-of-All’s voice with him. Occasionally, Nijal would single out a conscious mind and communicate.

*    *    *

Nijal, Geraint and Brynnan were arranging final preparations to return to the Torrent Mountain Redoubt. The most challenging part for Brynnan was meeting with the various classes of the Ruithin and planning their campaign to disperse information. For proof, they had texts and images. The Bard marvelled to see the images taken by the orbiting watching-eye. He had expected to see a shining spot just brighter, perhaps, than nearby stars, but he could actually make out an object, one that was not natural. It chilled him to the core.

Master Morgwynt informed him that there were other ways to view the images, including a device that presented the ship floating in the air where the real-looking vessel could be rotated. But Brynnan refused that, remembering accusations of witchcraft brought against the Lady Mara. People could be highly fearful of what they could not understand, and it was best to stick to simple tactics.

*    *    *

Brynnan sat before the Grand Master, Neven-Tanet.

“My apprentice, Andri, wants to stay for a while at this Ruithin College. He is very eager to learn. So I ask your permission, Master.”

“I know you love him. Yet you are not grieving.”

 “I am hoping this will fulfill the prophecy spoken to me—that I would lose one that I loved before the Winter snows melt. I have been thinking of the loss in terms of death. I have told you of the others that came true. But if Andri were to stay here, that also would fulfill the conditions.”

Neven-Tanet closed his eyes as he considered the request. “Beware of creating a causality where there is none. You know the dangers of trying to manipulate the time-to-be in this way. Or is this a course of action you would take regardless of any prophecy?”

“Yes, it is. Andri has significant talents—a memory that retains what it hears, his ability to quickly learn a language, his mature and skillful voice, his potential to learn the Shadow-Singing, and his developing judgement and wisdom. The other consideration is that he is a desirable young man and continues to be at risk when we travel.”

“Brynnan Marec Mavrenn, as it happens, I agree with your assessment. I am willing to grant him a place here. I will discuss it with the High Priest.”

“I thank you, Master.”

“We need to appoint a temporary Master for him to take your place while you are away. He is currently under the Music Master Daraou himself. I think we will maintain that placement.”

The Grand Master and Brynnan discussed more details of the arrangement. After they concluded, Brynnan was silent for a time before he said, “Master, last night I felt something probing at my mind. It had the feel of the same force that attacked you.”

“How did you shield?”

“I slipped into a vision of Lord Arawn’s land. I don’t want to reveal the extent of my ability to actively shield my mind yet.”

“If the Invaders have become aware of your mind, I believe we should let them have it . . .”

The Bard looked incredulous.

“Only temporarily. We will do it this evening. You and Nijal will come here, and I will convene the Elder Ruithin. They will act as a secondary shield. Now, listen to my instructions . . .”

*    *    *

Andri’s eyes shone when Brynnan recounted the Grand Master’s decision to allow him to stay. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Part of me wants to go running off into the wilderness with you and Nijal and Master Geraint . . .”

“Hush, I know,” Brynnan placed a finger to the boy’s lips. “It affects us all. But it will be a good thing for you, and you remain my apprentice. As such, I expect obedience from you, and right now, I tell you to face this new outcome with courage, grace and acceptance.”

“Yes, Master!”

“Furthermore, this evening, I will be attending a ritual that poses some risk. If anything happens to me, conduct yourself as I would want you to. While I am there, I want you to share yourself with Geraint. It will do you both good.”

Brynnan spent some time discussing the evening’s plans with Nijal. They bathed each other and prepped for the ritual, although Brynnan felt a sense of uncertainty.

“I am courting trouble with this. If I lose my mind in the encounter, I am relying on you to bring me back, my friend.”

“Did not Eleni say, ‘You will find what you are seeking by losing your mind’?”

“Thank you for that, Nijal,” The Bard commented, narrowing his eyes.

“I will be beside you. Don’t forget the power of the other Ruithin Elders the Grand Master has chosen. It is not just I that will take your ass. Are you prepared for that?” asked Nijal.

“No. But I will accept what I must.”

