Serpents of the Green Moon

Author's Note:  I finally finished this little story, one you must allow me the conceit of creating without forethought to length or how the erotic sections may be buried a bit too far into it. It is not written for the widest audience on this site, for I know the expectations of stories, and this one strays wide of the mark. I did't write it aiming for high scores or a larger readership; I wrote it for the fun of creating the characters and giving them a story. There will be some of you who tackle it, despite its long length (Over 40,000 words) and I hope you find it worth the endeavor. 

Long ago, in a land far away, the rarest of occurrences was unfolding on a cold winter night. The sky had green bands flowing through it, glowing from an unseen source. It gave the land a green glow allowing the weakest of eyes to see. The clouds parted in the strong winds and the full moon became visible, a green orb shining down through a green sky. It was such a rare occurrence, most seers, and witches new nothing of it. There were no ancient writings or tales that spoke of such a thing.

But there was two, ancient beyond measure, who knew. One lived in the high mountains, hidden in caves that told of such events from long ago. The green orb, the land green in the coldest of winter, and the events that would unfold, beginning with the birth of those who would be different. Those that would leave no heir, whose lives were to be their own, and they would depart the world in silence, their fate unknown.  

Wrapping his coat tighter around his aged body, Menw stroked the fires of his domain, the smoke roiling upward till hitting the cave’s ceiling, then following its own path deeper into the mountain where no man would ever see it. He pulled down the precious ore, one so rare, he had only the most precious amount, hoping it to be enough. Its slivery glow in the firelight drew his eyes. He felt under some spell, unable to look away, as the metal seemed to glow brighter. He didn’t hear the prophet come into his cave, the soft padding of footsteps and the clink of staff against stones on the floor.

“Menw, look away,” Tegid Foel whispered, and Menw blinked, then looked up at the prophet. Tegid Foel existed long before he came into the world, yet he looked years younger, a man in his prime.

“You came,” said Menw.

“It is time. I see you have the ore.”

“Yes. Do you know how it is to be cast?”

Tegid Foel pulled from his coat a round stone, holding it out to Menw.

“What’s this?”

“The form for the casting. It is from White Mountain,” Tegid Foel replied, and the reference caused Menw to bow his head in reverence, for no man knew of its location, except for Tegid Foel, and the stone became something more precious than before. He ran his finger around the hole in top. It was small, barely the size of his smallest finger, and he wondered to what shape it descended.

“What will it be?”

“Not even I know. It is beyond my sight.”

Menw stroked the fire of his furnace until the cave grew hot, the ceiling thick with black smoke. Then he placed the precious ore into a stone pot and pumped the billows with all of his energy as Tegid Foel watched. The ore melted, turned to liquid, even more shiny than before. It seemed to move around the stone pot as if possessing its own means of motion. It was like quick silver, and Menw wondered if they shared some trait.

He pulled the pot from the furnace and carried it quickly to the table where the stone form waited. He slowly poured the hot metal in the hole in top. The stone took every drop from the pot, and when there was no more, Menw sat it aside and the two of them strolled to the far side of the room.

“You know the prophecy?” Tegid Foel asked.

“Yes, there are to be two born on this night.”

“One will be the son of a knight, the other the son of a sailor, who will be lost on this very night.”

“He’ll have a hard life,” Menw replied, not specifying which he referred, both knowing it was the boy who would lose his father.

Menw looked at Tegid Foel, wondering about his life. He knew nothing about him other than the prophecies he came to reveal, the last time so many years ago, he lost track of how long ago. Tonight, was the beginning of the most important one, the one Tegid Foel had been preparing him since he had been an apprentice with Airell.

Airell. He had not thought of the old wizard in a long time. He tried to picture his face but all he could bring to mind was the red cape he wore, even during the hottest of days, and the black stone in an ornate raven’s claw that hung around his neck. Airell liked to add to his rituals, make them theatrical to the amazement of kings and priest who had summoned him. Menw tried to remember when everything changed, the priest devising their own stories, most he knew were made up, along with their rituals. He chuckled even now to think of them. The killing of a man-god then the cannibalistic rituals of eating his flesh and drinking his blood.

“What amuses you?” Tegid Foel asked, looking at Menw with a questioning glare.

“It is the foolishness of men, my friend,” Menw replied, looking into the icy blue eyes. “Shall we see what talisman we have created on this night of magic?”

Tegid Foel grinned, nodding his head. “Yes, I think the metal should be sufficiently cooled.”

They walked to the table and saw the stone was cracked down the middle and when Menw tried to pick it up, he lifted only half, the other half falling to its side revealing the metal form within. It appeared to be two serpents lying side by side, their bodies a zig zag pattern. At the head of each, a hole where an eye should be. Menw picked up the stone and looked closely at the metal casting wondering why there were two in parallel. He tapped the stone on the table, and it broke in half again, releasing the metal casting, which fell on the table. He picked it up to give it a closer look.

A green mist covering the land. Flashing red and blue lights. Two young men, their naked bodies undulating as one. A witch walking among the people, as if one of them. An explosion, roiling with fire.

“Menw? Menw?  Wake up!” exclaimed Tegid Foel.

Menw opened his eyes to find Tegid Foel looking down on him. He quickly realized he was on the floor, head in Tegid Foel’s lap. He sat up, embarrassed to have been in such a state, and looked around the room. The fires had died down, only the ones for heating the room still stroked.

“What…what happened?”

“I’m not sure, but you’ve been out for a long time.”

“The casting!” Menw remembered, jumping to his feet. He rushed to the table and saw the serpents lying separate, as if never together. “I don’t understand.”

“It became two pieces when you touched it. Tell me, Menw, what did you see?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Tell me!” Tegid Foel exclaimed, and Menw saw he was agitated, worry evident in his face.

“I saw a green mist over the land. Then there were lights, blue and red, so pure in their color…and they were flashing.”

“What else?”

“Two young men,” said Menw and he looked at Tegid Foel with confusion. “They were laying with each other.”

“Yes; the prophecy.”

“You knew?”

“Yes. Anything else?”

“A witch; I think it was Zinerva, but she looked different.”

“She has many faces.”

“She was walking among others in a strange place. Everything was different.”

“Is that all?”

“No, Tegid Foel, there is one more thing.”

“What?”

“A terrible explosion of fire. It was all-consuming.”

Tegid Foel tilted his head back and exhaled, as if suddenly exhausted. “The prophecy.”

“Tell me, what is this prophecy you have kept from me all these years.”

“Menw, I’m sorry, but there are aspects not even I am sure. All I know is the prophecy is beginning.”

“What are we to do?”

“First you must get up. There is something else you must make tonight.”

“What is that Tegid Foel?”

“Two metal boxes for the figures, and we’ll need some of your finest necklace chain.”

“The figures are to be made into necklaces?”

“Yes, now let’s get up and get to it. I need to be gone by dawn.”

“What’s the hurry?”

“I can’t explain. Just know it is imperative, and Menw?”

“Yes?”

“You need to leave this place when we are done.”

Menw smiled, and Tegid Foel saw an understanding that sadden him to know its resolve.

“I think not, Tegid Foel. This is my place; one I shall not leave.”

“But…”

“My old friend, I know.”

Tegid Foel left just before dawn, the sky still dark and calm that only the early morning hours could provide. He rode out without delay, making his way down the mountain, across the stream, and along the trail that wound up the next mountain. He was halfway up when the first sunlight shined over it, bringing Menw’s mountain into a warm glow. Then the ground vibrated, and the sound of a muffled explosion echoed in the valley. Looking across, he saw a cloud of dust roil outward from the side of the mountain where the entrance to Menw’s cave had been only seconds before. Tegid Foel smiled with a heavy heart, knowing Menw had changed the prophecy of his own future, for no one would come to take his life in attempt to obtain information. Menw chose his time and defiantly denied others any knowledge he possessed.

