Col and Andri: The Vanna Stallions

The Secret Name

 “My phral, I have a mind to take a walk with Kham. It’s the last time I’ll be able to hold him until we return,” Col said to his brother as they sat by the campfire.

Rafe looked at him sympathetically. “Of course,” he replied. Then he called out, “Sara, bring the boy!”

Sara came to the doorway of their vardo—their wagon—with the sleeping child in her arms. She handed him to Col.

“Andri and I are taking Kham down by the river. I know, Sara—we’ll be careful.”

*    *    *

The river glistened in the moonlight, winding its way in swirling currents. Col stood at the edge, gazing at the mesmerizing patterns in the water, with Andri beside him, cradling Kamh over his shoulder. The child stirred sleepily but was quiet.

A low mist snaked along the bank, hanging in the reeds. It began to shimmer. Andri looked at Col. “Are we safe? I think something comes.”

“Don’t fret, ves’tacha. There’s nothing to fear.”

The temperature dropped, and Andri wrapped the blanket tighter around the child. He wondered if Arawn was coming. But what came was another: a black-cloaked form.

“My friends, I had to come to you. May I see your son?”

Andri opened the blanket. “Would you like to hold him, Brynnan?” He passed the child to their friend.

Brynnan said, “Of course! I have come tonight to give my blessings and protection to the child. Do you feel it, Col?” Brynnan gave a low laugh. “This little one touches my mind!”

 “I felt compelled to come here with him. Who knows, my friend, but perhaps my son sensed your desire?” Col said. “I doubt Rafe and Sara would wholly approve, but it’s my right to ask if you would stand in as his Guardian. Normally, we invoke the God but choose humans for that position. I don’t know if it’s something you can do . . .”

“They disapprove of me being the Shadow Lord’s son?” Brynnan said.

“No, if any of my tsera asks, I will tell them you are a priest and a harpist,” Col replied. Then he turned to Andri. “What say you, dear one?

“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have.” He turned to Brynnan. “You are a part of us, Master, and fulfil us in our love.”

Brynnan smiled. “Don’t be shocked: I would never harm this little one, but I would give him the blessings of earth and water.” He passed Kham back to Col. “Remove his shirt.”

Col did as Brynnan asked, trusting him implicitly. Then he put the baby into Brynnan’s arms again.

He lowered the child into the water, swiftly immersing him. As Brynnan lifted him up, Col spoke the ritual words, “Kaj tuke opre te džal—may you rise.”

Kham did not seem disturbed by his experience and reached for the gleaming current, fascinated by it.

Brynnan said, “Among other things, he will be protected from the attacks of harmful spirits. A child born with the Gift is more susceptible, having a road into the spirit world.”

“His birth mother rejected him. To my knowledge, she didn’t even give him his first, secret name. So Kham has had only his baby name and now his use-name,” said Col.

“Trust me,” Brynnan said. “She named him. I bring the gift of it to you from Arawn, my Father. At birth, life and death are closely related. Before a child takes in the first breath, he belongs to both worlds: the living and the dead, and my Father is present. He heard the first word she uttered, and since she has given him up, I am free to pass on this name. It is, in your tongue, ‘Kesalo.’”

“I think she might have intended it to be more of a curse if she named him for a forest spirit. In that Spring night of mating, children are thought to be blessed by the Forest God,” Col said, shaking his head. “But he is blessed, aren’t you, Kham? My little forest spirit was conceived in the heart of the wood.”

“I sense that wildness within him,” said Brynnan. “He will be a free spirit, much like you, Col.”

Col laughed. “Then Andri and I shall have our hands full.”

“And now, I should go,” Brynnan said.

“Can you not come to our tent after I return Kham to Rafe and Sara?”

“I may be able to, Col. But if I cannot, go with the Earth Mother and my Father’s blessing.” He kissed each of them.

*    *    *

As it happened, when the constellation of the Dragon rose to its zenith in the sky, Brynnan arrived at the tent, accompanied by Geraint. Perhaps the two men were aware that Andri and Col required the comfort of their presence on this last night at the Spring Gathering.