“Have courage, dear companion. Let us dress ourselves and go.”

An acolyte accompanied them through the corridors to the Meditation Chamber. Pillars of golden stone ranged around the room’s perimeter, forming shallow alcoves. In six openings, three on each side of the room, the Elder Ruithin sat cross-legged on thick carpets. All wore simple white robes. Before the dais, where sat Neven-Tanet, a broad pallet formed a bed. Ewers of water and copper bowls stood nearby, with towels and bottles.

Two acolytes came forward and removed the clothing from Brynnan and Nijal, replacing them with white robes of unbleached linen. The bard seated himself in the centre of the pallet, with Nijal kneeling behind him. A slight movement to his left attracted his attention. To his surprise, he saw King Cyndyllan’s Ruithin Bard, Cedwyr, seated with the others. Cedwyr returned his glance with an affirmative look. Brynnan was comforted in the knowledge.

Brynnan stilled himself, envisioning a quiet pool of water. Eventually, he heard the voice of Neven-Tanet.

“Brynnan Marec Mavrenn; cast aside your doubts and fears. Come willingly into this circle of mind. To deliberately attract the attention of the Watcher that tried to take my mind, you will join with Nijal upon a journey of your consciousness. When you face those who would take your mind, cast off all resistance and accept the probing. You may lose yourself for a while, but we will catch you when you fall. Nijal will take your body, and that alone might suffice, or it might need the efforts of all of the Elders gathered here.

The Elders closed their eyes and sank into total stillness. Brynnan felt their wisdom sinking beneath him, and a sense of emptiness began to possess him. Then he felt Nijal’s hands on his shoulders, pulling down the robe. The two men lay naked together on the platform. There were no substances to enhance the joining—no incense, drink, chants or sounds. Only silence. Brynnan breathed deeply and slowly, submitting to Nijal’s touch.

The Guardian ran his hands over Brynnan’s body, pausing to press each of the rope knots on the crimson silk harness: the Eternity knot, the Triskelion and Ram’s head knot. Each placement sent a warmth flooding into the Bard’s skin. He was aware of Nijal applying a lubricant to his ass, and he felt the Guardian’s cock slowly penetrating him. As Nijal began thrusting into his ass, Brynnan surrendered to the sensation, mute and accepting of it. All his focus centred on the passage of flesh into flesh.

As the sensations built, Brynnan was aware of his love for Nijal as a bond that connected them. He heard Nijal whisper, “Now . . .”

Brynnan ejaculated just as Nijal came inside him. Immediately his mind was flung like a stone from a sling into the aether. His surroundings melted away, and he was aware of darkness and stars again. He did not see the face of the Mother, but he heard her endless song.

He listened for the point of discordance that came from another source. Faintly, he discerned it. He opened his mind to it, and the discordance came in a drowning surge of command. It took all of Brynnan’s will to not throw up a blazing shield against it or escape into the Shadowland. With the barest whisper of a prayer, he abandoned himself.

The disorientation confused, then fragmented him. His last conscious thought was that he had made a great mistake in surrendering to this other mind, or minds, then he lost all concept of himself.

In the chamber of the Redoubt, the Bard’s form fell limp and seemingly lifeless, but Nijal still held him fast. Neven-tenet’s gaze on the two bodies was unwavering as he lent his own will to strengthening Brynnan’s life.

The Bard struggled to pull pieces of himself into a semblance of existence in the blackness. There was a sense of an alien environment, and then Brynnan was aware. He knew instantly that he was in the ship and that his mind’s captor was before him. A man, unusually thin, lay inside the embrace of a machine, and the Bard suspected that it helped augment the man’s mind.

The alien thought lashed at him. ‘Abandon your name to me,’

Brynnan was amazed to feel that he once again had a sense of self. There was the word ‘your,’ which ostensibly referred to himself. There was an ‘I am . . .”

But what was his name?

‘I am . . .’ he struggled, ‘I am a son of Death . . .’

‘That is not your name,’ came the stranger’s thought.

‘I am Shadow,’ he thought and embedded in the word an implicit self-belief.