Ebora

Harbor Town of the North Sea

The winds blow off the cold waters with a vengeance, their howling like the wild beasts of Mons Vindius, the mountains to the south that isolated the town between the two. The residents secure windows, bolt doors, and stroke up fires to protect themselves from the harsh weather. Only the tavern near the docks has any lanterns burning, guiding the few wayward men to the strong drink within. On one desolate lane, a lone woman rushes from house to house, using each for a short respite from the fierce winds. She navigates through the town until she comes to a house near the docks. It is old, the siding grey and weather beaten, and from inside, despite the howling winds, she can hear the cries of Oilell.

She rushes inside, struggling to close the door and secure it. She turns within the small room and sees Oilell laying on her bed near the fireplace. The fireplace is dark, the fire burned out long ago, leaving the room cold, every exhale visible. She rushes to Oilell, pulls back her hood, revealing her worried face.

“Oilell, I’m here.”

“Venetia, I’m going to die,” Oilell screams, then gasps for breath as contractions begin again.

“You’re not going to die on this night,” Venetia replies, as she checks Oilell, finding she is merely in labor, and nothing looks out of the ordinary. It is Oilell’s first, so the shock of the pain scares her. Venetia works quickly, methodically, getting a fire burning in the fireplace, preparing what she would need for the delivery, then getting Oilell ready, moving her into position.

As the winds beat against the house, Oilell’s screams fill it, until there was one final push and the room fills with cries of a newborn.

“It’s a boy,” said Venetia, holding the baby up for Oilell to see before cleaning him up. “What will you name him?”

“Killian.”

“That is a lovely name,” Venetia replied as she took him to the dining table where warm water and blankets waited.

“Venetia, listen,” said Oilell.

It was then they both realized the winds had died down, only the crackling of the fire making any noise. Venetia went to the door and looked out. The sky over the harbor was still dark with a full cloud cover blocking out the stars, but looking toward the southeast, the sky over the mountains was clearing. The stars and moon shined through, green in color, something Venetia had never seen before. It felt an omen, and she uttered a protection, stepped back inside, securing the door.

“The storm has passed,” said Venetia, not telling Oilell of the green sky.

Village of Larouco at Bregenz Castle

Mons Vindius Mountains

Bedwyr raced through the village in a complete panic. He tripped over the seller’s cart, knocked down a line for hanging garments, and nearly stepped on one of widow Ula’s chickens as he ran for the midwife, Enid. Most villagers called her a witch, which made Bedwyr scoff at the foolishness. He knew Enid, ever since she took up midwifery and delivered the last two children of the Queen and several babies for other knights and advisors of the King. Tonight, she would deliver his fourth child, one that would be coming late to his family, for the others were of age, the daughter being wooed by several of the young men and the two boys were teenagers, learning to fight and hunt.

Turning by a small pen of pigs, he rushed down the steps to the next lane. He was anxious, for the pregnancy had not been easy for Neala. She had been bedridden for the last month. They had feared she lost the baby at one point, but Enid reassured them it was doing well, feeling it kick and move in the womb.

In his haste to get to Enid’s place, he didn’t notice how empty the lanes of the village were, how so few were out, nor did he notice the sky. It glowed green above with swirling storm clouds to the north. Everything glowed green, even the full moon. For many in the village, it was an omen they feared to discuss, instead locking themselves in for the night, keeping fires stroked and windows closed.

Bedwyr ran up to Enid’s door, immediately banging on it with his fist.

“Enid! It’s time! Please hurry!”

The door opened and Enid came out dressed, carrying her satchel.

“Let’s go,” she said, not stopping to exchange pleasantries.

Bedwyr paced the room, listened at the door to the bed chamber, then paced the room some more. Neala had grown quiet and he assumed the delivery was over but couldn’t be sure. He had started to knock on the door and ask for some update, but as he held his hand up ready to knock, Enid called out for him to be patient.

The door finally swung open and Enid came out looking tired and flush.

“The baby and mother are doing well. You can go in now.”

“Thanks Enid.”

“Bedwyr, how many times have we been here? This is your fourth, and I trust your last,” said Enid, smiling despite her weariness.

“Yes, it’ll be the last. Neala couldn’t take another, nor I,” Bedwyr replied, smiling in return.

“I’ll see myself out. Go on in, don’t keep Neala waiting.”

Bedwyr watched Enid slip on her coat, pulling the hood in place, then ease out the door. He saw it was still dark out but realized there was a green illumination to everything. Had it been that way before, he wondered as he turned to the bed chamber door and entered.

“Bedwyr, come see you son,” Neala uttered in a soft, tired voice, but she smiled in a way that made Bedwyr forget all about the suffering she had endured.

“What shall we name him,” said Bedwyr, easing down on the bed and taking the sleeping baby.

“I named the last two; it is your turn to choose.”

Bedwyr looked at the baby with its black hair and rosy cheeks and he wondered what life would hold for this child. He could be a warrior, a knight like himself, and as his two older brothers were in training to be as well.

“Ansgar.”

Neala chuckled, then lay back staring up at Bedwyr.

“Another warrior in the family?” Neala whispered.

The Witch

It had been over two years since the night of the green moon, and she still had no answers as to its meaning. It eluded her in ways that made her furious, for Zinerva was not one to be denied what she wanted, and what she wanted now was information. She had poured over the ancient texts, including the writings of the three sisters, Gul-Shesh, for any clue. There had been a vague reference in a text on a clay tablet from the Akkadian Empire, one she found while searching for the oldest of incantations. Part of the tablet was missing, so all she had was a reference to a green moon and the awakening of some power.

She had searched for decades seeking any reference. She felt a craving for information that was all consuming. For what she craved more than food or drink was power. With power, she could make men bow at her feet, cause entire civilizations to worship her as a deity, or punish those that refused. She sought the means to control men, to force them to do her bidding, for she wanted nothing more than to have the subjugation of men, to make them fall before her, humbling themselves. It would be retribution for the pain men caused her when she was young. The raping and killing of her mother, whose powers were not great enough to ward off so many come to take her life. Then the men had taken her, forcing her into a life of servitude until she finally gained the power to extract her revenge, then escape. It had been many years since that night of destruction, but she still sought her revenge on men.

Standing at the orb of crystal, she stared at the images that swirled into view. She saw future possibilities and events of the past, some far back in history. But the green moon eluded her. She cursed, and threw her mug across the room, shattering it against the wall.

Looking back at the orb, she calmed herself, then put her hands on it, feeling its power. Her fingers tingled and the hair on her arms stood up. Then she saw two young men, their naked bodies intertwined in a carnal way. She didn’t understand and leaned in closer. A black cloud roiled up, moved across her view, then everything disappeared.

“Two men,” Zinerva whispered, feeling her old fears and anger well up.

Killian

Killian grew into a quiet boy, one who blended into his surroundings to such a degree, others would forget he was there, if they knew he was there at all. If his father were alive, he knew how disappointed he would be. Killian would be no sailor, would not be a fisherman of the cold north seas, for he could not see. Blind since birth, the world around him was always dark. He learned by touch, smell, and sound. The shape of an apple, the smoothness of its skin, and the indentions at the top and bottom, and how those differed. A bite into it and there was the smell of the sweet flesh, and the taste of it. And there was the sound it made with each bite. Then there was the feel of fabrics for clothing, and how his mother’s garments were softer, lighter, almost like air, while his own garments were coarser, heavy, able to take the abuse he put them through.

It was in this manner he learned to see the world around him, until by the age of nine he could negotiate the harbor town’s streets and docks. He learned the lay of the town and where the businesses were located. He come to know the baker, the tavern owner, and the blacksmith, the unique smells and sounds of each drawing him at different times of the day. The baker early in the morning with the still warm breads, the tavern owner during the afternoon after those seeking nourishment had their fill, where he would make his way to the kitchen door, his mother who worked there, handing out a plate of stew, or grilled or smoked fish, or clams in a thick cream sauce. And when he sought the companionship of others, it was the blacksmith’s shop, where Weylin and his son, Orin, worked the metal into tools, horseshoes, or weapons. He loved to hear their casual banter, none more so than that of Orin as he told tall tales of knights slaying their enemies, or mythical beasts of Mons Vindius. He listened to the deep barytone of Weylin wondering if his own father would have sounded the same.