“Do you remember, Col, the night we taught you to fuck ass at the Herder’s camp?” said Geraint with a suggestive grin.

“Of course. That was the gift I took to my ves’tacha. You fucked me first, then Brynnan allowed me to take him.”

Brynnan interjected, “I would like to take you first this night, then afterwards, I will submit to you.”

“And I will make sweet music with my protégé here,” added Geraint as Andri eagerly stripped. He and Geraint began to embrace each other, and soon the young bard was sucking Geraint’s large and girthy cock.

Brynnan moved with less haste. He took his time kissing Col. Their passion slowly deepened as their mouths met. Brynnan placed a hand behind Col’s neck, pulling him close. Then, he bit the young man’s neck and shoulder. “I want to claim you!” he said.

For Col, it was a relief to let go of control. Since he had fought at Hesperon, the responsibility for the lives he had been forced to take weighed on him. He accepted responsibility, too, for the humiliation he had inflicted on Soli that now ate at his conscience. Not least was the role of becoming a father to his son. Even though they would spend much time apart, decisions for the child’s welfare would devolve upon him. And now Brynnan simply lifted that weight from his back for this night. Col let the Bard push him gently to the blankets, where he lay gazing up at his friend. Brynnan used a lubricant on both their cocks and on Col’s ass. The young Wanderer shivered as his cock was jerked off. When Brynnan plunged his stiff penis into the rectal passage, Col sighed in pleasure and raised his knees. The Bard’s cock drilled into him, sliding back and forth.

Col felt it deep inside, and he cried out. To his left side, he was only dimly aware of Andri lying on his stomach, with Geraint’s muscular, hairy body over him, thrusting powerfully. Andri’s hand’s dug into the bedding, and he moaned.

“What is in your heart right now, Col?” Brynnan whispered.

“The four of us. You. Mainly you, fucking me. I love you, Brynnan Marek Mavrenn, son of Arawn. Take my body.”

Brynnan laughed in a low tone. “I am taking your body, Col. I can feel your muscles gripping tightly. Are you ready to cum for me?”

“Fuck me and stroke me more; I don’t want it to end just yet.” Col’s eyes were shining, the pupils dilated. He felt like he would dissolve in ecstasy, changing into light or some other element.

Brynnan reached with his mind, hooking Col’s, taking him into a secret realm. Then two more points of consciousness joined them, and the young Wanderer opened himself to Geraint and Andri’s presence. Love swirled around them like the currents in the river Col had waded into that night. He could feel its power.

Without thought, Col ejaculated. He felt as if he offered his entire being to his lovers. Then he felt the semen surge in Brynnan’s cock as it rushed forth, flooding inside him. His arms wrapped convulsively around the Shadow Lord’s son.

There was a time of rest when Col might even have slept a little. But the lassitude left him, and he felt his cock stirring again under the ministrations of Brynnan’s tongue. He felt the urge grip him: the desire to fuck. “Roll over for me!” he demanded. He took the Bard from behind, overcoming some initial resistance at the rectal gateway before sliding smoothly inside. Hot flesh gripped him. He felt a sense of wonder that he was taking this bright being, part human and part god. Abruptly the image formed before his mind’s eye, the powerful soul that was the core of his friend. Its shape a darkness that enveloped a glittering cloud of stars and blue sparks. The soul’s eyes were pools of fire. The vision engulfed him, and he was back in the flesh, fucking this incredible man.

Col made Brynnan kneel and, fucking him like that, wrapped his arms around the Bard’s chest, pulling him upright. Brynnan turned his head, sharing a deep kiss. Then the young Wanderer was fucking him hard, pounding on his ass, until Col’s orgasm overwhelmed him.

Col rolled Brynnan to his back and lay over the lithe, sculpted body, mashing his cum-covered but still firm cock against Brynnan’s, sliding up and down against him. Then he felt the Bard ejaculate under him, and their bellies became slippery with the fluids of their love.

In the predawn light, the four satiated lovers threw cloaks about themselves and walked to the nearby river. They swam and bathed. Geraint took a bucket of water onshore into the trees and helped the others use squeeze bottles to clean themselves out.