‘You are Shadow,’ confirmed the stranger. ‘Give me your knowledge.’

That was easy. Brynnan cast a sheet of darkness at the stranger’s mind, and the man cried out aloud as well as with a mind scream. Then Brynnan filled the mind with fire and slipped away.

There were stars again, but he was alone. He did not know how to return.

In the chamber of the ArMor-ys Redoubt, Nijal’s eyes opened. He stared at the Grand Master. “He is disconnected from me. Help us.”

The Grand Master wasted no time. He directed the elders, and one after the other, they laid on the palette bed with Brynnan and took the Bard’s ass.

“When you ejaculate, call him,” Nijal commanded. He held the bard’s shoulders as the fucking took place. It was not a tender event. There was a sense of desperation in it until it was the turn of Cyndyllan’s Ruithin priest, Cedwyr. He alone was tender. He cradled Brynnan’s still form as he penetrated his ass.

“He does not respond to his name. I get a sense of Shadow, that is all.”

Nijal said, “I will attempt to summon the one who knows his true name. Don’t stop your actions. Just accept whatever happens.” He bent down over Brynnan’s neck and seized the torc which encircled it, pouring out his call. A rippling in the air above them resolved into the tenuous form of the King of Annwn. He was not fully present in the flesh but still undeniably manifest.

King Arawn laid a hand on Brynnan’s head. His voice was audible. “My Son,” he said.

A deep baying of hounds filled the chamber, then faded away, as did the phantom form, and at that moment, Cedwyr came inside the Bard’s ass.

Brynnan found himself floating above his own form. He looked for a way to enter. Then he focussed on the rope harness of Lord Samir binding his body’s chest. The Eternity knot of the Mother-of-All drew him irresistibly downward.

*    *    *

Brynnan lay face down on the bed in his chamber, naked. Nijal, also unclothed, knelt above him, massaging a fragrant oil into his flesh. Cedwyr, the Ruithin priest, sat in a wide, carved chair nearby, sipping wine from a double-handled goblet.

The Bard roused himself to speak. “There is a significant difference between the invaders and us, I think. The Controller needed a machine to enhance, or focus, his mind-powers. For us, it is a mental discipline. I don’t know if this will give us an advantage or not. However, the Grand Master wants me to maintain contact with this creature, and I must continue to deceive him and protect myself. Nijal, I won’t always have you to guide me, or you, Cedwyr, to bring me back.”

Cedwyr said pensively, “The Lord of Annwn claimed you as his son. That must give you significant protection.”

“Yet I am reluctant to involve him. Our own ancestors developed their beliefs in other realms during the Long Dark and gave power to them. We do not know what views these new invaders hold. If they have a notion of arcane worlds, they may be more powerful than ours. If they have not, and simply worship technology, then our own ways of life are in danger. My father’s kingdom is unique among those of the Shadow Realm. It has its own purpose and intrinsic beauty.”

“And I hope you left this Controller with a substantive headache,” Nijal said, as his skillful hands continued to massage. He circled his thumbs on either side of Brynnan’s spine, down to his ass, where he kneaded the gluteal muscles. Brynnan sighed.

“You are exhausted. Do you still wish to leave tomorrow?” the Guardian continued.

“Yes. We have a weather window. But, I would like to arise early and have the four of us gather so that we may say farewell to Andri.”

“Yes,” said Nijal. “We will need to do that.”

“Cedwyr, do you plan to leave for Yrys straight away?”

“No, Brynnan, Cyndyllan and our Grand Master have given me leave to stay for a half a moon.”

“Then will you look out for Andri? He will need someone more mature to talk to while adjusting to his new life. You have a compassionate spirit.”

“Of course.”

“And I would like him trained to play the harp. He already has some skill with other stringed instruments.”

“Are you thinking of the Shadow-singing, and perhaps of Mavrenn? I thought she would not suffer another’s touch.”

“Mavrenn herself chooses who will play her, but she has allowed Andri to carry her at times. But I need him to understand the harp if he is to sing with it.”