He didn’t know his father, a sailor who never returned from the sea. He had been away at the time of his birth, sailing to the Land of Ice to the west, due to return early summer. Summer had arrived and with each passing day, those with family on the Manann became more and more worried. By the time fall had arrived, everyone became resolved to the loss of another ship and its crew. It happened about every two or three years, some incident on the high seas, that claimed some crew member, or as was the case of the Manann, the entire ship declared a total loss.

Killian sought male companionship, more often, than not, with Weylin and Orin. He didn’t understand this need, but he understand how it made him feel to hear a man’s voice, to feel a calloused hand slip into his own or grab him by the neck or drop down on one arm to see if he was listening. He was always listening.

Orin was his best friend, the only boy of the town who spent time with him, who was patient enough to help him up trails in the mountains where the other boys went to celebrate among themselves and gossip about the young women of the town. When Orin held him by the arm, or clasped hands to pull him up on a rock or ledge, he sensed the hand was larger than his own, the fingers thicker, the palm calloused from work. When Orin would whisper in his ear, he caught the scent of his breath, that of tobacco and the onion his mother used in nearly every dish. He felt the warm breath on his ear, and it sent shivers down his spine. He wondered if others felt this way. If their hearts raced in their chests and their cocks stirred in their loose garments. He knew the others talked of girls, made sexual references, and he knew at sixteen he should be doing the same. But he felt no attraction to any of the girls he crossed paths, and it was a relief instead of an embarrassment that they avoided him for being blind.

One day, which of the week or of the month, he didn’t know, nor cared, but one the sun was warm enough to push the last of the winter from the harbor town. He felt its warmth on his face and arms as he made his way down the muddy lane until he was on the stone pavers of the street that ran along the harbor. He strolled along the rough surface, using his sense of smell and hearing to guide him. When he came to the docks, he didn’t miss when he stepped up, confidently landing his foot on the dock where it abutted the end of the lane. He moved out on it, hearing the labors of men loading or unloading a ship. He knew it docked the day before and would be in harbor a week, overhearing a crew exclaim how he was going to rest, drink and fuck, not necessarily in that order. It had amused Killian, the blunt crudeness of the sailors and he tried to imagine his father among them based on the stories told by his mother and others of the town.

Killian knew fifty paces on the dock there was a bench and he eased down on it, next to the arm to his left, the place he preferred. He leaned back, letting the sun hit him in the face, and warm the clothing he wore. And he listened, to the sounds of the dock, with the men yelling back and forth. What he didn’t hear, not until right in front of him, was a stranger approaching.

The man walked almost silently on the wood dock, the soles of his shoes absorbing the sound. He moved slowly, patiently, until near the bench.

“May I sit with you?”

The voice sounded like a man in middle age. Confident, with a deep hushed tone.

“Huh…I mean, sure.”

“I’m sorry, did I startle you?”

“I must confess, I didn’t hear you approach. I normally hear someone on the dock.”

“Your hearing must be very acute, but I’ve heard of such of someone who has lost their sight.”

“I never had mine,” Killian replied, wondering about this stranger in his town. “You’re a visitor?”

“Yes, I came over the mountains from…well that isn’t important, but I came to see you.”

“Me? But…do you even know me?”

“Killian, son of Finian, a sailor who was lost at sea the year of your birth, and of Neala, who works at the Mystic Hound where she cooks and cleans. You were born on the night of the green moon and are not yet sixteen years old, and you share your deepest secrets with no one.”

Killian looked around at the source of the voice as if he could see. He was surprised by the former but felt anger and fear at the latter, the idea this stranger knew his secrets.

“Who are you?” Killian asked, his tone suddenly not friendly.

“Oh, I’m afraid I’ve offended you. Let me ask your forgiveness, for there was no intent at harm, I assure you, only to allow as to how I did know of you. I should introduce myself, for it is only fair. I’m Tegid Foel, and I’m here to deliver something that belongs to you.”

“What could you possess that would be mine?”

“There are things I can not explain, but I know it is important that you have this, and you are to keep it hidden, and one day when the time has come, it will reveal what you need to know. Hold out your hand.”

Killian hesitated then he held out his right hand and felt a small metal box some to rest in his palm. The outside was smooth, not a rough seam along any corner or joint. He felt the tiny hinges and the circular hasp on front, and the slightly curved top. In the middle of the top, he felt a stamping, and with a quick trace of his finger, decerned it to be a crescent moon.

“I don’t understand?”

“At this point in time, don’t try. Just accept this and hide it away. When you turn eighteen, wear what is inside.”

Curiosity got the better of Killian and he put his finger to the hasp and rotated it, feeling how it clicked as it turned until he knew it had unlatched. He tilted the top back and felt inside. On a leather pad he felt the tiny chain then the metal figure attached to it. Running a finger along the snaking line of the metal he smiled.

“A serpent of some kind. Is it an omen or a good luck charm to ward off evil spirits?” Killian joked, not believing in most of the myths and legends told by the townspeople.

“A bit of the latter, I presume.”

“You don’t really know anything about it, do you?” asked Killian, knowing there was some truth to what he asked, for he sensed it.

“I know enough to know it belongs to you and one day, you’ll meet its twin.”

“Twin? There’s another.”

“Yes, but the owner of it does not possess it yet.”

“So, I’m to stash it away until my eighteenth birthday, then take it out and wear it.”

“Yes.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“For me? The satisfaction that events will unfold as they should.”

“You’re a wizard or magician?”

“OH, nothing so crude. Just consider me someone who can see.”

“A seer. But isn’t that more mythological than magicians and wizards?”

Tegid Foel laughs, loudly, something he seems unaccustomed.

“You may be right. Now young Killian, I must go. I need to be over the mountain before dark. You take care of yourself…and this little gift,” said Tegid Foel.

Killian hears him this time, every step, all they way to the end of the dock. He hears the whinny of a horse, then Tegid Foel climb in the saddle. He hears the horse move over the stone pavers until the sounds of the dock drowns it out. He fingers the necklace again, feeling the serpent dangling from the chain, then he places it in the metal box, closes the lid and spins the hasp until it locks in place.

He will sit for a short time, reliving the conversation with Tegid Foel, then he’ll slip the small box in his pocket so no one will see it, and head for home. He’ll place the box in his hiding place, the one he keeps other trinkets. It is under his bed beneath a loose plank, a place that will keep the box safe for the next two years.

Larouco Village

Tegid Foel rode into the village, passing other riders going in the other direction. He nodded in acknowledge, knowing they would soon forget having passed him. Without any guidance, his horse strolled into the village, turning right on a lane lined with merchants. A casual glance up, he looked at the heavy stone walls and towers of the castle that cast long shadows over the village. Bringing his eyes back to the lane in front, he watched the activity of merchants unfold before him. The hawking of wares, haggling over a price or the quick theft of an apple by a young boy, who disappeared down an alley before being seen.

It was so normal, yet so alien to Tegid Foel, for he avoided the growing villages and towns, living a life of solitude at one of his residences. It allowed him to concentrate on the tasks he found himself burdened. Sometimes those tasks required him to venture out, like the one he had now, one nearly complete. He had given the boy at the harbor one of the necklaces. He still didn’t know what to call it. An amulet, or some cursed thing; he wasn’t sure. But there was one more to deliver. But this one would be difficult, for he knew this boy would not be so receptive to a gift from a stranger. He had to be lured into thinking it was something he found on his own. A tricky proposition, but one he knew was achievable. His horse ambled up the lane until it came to a shop selling jewelry and trinkets. It was small, the windows projecting outward from the front wall, with all manner of product on display.

Tegid Foel climbed down, tossing the reins over the saddle, and entered the shop. A bell rang out with the opening of the door and an elderly woman wrapped in layers of garments appeared at the counter.

“Can I assist you?”

“I understand you may have a stone of Everux?” asked Tegid Foel. It was always good to purchase some artifact or trinket to gain favor, and if she had one, it would make a nice addition to his collection. He had many such trinkets that at one time or another were deemed magical in some way. It humored him to think of it, and he loved looking at them, remembering the history of each.