As the sky turned a deep rose colour with the approaching sunrise, Brynnan said his farewells.

“I’ll see you in Torrent Mountain, Geraint. Then together, we’ll give my Lord Samir a proper accounting of ourselves. And you, Col and Andri: it will be a while before we visit again but know that my heart is now connected to your son Kham. If danger threatens him, I will act.”

“I can’t thank you enough for that, Brynnan. My little Forest Spirit will be safe with you as his Guardian against the unknown. I will tell Rafe and Sara before we leave.”

They watched Brynnan fade into the morning mist.

*    *    *

The parting, as expected, proved difficult. Col tried to keep things light as he said farewell to his family and friends, but he felt an unaccustomed lump in his throat. His people also gave his companions warm send-offs, and Col reflected how such acceptance would not have been possible in ancient times. He watched his Grandmother clasp Geraint’s arm and smile up at him fondly.

Eleni was last to receive Col’s embrace, and she whispered to him, “Your Bard friend came to see me early this morning. His presence is powerful, and I welcome the protection it will bring our Kham.”

“We have been blessed indeed, Grandmother.”

“Well, keep an eye on that Baro Ursule, that great big bear Geraint, for me. I have a soft spot for him.”

Col laughed, light glinting off his new gold tooth, replaced by a skilled metalsmith in the kumpania. He had lost one after the beating he took as Lord Mellea’s prisoner. That incident now seemed far away, and Andri kept the cast-off tooth in a small leather pouch among his possessions.

The assembled people drank a last cup of apple spirits, and Col’s party set out, with Col riding the black Vanna stallion. Their spare horses and the other stallion walked loose under Keven’s keen eye.

“I think we spent more time saying goodbye than celebrating your handfasting,” observed Aled, riding up front with Col.

“It’s just our way,” Col replied.

The landscape changed as they travelled, following a rough trail that would lead them to the Redstone road. That Holding was to be their first destination, and there they would part with Geraint, who would be heading back to Torrent Mountain. Col and Andri treasured every moment in his company, whether riding side by side in the daytime or making love in their tent at night. Geraint’s good nature seemed restored, and he told the company tales of his past, some outrageous, straining belief, but  Andri suspected most of them were true.

The mountains rose before them in the distance. They climbed from the high plains into forested slopes and followed a well-travelled trail. “We are close,” Geraint commented.

 The night before they planned to reach Redstone Holding, they camped in a pine forest clearing. They finished their meal, and Gethen stood his watch as a guard while the others relaxed around a campfire.

Andri, talking to Aled, was in the middle of a sentence when suddenly he slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Aah!” he cried.

Col was immediately alert. “What is it, ves’tacha?”

“My shoulder: it feels ice-cold. The last time this happened—” Andri did not finish as a chill mist filled the space around them. The fire flared and winked out.

Col knew who was coming. Sure enough, a rider on a silver-grey horse formed out of the mist and dismounted. “I regret putting out your fire,” King Arawn said. “I should not have brought Llwydrew. A horse takes more energy to manifest in the material world.”

“My Lord King!” said Geraint, bowing his head. He looked around at the others. “For those of you who have not met him face-to-face, I give you King Arawn, Lord of the Shadowlands and of the Fortunate Isles—both of them the same place, I might add. He is an even-handed Lord.”

The others stared at this being who came to them out of the night. He of terrible legend, Arawn, leader of the Wild Hunt that could bring all the primitive fears of the dark with him, but tonight his aspect was more benign. He appeared to be a hale and lithe man in his early middle age, wearing his accustomed hunting garb: green jerkin, black breeches and high leather boots, covered by a grey cloak. A silver circlet with curling arms and a central purple jewel bound his long black hair tonight. Geraint thought it was a look designed to put the others at ease.

“Have you come to collect your payment for aiding us, Lord King?” said Aled boldly.

“Not at this time, Aled, Guard of ArMor-ys. That would indeed cut short your journey. No, I come to name my price and receive your pledge of payment.”

“I summoned your aid to help my friends escape from Lord Mellea’s Hold: if costs are weighted, then charge me the most,” Andri declared.

“Andri . . .” Col muttered under his breath. “Don’t encourage him!”