Nijal moved on to massage Brynnan’s thighs. “You should have written a book of instructions,” he laughed.

But Cedwyr said, “Your deep concern for your apprentice does you credit, but let us look after him. The Grand Master has concerned himself, Master Daraou mentors him in music, Andri has a friend close to his own age, and furthermore, he has King Cyndyllan’s pledge of friendship. He will be fine. You need to focus on our adversaries.” He put down his cup. “I think you should rest now. At my asking, I have a room near yours. Should you need me, call mind-to-mind. I gather Nijal is staying with you tonight?”

“Yes, thank you, my friend.”

*    *    *

Brynnan awoke in the morning after an undisturbed sleep. Shortly afterward, Andri and Geraint arrived. Andri was bearing up very well, but his eyes looked too bright.

“Come here, my lad,” said Brynnan and took his apprentice in a close embrace. “I would love you before we leave, but my ass is a bit sore to let you fuck me. But I will take you.”

“Please, Master,” replied the boy.

“No ‘Master,’ just ‘Brynnan,’”

“You said that to me once before, when we first met. Do you remember?”

“I don’t forget. You know that.”

The three older men embraced Andri, who shared deep kisses with them all. It was not long before they shed their garments and gathered together on the large bed. Their pairings were fluid as one interrupted the other to strive in love. Brynnan took Andri’s ass and then Nijal’s. Geraint sucked the youth before he submitted himself to Nijal's stiff cock, and was himself fucked. They changed positions and embraced each other until fulfillment claimed them all. Brynnan sent strong warding thoughts at the door to discourage entry and caught an amused mental response from Cedwyr.

As they lay on the bed soaking in the after-effects of their mutual passion, Andri said, “Master Daraou gives me leave to see you off, if you will let me accompany you a short distance. Besides,” he cajoled, “Kalo needs a run.”

“The Angels forbid that we deny your horse his exercise!” Geraint exclaimed piously.

“Bite me, Master,” said Andri.

Geraint obliged and nibbled on the youth’s neck.

*    *    *

But eventually, it was time, and the riders assembled in the courtyard of the main College building. The horses were fresh from their long rest. Dappled Rhiannon, Nijal’s silver-shaded Myst, Geraint’s (now confirmed) pregnant mare Shade, and the two pack horses, Byll and Frieda. Andri sat tall on black Kalo, ready to see them off, and Cedwyr had his white mountain pony, Caila. He attended as Andri’s companion to ride back to the College with him so that the boy would not be alone.  

Brynnan had refused other escorts at their leaving. “Parting is hard enough. Too many goodbyes wear on the soul,” Geraint agreed.

They had chosen a different route for their return to Torrent Mountain. Messengers had been sent back to King Rhydian of Redmark with the news, so Brynnan’s party was free to travel the high plateau above the crags of ArMor-ys to cut a straighter route to towards the Narib Redoubt, the territory of Jehanadir, the Red Prince.

The trail wound upwards until the rising sun hit the tips of the peak above them, and the path opened up and levelled out. They came to the entrance to the high plateau. A flood of sunlight bathed the group, and the plateau’s covering of snow was surprisingly thin.

The party stopped. The horses bowed their heads, blowing steam from their nostrils. In turn, Geraint, Nijal and lastly, Brynnan embraced Andri.

“Brynnan, about the promise you made to me when I told you of my desire . . .” Andri searched for words. “You told me, ‘One will come to you to fill your heart and soul.’ Will it happen?”

Brynnan smiled. “Do you doubt me? Who tied the rope harness about your chest?”

It took Andri a moment, then realization hit him, and a wild hope surged in his eyes.

“Col?” he breathed.

“Who else? Go on with you now.” Brynnan slapped black Kalo’s rump, and the horse turned, whinnying a protest.

Andri cantered back to where Cedwyr waited, uttering a wild, exuberant whoop.

The three remaining travellers turned their horses towards the sun.

Thus ends the second branch of Brynnan’s tale. If you liked the stories in this book, look out for the third branch, To Redeem His People, to find out what happens when the invaders come.