“Why yes, one of the best you’ll find anywhere. Are you looking to heal a loved one?” asked the old woman.

“I was thinking of its ability to conjure images of the future,” Tegid Foel lied.

The old woman went to the end of the counter and pulled out a tray of emeralds and rocks, and he immediately saw the stone in question. It was a lovely thing, despite having no powers of any kind. It was bronze in color, worn smooth from being in a creek or stream, and there were flecks of green in it. He would purchase it, even though he knew where the real power lay, and it wasn’t in any stone. His pocket seemed to vibrate as he thought of it.

“Would this be sufficient for its purchase?” said Tegid Foel, sliding two gold and two silver coins across the counter. It was a fortune to the old woman, far more than the stone would be worth, even if it did have powers. But it was a small price to pay for her favor.

“OH…oh, yes, I do believe that would be sufficient,” she replied, trying to control her excitement at such an exorbitant sum. She pulled the stone from the tray, and carefully wrapped in a small cloth, tying it with a black ribbon.  “Is there anything else I can assist you with today?”

“Why yes, there is one more thing,” Tegid Foel replied, pulling the small metal box from his pocket, laying it on the counter. “Now, I need you to listen carefully to my instructions,” he added, leaning in closer getting her to look into his eyes. “You are to display this right at dusk before you close for the day. It should be somewhat obscured, but easily found leading to a young Killian purchasing it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord,” said the woman.

Tegid Foel knew she had taken to his suggestion, one that would leave her once the task was completed. She would do it willingly now that he had gained her trust. He knew the human mind was a complicated thing, despite how most people were uneducated. Some could fight off a suggestion, especially if it involved something they did not want to do.

“It has been a pleasure doing business with you,” said Tegid Foel, and he saw the woman blink, bringing her back from the trance she had fallen.

“And I thank you,” she replied.

The little stone placed in his pocket, Tegid Foel left the shop, and climbed back in the saddle of his waiting horse. He held the reins lightly in his right hand as the horse turned around and headed for home.

Ansgar

The village was nosy with the activities of its residents. Some doing last minutes shopping or errands, rushing to get home before night settled over the village. Others came out, loving the village at night, patronizing the tavern or the community hall for gambling with cards or stones. The narrow lanes took on a warm glow by the torches that lit their lengths. It made everything look better, how the rough edges and muddy ground seemed to disappear in the amber light.

Ansgar strolled among the others, always so restless this time of day. Even after a day of training, he still had to spend a few hours milling among the people, visiting the community hall or the tavern, but not before looking into the merchant shops still open. He stepped into the bakery, buying a chunk of bread, eating it as he made his way down the lane. He looked in the tailor’s shop, then the blacksmith’s shop where all manner of tool or weapon were hung on the walls. A couple doors further along, he came to the shop with the jewelry and trinkets. He found most of the merchandise to be junk, just superstitious talismans or rocks that had fantastical claims of hidden powers. Looking through the windows of the storefront, he was drawn to go inside, and he entered the small shop, turning right. He moved along the wall, fingers sliding along the edge of tables or grazing some trinket. He was making a counterclockwise pass through the shop, feeling the eyes of the old woman on him. He knew she stood at the counter watching him, as she always did when he came in. But this time there was something different about her. He glanced around and saw her smiling, something he had never seen before.

“How was business today?” asked Ansgar.

“It is good, my lord,” she replied.

She had not asked if there was something he was in search, nor if she could interest him in some new item, theatrically pulled from behind the counter to make it seem more valuable. She merely watched him, smiling.

He cut across the small shop, looking at items on the tables, then turned to make his way back to the front along the opposite wall. He was nearing the front when he saw it. A small metal box sitting among some knives and leather pouches. It was unadorned, only a simple crescent moon stamped on the top. He picked it up and felt a need to possess it. He ran his finger over the circular hasp, feeling the intricate mechanism, tempted to work it open. But he refrained, knowing without understanding how, he was not to open it in public. He would wait until he was alone to discover what lay within.

“How much for this little box?”

“One bronze bit.”

Ansgar turned to the old woman, unsure he heard correctly, for it was a cheap price. He wanted to ask why, but bit his tongue, while digging out the coin.

Back in his room, one once shared with three other siblings, he sat on the edge of his bed holding the metal box in his palm. The house was quiet, his father in council with the king and his mother gone to gather berries, and he moved gingerly on the bed, not wanting to hear its squeaks disturb the silence.

He traced the joint between the top and bottom, felt the smooth tiny hinges then the circular hasp on front. He rubbed his finger over it, moving in a circular motion that spoke to its shape. He felt movement then a click with the hasp, and the top loosened with its release. He lifted the top and saw within the zig zag shape lying on leather, a fine chain strung from it. He pinched the chain and lifted it out, letting the little serpent spin before his eyes. He held out his left hand and almost ritualistically laid the serpent on his palm. It felt warm against his skin, and he sensed some power within it. It seemed to vibrate, and he expected it to move. The hair on his arm stood up and the air in the room felt charged.

Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.

Why he thought it, he didn’t know, but he knew the truth of it, and he lifted the necklace and placed it back in the metal box. He spun the hasp and felt it click, securing the lid. Looking around his small room, he wondered where to hide it. The interior wall was only one plank thick, nailed to a board at the floor and roof rafters above. The exterior wall to his left, the one with his only window, was exposed framing on the interior side, cross boards acting as shelves for the trinkets he collected. He turned on the bed and looked at the stone wall behind him that was waist high before changing to wood framing. It was a retaining wall, on the other side houses and merchants that were on the next level up. He moved to the wall, feeling at the stonework until he found a loose one. It was perfect, for behind it a void, just big enough for the box.

The Storm

The boat struggled to cross Oceanus Gallicus, the winds growing stronger and stronger. They blew from the south, forcing the boat off course, putting it on a northernly path. It had crossed over to the lands in the east a lunar cycle before with no troubles. But on this return trip, a storm came upon them before they were out of sight of land, and now the rowers were unable to keep the boat moving toward the east.

Ansgar clung to the mast as waves washed over the side. His father was among the rowers, rowing with all his strength. Two men had been washed overboard, and his father had not hesitated to take one’s place. The yells of the crew were drowned out, the wind fierce, masking all other sounds. A box washed over the side, then another, no one, but Ansgar seemed to notice.

Will we die in this cursed storm? Ansgar wondered as he held tight to the mask, following his father’s orders not to let go, no matter what. He had heard the seas could turn violent, take down a boat before the crew knew what was happening, but he never dared consider it could happen to them. Their journey was a short one, just a simple crossing of Oceanus Gallicus to meet with a ruler to establish trade: timber for cured meat. There had been late night feasts, with entertainment, and hunts on the rolling hills of the country. Now he wondered if they would get the signed treaty back to their king. He reached to his chest and felt the serpent through his shirt, having taken it from its hiding place and put it around his neck, thinking it would bring him luck. Now he wondered if it was a cursed thing.

His father was not going to let him come along, but after much begging and pleading, Bedwyr had relented and allowed Ansgar to travel with them.

The storm drove them north, at times the coast in sight, but the roiling seas were too dangerous to attempt a landing. They kept the boat upright, sailing with the wind. The men fought the storm until exhausted, and as the winds finally began to die down after two days and two nights, the men fell flat on the deck and passed out. Even Ansgar could not avoid the powerful need for sleep.

They woke finding themselves in open seas. There was no wind, and the waters were calm. A whale surfaced close enough to see the exhale of air that was mixed with water, then the swirling surface as it dove down. The leaders of their group stood in the bow wondering where they were located, knowing they had been blown north and by the sun knew the way south. The men took their places at the oars and began to row. They headed south, rowing steadily, singing old songs to keep up their rhythm. The next day, they saw land to their west and east. At first, they thought it was the narrowest section of Oceanus Gallicus, but the land was different, as were the structures along the coast. They turned east and pulled ashore at a village. A group met them, and it was soon discovered they were far from where they anticipated, having circled around into the north seas. They continued south, hoping to pull ashore somewhere they could then travel by land back to Bregenz.