Arawn’s expression held wry amusement as he glanced at Col. “Fear not, Col. Andri is still under my protection for a little while longer. But now, I will let Geraint explain how this will work.”

Geraint cleared his throat. “As m’Lord Arawn says, there’s a price. I now speak of things I’d rather not: Brynnan is the man that should be in my place. But I’ll do my best.

“Our worlds are connected to each other by invisible roads Brynnan calls the “Shadow-ways.” There are ‘doorways’ along these tracks, I guess you would call them, that open into the realms of other . . . gods or powerful spirits. There is m’Lord Arawn’s own land, known as both the Shadow Land and the Blessed Realm, and there is the land a soul meets after death . . . King Arawn, will I be in trouble if I continue? Brynnan once stressed that these are mysteries and shouldn’t be discussed.”

“You do well. I will give you leave. Just speak plainly and leave the metaphysics to me.”

“Very well. This place beyond death is like a desert that must be crossed. There will be, I suppose, realms open to the soul along the way. King Arawn holds one of the lands the soul can go to. Travelling the Shadow-ways with his aid binds you to his realm. Your soul won’t have a choice.”

Gethen looked worried as he asked, “What’s it like there, in Lord Arawn’s kingdom? Would a warrior be content?”

Arawn looked at him. “I cannot describe it to you other than to say it is a land of great beauty and also a place of darkness to certain souls. You have not completed your life’s course yet. It is up to you to make wise choices that will determine your soul’s path.”

Jorge spoke up. “I know where my soul was destined. I sent many to your halls, Lord King.” Then a tortured look came to his eyes. “Do you recall the souls who go to your kingdom?”

“I know them: every one. My memory is as vast as the Abyss.”

“Would you know if a certain soul would be there? In life, he was known as Garron Trey, once the leader in Hesperon: a fair and just man.”

Arawn just looked steadily at Jorge as if waiting.

“I killed him,” Jorge added.

“And what if the soul did dwell there?”

“Then I would gladly accept my fate at your hands. I have no way to atone.”

“But you have, Jorge, once of the Swigen Thonar. You have since given life to many who would have lost it in unfortunate circumstances.”

“Such as Col, Geraint and I,” said Aled, laying a hand on his friend’s arm.

“You have my pledge, Lord King,” Jorge bowed his head and fell silent.

Col said, I took your aid, and I accept whatever comes to me. But I hope my love for Andri binds us beyond death.”

“It is noted,” said the Grey King.

Aled said, “I, too, am willing to pay that price.”

“You already know my heart’s desire, Lord,” Geraint said softly.

“I do, Geraint. Would you be Gatekeeper in my kingdom?”

“As long as it brought me near to those I love.”

“The soul changes after death.”

“But your son, Brynnan, still loves.”

Arawn said, “Let us discuss this at another time, Geraint. You all have fulfilled your parts of the bargain.”

“What of Keven and I, Lord?” Gethen said.

“Your choices are your own. You will find the place best suited to your soul. And now, I must leave you.”

Turning to Geraint, Arawn plucked the jewel from the circlet on his forehead and tossed it to the old Warrior, “Throw this where your fire burned when I am gone,” he said, leaping upon his horse. “Farewell—for now!”

The mist appeared once more and, swirling around King and horse, covered them. It dissipated, leaving only trees and grass.

As Geraint stepped towards the fire pit to toss the jewel, Keven exclaimed in protest, “It must be worth a great price!”

Geraint merely laughed and threw it on top of the charred wood. Immediately, the fire flared up again. The old Warrior turned to Keven and told him, “King Arawn likes to test souls. I have learned that when he gives you a directive, you had best obey it. Would you stake your soul on a bauble?”

Keven gulped and stepped back.

The company was quiet the next day. Col suspected his friends were engaged in introspection after Arawn’s unexpected visit, each man weighing what his life so far amounted to. Col had to admire it as a tactic to scare people into living better lives. Being a Wanderer, he absorbed its lessons and committed the Shadow King’s actions and methods to memory.

They arrived at Redstone Holding as the sun set behind them.

*    *    *

To be continued . . .