They rowed for hours, finding themselves at sea with neither land mass in sight. A wind began out of the north, the air chillingly cold, but the men considered it a blessing, unfurling the sail. It was tattered and torn from the harsh winds of the storm, but there was enough surface area to capture some wind and the boat moved forward faster than the men could achieve via rowing. The men huddled together, for despite their best coats, they were feeling the drop in temperature.

It was nearing dark, the sun only half visible on the horizon when land appeared before them. The lookout cried out, waking those asleep and soon all the men were along each rail staring longingly at the approaching land. As they drew near and dusk descended on over the waters, they saw torch light and headed toward it.

Ansgar stood toward the stern, letting the other men have the best places to look forward. He was taller than most of the men, even taller than his father, and he could see they were approaching a small town at a natural harbor.

They entered the small harbor seeing fishing vessels lining the docks of the town. Sail furled back in place, some men took up oars and began rowing until the were pulling up to the docks where several of the locals waited.

“Could you tell us where we are?” asked Bedwyr.

“You’re lost?” one man replied.

“Yes, for we were blown off course by a storm. We were crossing the Oceanus Gallicus and…”

“Oceanus Gallicus! You were that far south? You’re now in the North Seas at the town of Ebora.”

“Ebora?” Bedwyr replied, knowing the town from reports that came from the north of Bregenz. He was shocked how far off course they found themselves. “I’m afraid we are far from where we were meant to be. May I ask if we could get some food and assistance? A few men are injured. And is there is lodging in town?” he added, his questions showing their desperation.

One man stepped forward, coming right up to the edge of the dock looking down on Bedwyr and the crew. “Come with us. We’ll go to the tavern. Oilell works tonight and she’ll know what to do.”

The crew were crowded in the small tavern, pushing most locals out. The injured were attended, two with sprained ankles and one with a fractured arm. A thick stew was served to each man, along with an ale taking care of the immediate need for nourishment. Oilell had gotten a couple of women, Annwn and Grania, to help her for the night, stroking up fires, and getting the food prepared to feed so many. There were twenty-three men, and they took up all the tables and bar, leaving the locals that could fit around the perimeter, standing with mugs in hand listening to the story of the storm and how it drove them north for two full days.

Bedwyr asked about horses, wanting to take one of his men and head south the next morning for Bregenz to ask the king for horses to bring back for the men. Most could travel on foot, but not all, and the town agreed to put them up for as long as they needed. It was a four-day journey to Bregenz, which seemed like such a long time, but if would be an easier journey than attempting to sail back around to their original destination.

Once meals were completed, Ronan stepped up to coordinate lodgings with Oilell, Annwn and Grania, who made a list of people willing to put up the men. The tavern had two rooms, but the rest would rely on the kindness of the residents. A resident would step forward and lead one or two weary men away, some almost asleep on their feet. Bedwyr went with Annwn, being one of the last to be stirred awake and told to follow for a good night’s rest.

Oilell and Grania cleaned up the lodge, blew out the lanterns, each ready to call an end to their very long day. Grania lived upstairs at the tavern, and she locked up after letting Oilell out, and headed to upstairs.

Oilell came out, wrapped her coat tighter around her lean frame and started toward her home when she saw someone asleep on the bench in front of the tavern.

“Young man,” she called out, shaking him by the shoulder. She recognized him as Bedwyr’s son, Ansgar. He stirred awake, pushing the hood of his coat back revealing his weary face. Despite the matted down hair and pale complexion from fatigue, she saw he was an attractive young man. His dark brown eyes reflected her torch and his black hair shined in the light. “You were supposed to stay inside to find lodging for the night.”

“OH, I…” he stammered, face turning a rosy red, and he looked over at the door of the tavern. “Can I just sleep on the floor inside?”

“The floor? No, that won’t do. Come, you can share a bed with Killian.”

“Who is Killian?”

“My son.”

Ansgar saw immediately Killian”s eyes stared ahead sightless. Then he saw the tall, lean person before him. The light blonde hair and chiseled features of his oval face, and the eyes, despite their uselessness, were vivid blue. He felt a pull toward Killian unlike one he had ever felt before. There was something about him, some intangible thing that drew him to this person.

For Killian, as he listened to his mother describe of the events that unfolded earlier that had them putting up someone for the night, he sensed the man’s presence. Felt an allure he couldn’t name. He sensed the physical presence in his space, and nearly drowning out his mother’s words was his heartbeat, one that had grown more rapid.

“Killian prepare water for a bath. I’ll find Ansgar something to put on after he has a bath, then we’ll turn in.”

“Yes, mother,” Killian replied.

Ansgar watched Killian moved confidently across the small room to the fireplace where he scooped water from a barrel and poured it into a caldron. Once filled, it was swung over the flames of the fire, and Ansgar watched every movement, intrigued by Killian more than he could admit.

“These were Killian’s father’s clothes. I think they’ll fit. You’re a bit larger through the chest and shoulders, as was Finian,” said Oilell, setting garments on the table in front of Ansgar. “I’m afraid you have to share Killian’s bed, for we no other, but it is large enough for two, I think,” she added, smiling wearily.

Ansgar saw the fatigue in her face and wondered who was more tired, he or her. He considered her life, no husband evident, and a son who was blind. She worked at a tavern, which meant long days and nights, and he knew she had to be as weary as himself.

“The water is ready,” said Killian, swinging the caldron out from over the fire.

“Put it in the washbasin and take it to your room. Ansgar can clean up in there, then you boys can get to bed. That way, I can go ahead and turn in,” said Oilell.

Ansgar looked around the room to the bed in the corner and realized it was not Killian’s bed, but his mother’s, and they would be sharing the small bed chamber at the back of the house. It made him feel anxious with the realization they would be alone. Together in one bed. But it also pleased him, made his heart race in his chest. It was such a forbidden thing he was considering he knew he was blushing red. He was suddenly glad Killian could not see, for if he could, he’d not allow him into his bed.

The washbasin was a large metal pot, and it was sitting on the floor between the bed and the wall. Steam rose from it and a washcloth floated within. Killian laid a towel on the bed and stepped back until near the window.

“Get cleaned up and changed, and we can turn in,” said Killian.

“Okay.”

Ansgar removed his clothes, stripped everything off, sitting the dirty garments in a pile by the door. The cool air and the full exposure made him feel his sex, the masculine nature of his body. There was a temptation to touch himself, to feel his manhood stretch out, knowing Killian would not see him do it. But the eyes were upon him, and he felt in some way, Killian could sense what he was doing.

When Ansgar stooped at the washbasin the necklace dangled out from his chest and he lifted it in the palm of his hand wondering if it were a talisman, something evil that brought the storm, then with a glance up a Killian, dressed in a long night shirt, the lean body beneath concealed from his eyes, he wondered if it were something else.

Once he had bathed, Ansgar slipped on the under garment, then held up the pants and shirt. Looking at the thick blankets on the bed, he laid the garment back on the small table.

“Is it okay if I don’t sleep in the shirt and pants?” Ansgar asked as he watched Killian move to the foot of the bed, then climb on it. The nightshirt hung down, loose and he could see down the large neck opening the lean body within, and he stared until Killian turned and slipped his legs down beneath the blankets.

“I don’t care,” Killian replied.

Candle blown out Ansgar moved down next to Killian. Killian had pushed the pillow over, resting his head on the far end, giving the other to him. He slid under the blankets and rested his head on the pillow looking out into the darkness of the room wondering if he could settle down to sleep, but the fatigue from the last two days overwhelmed him and he soon drifted off to sleep.

Killian lay awake for a long time, listening to the soft breathing of Ansgar. He wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel the person he could not see. He imagined tracing the face to discover its unique features, then feeling the body to see how it compared to his own. But he didn’t dare, instead he lay behind him feeling the radiating heat of his body.

Killian woke with a start, finding himself spooned next to Ansgar. There was the heat of the bare back against his chest and the soft, thick hair against his face. His arm was draped around the chest and he felt something in his hand. He was clutching a pendant from a necklace. It was warm in his hand, and he sensed its shape. A shape he was familiar. He started to pull away, but Ansgar held his arm by the wrist, pulling it tighter to his chest. Ansgar shifted in his sleep, scooting back tighter against him. It was too much, and Killian felt his manhood harden, the loose nightshirt allowing it to easily stretch out. Ansgar pushed back again, squeezing it between their bodies and he felt his arousal increase. It scared him, the way he was reacting to Ansgar, but it also pleased him, made him smile despite his fears, and he settled against Ansgar while thinking once again of the pendant. It felt like it was the same as his own, the one hidden away in the floor. He had not taken it out for a long time, but there was no mistaking the one in his hand was its match. He would ask Ansgar about it when he woke…if he dared admit to having held it.

Oilell was stirring at the fireplace, wondering if she should prepare breakfast or wait until Ansgar and Killian woke. Light shone in through the small windows, and with the fire stroked back up, the room gradually warmed enough that only a shawl was required to stay comfortable. She needed to be at the tavern soon, preparing the noon day meal, but she was still tired from being up most of the night and felt responsible for her guest. Killian could prepare breakfast for them, did for himself all the time, but there was the feeling she should stay, for there was something about Ansgar that made her wary.

“Oilell! You up?” Grania called out. Almost immediately there was the rap of knuckles against the door.

Oilell opened it find Grania looking pale.

“Oilell, one is missing! They can’t find Bedwyr’s son. Did you see a young man, about Killian’s age?”

“Ansgar?”

“Yes, that is the young man’s name. Have you…”

“He’s here. I found him when I was leaving the tavern.”

“Oh, thank the gods. We were worried he had roamed off and…well, never mind. They’ll be glad to hear you took him in.”

“I’m waiting for them to wake up to prepare breakfast, but should I go to the tavern to prepare the meal?”

“No, I’ll get Annwn to help me. You take care of Bedwyr’s son. I think he is an important knight to their king, and it could curry favor for us.”

“When are they setting out?”

“They were going to leave at first light, but not knowing the whereabouts of Ansgar made them delay departure. I must go and let them know he is safe.”

“Tell them I’ll take care of Ansgar until their return.”

“I will; now I must go,” Grania replied, pulling up her hood and heading down the lane.

Door secured, Oilell turned to see Killian standing behind her, nightshirt wrinkled around his lean body.

“Oh, you startled me,” she exclaimed, always surprised at how silently Killian could move through a room.

“Sorry. What is happening?”

“Ansgar’s father was worried, not knowing where he had stayed. Once he hears Ansgar is well, they will head out to go to their king.”

“Ansgar will stay with us while waiting for their return?”

“Yes,” Oilell replied, then she stepped closer to Killian, “can you prepare breakfast for the two of you?”

“Yes, mother, you know I can.”

“Then I should go to the tavern. Grania is going to get Annwn to help with cooking but we both know she is no cook,” said Oilell, and it made the two of them laugh.

“Go on, mother, I can take care of Ansgar.”

Killian watched his mother leave, then eased back into his bed chamber where Ansgar lay still asleep. He knew by the sound of his breathing, and the silence that otherwise filled the room. He pulled out clean clothes, then realized he needed to bathe. Easing back out, he went to heat water for himself.

When he returned, sitting the washbasin on the floor, feeling the steam rise from it, he knew Ansgar still slept. He pulled the nightshirt over his head, then slipped the undergarment down his legs, feeling the cool air hit his bare skin. It was arousing, to be naked, with another so close. The daring for him to wake and look. What would Ansgar see? Would he look normal, other than his blindness? Would there be an attraction by Ansgar toward him, like the one he felt. He remembered how Ansgar held him by the wrist, arm tight to the bare chest.

Down on his knees, he wet the washcloth and ran it over his face, around the neck and down each arm. He rinsed out the cloth frequently, moving from arms to chest, stomach, and each leg. He was rinsing the cloth again, when he heard a change in Ansgar’s breathing and a slight shift on the bed.

“You’re awake,” said Killian.

“Yes,” Ansgar whispered in reply, eyes glued to the naked body in front of him.

“When I finish bathing, I’ll prepare breakfast.”

“Take your time,” Ansgar replied as he watched Killian wipe between his legs, over the cock and around the loose hanging sac. He watched how casually Killian did it, not seeming to care if he was being watched. Even the legs seemed to part a bit more as the cloth was moved over the genitals. He stared as he remembered how it felt to feel that cock against his ass during the night. How it was hard, much larger, and it pressed against his ass in such a provocative way he had grown hard thinking of it.

“Your necklace…” Killian began, then fell silent.

“What about my necklace?”

“It felt familiar, the shape of it. Who gave it to you?”

“No one gave it to me.”

“Oh,” Killian replied, disappointment evident in his tone.

“I found it in a shop in my village. It was in a…”

“Small metal box, with a circular hasp, and a crescent moon stamped in the lid?”

Ansgar sat up, throwing the covers back. The cool air hit his bare upper body, but he didn’t notice as Killian spoke of something, he believed only he knew.

“Yes! How do you know this?”

“I have one, only someone gave it to me, about two years ago.”

“That is about the time I found mine. Who gave it to you?”

“A man I didn’t know and have not seen since.”

“Really? A strange man just approached you, gave you the necklace, and left?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure they are the same?”

Dropping the cloth in the basin, Killian slid closer to the bed, reaching underneath. His hand fell on the correct plank without any searching, and he eased it free. Reaching in with the other hand, he brought out the metal box. The plank back in place, he eased back from the bed and stood, moving close to where Ansgar sat. He didn’t perceive the eyes staring at him, not realizing how his nudity was affecting him.

Ansgar stared at the tall lean body, the white skin that appeared not have one blemish, and the nipples that sat high on each pec and the navel, and downward until he was looking at the cock with its sac hanging loose behind it. He reached out, tempted to touch Killian but took the metal box held out to him.

It was so familiar in size and shape, he spun the little hasp with ease, unlocking it. Lifting the lid, he saw it, the twin to his necklace lying on leather. He took it out, holding it by the fine chain, letting the pendant spin before his eyes. He seemed drawn to it, as if it held some power. The one against his chest felt as if it were vibrating against his skin. It even seemed warmer.

“It’s exactly like mine,” Ansgar whispered, looking from the pendant to Killian, where he let his eyes move up and down, from cock to face, glad Killian could not see how blatantly he stared at him. “Why do you not wear it?”

“I don’t know. It didn’t seem the time was right. I know that seems silly, but…”

“No, I understand. The voyage is the first time I’ve worn mine.”

“Really.”

“You should wear it,” Ansgar replied and without being asked, Killian bent over for him to put it around his neck. He undid the small clasp, reached around Killian’s neck, and secured it. When Killian stood straight, he looked at the pendant and how it rested against the smooth chest in such stark relief, the dark metal in contrast with the white skin. He stood, daringly close to Killian. He felt drawn to him in ways he didn’t understand. There had been other men that attracted his attention, but none to the degree Killian was now doing. He felt warm despite the coolness of the room and wondered if he was being warmed by Killian body, and knew in some odd way, it was true.

“I don’t understand why I feel…this desire to be near you,” Ansgar whispered.

“Nor I you,” Killian replied, reaching out until his fingers grazed Ansgar on the stomach. “Can I touch you?”

Anyone else were to ask such a thing, Ansgar would have refused them immediately, but he watched the fingers graze his stomach, the sensual nature of the touch. At times, the fingers barely touched his skin, yet he felt it even more.

“Yes,” Ansgar uttered and watched the other hand come to his face. It was shaking, the first sign Killian was nervous. The fingers touched his cheek, then the other hand touched the other one. Soon fingers traced his face, every curve and form. They traced his eyebrows, the shape of his nose, and the curvature of his lips. It was so tempting, the feel of them on his lips, he wanted to suck them into his mouth.

“Your handsome,” said Killian matter of fact. Ansgar saw the unseeing eyes look into his own. “Do you think I’m attractive?” There was something naïve about the question, an insecurity about its tone.

“Very much so,” Ansgar replied. “Can I touch you?”

There was no mistaking his intent, and Killian seemed to move closer, his voice going lower, huskier, more masculine, as he replied.

“Yes, you can touch me.”

Ansgar reached out and ran a finger along the growing cock. He felt the spongy head, flaring out wide, then the shaft, as it quickly lost the wrinkles of its skin, stretching out longer and longer. He reached out with his other hand and touched the smooth chin, then along the jaw. He couldn’t stop himself, knowing the forbidden nature of it. It seemed a taboo that didn’t apply to them. He cupped the back of the neck and pulled Killian closer and he leaned forward until their lips meet. He felt relief, a comfort within at the touch of Killian’s lips, and he knew it was right by the way they pushed back, hungrily, without fear. Then he felt hands tug on his under garment, the waist being untied, then the garment falling to his feet, releasing his own growing erection. A hand took him, stroked the hardening shaft and he moaned into the open mouth as he encircled Killian’s cock, feeling it fill his hand.

They didn’t notice their necklaces were vibrating against their skin, and each one began to glow a faint green. When Ansgar leaned forward, pulling Killian toward him for their first kiss, the pendants floated out and came together as they had been first cast. The green glow intensified, and the room became charged with its power.

It was Killian who knew something had irrevocably changed. He sensed it in a way Ansgar did not. He saw it, the green illumination around him, the power of the pendants, once combined, that allowed him to see. It was not as others see, but in a way that revealed fields of power. None more powerful than the electrical charge surrounding them now. He saw how it moved, vibrated in space, and how it radiated out from everything, but none with such power as that radiating from them.

Ansgar pushed his body against Killian, and the pendants vibrated between their chests. It seemed to increase their aroused states. Cocks flexed against the other and the room grew warm.

“Who are you?” asked Ansgar as he pulled Killian back on the bed. He fell back, bringing Killian with him, their pendants still locked together. He spread his legs and clung to the body on top of him. He undulated against it and felt it do the same in return.

“I’m just a fisher’s son,” Killian whispered in Ansgar’s ear. He worked his hips until his cock naturally fell against Ansgar’s opening and it made him cry out with the breach of the tight opening. He pushed, slowly, penetrating him. There was a nip at his shoulder, then the base of his neck, as he pushed the last inch of cock into Ansgar’s depths. Then he began to fuck, to work his hips, tugging his cock outward, then shoving it back in. He felt the tight opening slowly loosen to his ministrations. And through it all, Ansgar begged him to keep going, not to stop. They clung to each other, bodies growing hot, sweating with their exertions.

Ansgar wrapped arms around Killian and rolled them over until he was on top and he worked his ass on the cock still lodged in his hole. He moved with such strong desire he shamelessly begged Killian to not make him stop. Killian’s fingers dug into his ass, urging him on and he felt the kisses, then tongue on his neck, up along his chin, until finally back against his lips. He moaned open mouthed into Killian’s, the pushed his ass down all the way, taking every inch again and again and again. He couldn’t get enough, the feel of Killian within his body, the way it opened him up, touching something within him. He saw stars, stars that glowed green and bright.

Ansgar opened his eyes and saw the room was glowing green, and he felt it was a natural extension of their sex, a physical manifestation of it. He even felt the heat of it against his skin, almost as hot as Killian’s body beneath him. He moved his ass on Killian’s cock, felt the tug at this tight opening and the fullness of every penetration, until he couldn’t take it, not another second, and he came. Shuddering with release, he shot wad after wad until it was smeared between their stomachs and chests. The smell of it filled the room.

For Killian, there was no forethought of what they were doing, no consideration to its meaning. He was acting on impulse, some physical need driven by his aroused state. He had lain underneath Ansgar and relished the sensations on his cock, the way the tight opening moved up and down it. He opened his eyes again looking at the green fields around his room. He saw the shape of things, the energy possessed in each. He saw aspects light alone could never reveal, and he saw Ansgar, the physical, beautiful person, and the power within. He saw him, for the first time, and he wanted him to such a degree it hurt. He felt short of breath, gasping for each one. Then he felt the hot emissions spread between them, a release by Ansgar. He captured its scent, one he would never forget. It increased his arousal until he threw his head back, closed his eyes and came, filling Ansgar with his own.

The Witch

Tossing and turning, Zinerva woke with a start. She was gasping for breath and sweating as if feverish. She climbed from her bed and crossed the room to the table in its center. The orb sat in its center, glowing green. It was brilliant, more luminous than ever before, illuminating the whole room making everything look green, or black, as was the case with Zinerva’s gown and dark hair. She approached the orb cautiously, feeling a fear she had not felt in a very long time.

Close enough to see within it, she saw dark clouds swirling around. Menacing, violent, clouds that would put fear in a sailor or a warrior about to go into battle. Then they parted, moved from view and she saw once again two intertwined bodies. It was as before, both male, and this time she saw the details of their copulation. The kissing, the touching, and caresses, and she knew without having to see, the penetration of one by the other. The one on top looked up, eyes opening for the first time, seeing as no other ever could. It staggered Zinerva to behold the unleashing of such power, one that seemed greater than any before. It made her feel fear, and she hated herself for it. Screaming at the orb, uttering blasphemies, and curses, she grabbed up the orb to throw it across the room. It sent a charge through her, making her hair stand up on end and heart miss a beat. Her knees buckled and she nearly went down with it. A deep inhale and a determination built on revenge and hate, she stood straight, lifting the orb over her head. Then she threw it, watching it sail across the room, and for just a moment, the briefest of time, it stopped in space. It hovered just above the floor. The room became hot, radiating a heat that was stifling and there was no sound, leaving an unearthly silence. She screamed silently, then her scream filled the room as the orb smashed on the floor, fragments scattering out across it.

The room was dark, silent except for the sobbing of Zinerva, who cursed the gods for not giving her the power she had seen. She sat on the floor, tears streaking down her face, until she was calm. Then she began to devise a plan, considering all the ways she could bring down the societies that plagued the world. She wanted mankind back to hunters and gatherers, primitive and non-threatening. She wanted nothing less than the ability to control them, to have them live in fear of her.

She considered some of her adversaries and those she had no quarrel, wondering who would best suit her needs. There was Agrona, the witch who lived in the wetlands, Fuamnach, who’s evilness worried even her to the point she knew not to trust her, and Ceridwen, a woman who did not consider herself a witch, but whose power exceeded most. Zinerva considered each, dismissing them one by one, knowing each would not agree to her plans.

Rising to her feet and moving around the remains of the orb, she went to the window and looked out over the land, the early morning sun gave everything a sense of newness and wonder, and she scoffed at how she had considered such a thing. She returned to her list of names, trying to settle on one suitable to her needs. Considering all she knew of the world of magic or power, or whatever means of reference others utilized to describe it, she dismissed each one until she came to a name not thought about in a very long time. She wondered if the old wizard was still among the living, or if he let the ceasing of life come to him. Morfran had been one to help her during the corruption of kingdom of Babylon, using one of his concoctions to poison the hanging gardens and the land around the king’s palace. It was the first step in destroying the kingdom, allowing another to rise up.

“Morfran,” she uttered aloud, smiling at the possibilities if he were to help her. But first she had to find him if he still lived.

A Bond Not to be Broken

It was late afternoon before Ansgar and Killian left the house, heading to the tavern for something to eat. They were famished after their exertions all morning and into the afternoon. There was something about their sex that exhausted them, even though during it, they felt a stamina that seemed to have no limits. They knew it had to do with the necklaces, and how they joined together each time they had sex. The power they felt was undeniable, and afterward, bodies fatigued to the point they could barely move and so hot they were soaking wet with sweat, they would lay tangled together for the longest time just trying to settle down.

Ansgar wore some of Finian’s old clothes and Killian wore his baggy trousers and a shirt that was open down the front to the point the pendant was barely concealed, the chain visible to within an inch of the pendant. They walked side by side, glancing at each other, smiling, or laughing aloud at their secret. For Killian, the morning was particularly joyful, for he could see. Not in the usual manner, but in one that revealed the fields of power that surrounding them and radiated from every object. He felt how it affected his body, the push and tug of one force or another, and he felt some sense of control over it. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but with Ansgar, it was no time to worry about it.

The tavern was busy, some of Ansgar’s fellow crew at different tables with some of the locals. Going from table to table was Annwn and Oilell, who whispered to Killian for them to sit at the bar where she could wait on them quicker. It was soon after Oilell was placing two bowls in front of them with a large piece of fresh bread, which was still warm.

“Did my father start his journey this morning?” asked Ansgar.

“Yes, and he said to tell you not to

worry, they would be back in ten days or so, depending on the weather,” Oilell replied.

“Will you be working late again tonight, or will you make it home at a decent hour?” asked Killian.

Oilell smiled at Ansgar, not realizing Killian could see her expression. “I should be home sometime after dark. What will you boys do this afternoon?”

“Ansgar is still weary from their voyage, so we’ll just relax at home today. Maybe tomorrow, we’ll go up into the mountains,” said Killian, trying to keep his face relaxed and not give his mother any hint of their real plans for the afternoon. There was still much to explore between the two of them.

On the walk back, Ansgar stepped around in front of Killian, who stopped immediately, looking him in the face.

“You can still see, even though the pendants are separated,” said Ansgar.

Killian smiled, nodding his head. “Yes, but not like you.”

“What do you mean? Is it like you described when we…you know?”

“Yes. I see these radiating fields. I don’t know how to describe it, but I see them everywhere, coming from everything,” said Killian, growing serious. He leaned closer to Ansgar as some rode by on their horses, “is there anything different about you since we did it?”

“Not that I can tell. I mean, I do feel different, like I can feel something in the air.”

Killian walked into his bed chamber to find Ansgar pulling off his clothes. There was no pretense that they were going to do anything else. He pulled his shirt over his head, and as he tossed it on the small table saw Ansgar work each leg free of his pants. Soon, both stood naked staring at the other.

Ansgar made the first move, coming up to Killian and kissing him. Between them, they felt the pendants vibrate, then lock together. They glowed green, growing brighter and brighter until the green light filled the room. Ansgar spun Killian around and pushed him onto the bed, moving over him keeping the pendants together.

“I don’t know why I need you so,” Ansgar uttered as he moved on top of Killian, body undulating provocatively.

Killian wondered if their sex would be different this time. Would he be the one to take Ansgar in his body, or would it be as they had done all morning, Ansgar taking him in every way imaginable. Ansgar sat up, the necklaces stretched out between them until the gap was too wide, and they snapped apart. But they held taunt between the two bodies, hovering in the air, as Ansgar sat up and worked his ass over Killian’s cock. It aroused him to the point of gasping for breath to feel Killian rub along his ass, the hard cock so tantalizingly against him. He shuddered to think of it, what it felt like for Killian to penetrate him. He wanted to feel it again, and again, and again, knowing he would never grow tired of it. He rose and took Killian in hand. He eased down until the flared head pushed at his tightness and saw Killian staring at it.

Relaxing his legs, allowing his body to descend, Ansgar took Killian, every inch, letting the hard cock breach his opening and sink into his body. He ground his ass down on it and moaned at the satisfying feel of it. A fullness within that made his own cock bob up and down between his thighs. Leaning back, resting on hands, Ansgar worked his ass upward until Killian nearly slipped free, then he pushed down, all the way until his ass pressed against Killian’s abdomen. He kept it up, moving in a steady rhythm until his aroused pushed him to move faster. Up and down, he worked his ass, a ferocious pace that made the bed squeak in protest.

Moving upright, Ansgar watched Killian’s expression, the look of lust and desire and need. The eyes were closed, and the head tilted back, mouth open releasing grunts and moans. His own cock smacked down on the flat stomach beneath him until leaving slick smears. It felt good, the physical nature of their fuck. The hard pace of it, and how it made them feel feverish, until skin glistened wetly. He moved up and down until muscles burned with his exertion.

Killian opened his eyes and sat up, wrapping arms around the sweating body. The pendants connected, and Ansgar’s cock rubbed up his stomach and chest leaving a slick trail. His cock ached for release as the tight opening moved up and down its length. He kissed the neck, then nipped at the flesh, feeling the body shiver in his arms. Then cum roped up his chest hitting his chin. He captured the scent, in every way recognizing it as Ansgar, some essence of him. It spoke of their sex, the pleasure derived from each other, and he hugged the sweating body to his chest and came.

Oilell left early the next morning, the tavern agreeing to serving an early morning breakfast while their guests were in the town. It left the small house quiet, only the soft snores of Ansgar breaking the silence. Killian held him, their bodies spooned together, each comforted by the other. Their breathing was in rhythm and they moved as one whenever shifting in their sleep.

Killian woke first, teasing Ansgar awake, raking a finger across eye lashes or following the curvature of an ear. They kissed and moved against each other, tempted to satisfy their carnal lusts. But they wanted to head out early for the mountains and forced each other to climb out of bed and get dressed.

Killian prepared breakfast while Ansgar packed provisions for their outing. As soon as they had breakfast and plates were washed, they headed out, following the road up into the mountains. Halfway up, Killian led Ansgar off the road and to a trail that was narrow and rarely used.

“How did you know where to find the trail?” asked Ansgar.

“I saw the disturbance by others who have use it.”

Killian led them along the narrow trail, ascending the side of the mountain until they finally reached a rock outcropping just below the ridge. The air was cold, crisp, and sharp to their lungs, but their exertions made their bodies warm, not yet feeling the true coldness of it. Out on the rock, they lay back, resting on elbows and looked out over the coastal region. The town was a small place along the vast coastline, and beyond that, the dark blue waters of the north seas.

“It is a sight to see, is it not?” Ansgar whispered.

“Yes,” Killian replied, seeing it in his own way.

An eagle soared by with wings outstretched and they watched it float on the wind until out of sight. Then Killian saw them, three whales below the water’s surface, swimming toward the east. They were rising upward, soon to break the surface for air.

“Look out there, just out from the town and to the east,” said Killian.

“Where? I don’t see anything.”

“Just watch,” Killian replied.

Ansgar stared at the rippling surface of the sea, wondering what he was looking for when three whales surfaced, and with an exhale, a white spray of water blew straight up.

“Oh wow, I see them.”

“Two females, one with a calf,” Killian uttered, his voice so low Ansgar barely heard him.

“How?”

“What?”

“How can you see them before they come up, and from this distance, know their sex?”

“I…just do.”

Ansgar laughed, and it spread outward from the mountain until disappearing in the wind.

Killian listened to the joyous laugh, the carefree nature of it, and he wanted him again. He moved over Ansgar, pushing him flat on the rock and sitting on him.

“Someone could see us,” Ansgar uttered, smiling mischievously.

“Not from this high up,” Killian replied as he leaned down and kissed Ansgar.

Killian sat up and removed his coat, then shirt. He rose to his knees and undid his pants, then worked them down as Ansgar did the same beneath him. Soon they were naked, only the necklaces remaining and when Ansgar sat up they connected and began to glow green.

They gasped when the air around them fell still and warmed until they stopped shivering. The green glow was a sphere, encircling them on the rock. It was comforting, giving them a sense of security. They kissed, ran hands over the other, until stroking cocks to full hardness. Killian rose, his hardness rubbing up Ansgar’s chest.

“Let me,” Killian whispered, and Ansgar knew what he wanted.

Ansgar held his cock up and felt Killian move down to it, ass pressing down on the head. Then he felt the tight squeeze on the head, then down the shaft until he was buried within him.

“Fuck,” Ansgar uttered.

“Yes…fuck,” Killian whispered, smiling at Ansgar as he began to move up, feeling the cock slide through his tightness. He moved upward until it nearly slipped free, then he eased down, all the way, his own cock dragging down Ansgar’s chest. Over and over, he moved up and down, until he had to increase his pace. He needed to feel the penetration as a fuck, the thrust inward and the tug outward to be faster, harder, making him feel the fullness of each penetration. His own cock drooled until a slick trail glistened down Ansgar’s chest and he shuddered when held tight to the sweating body and felt Ansgar pump cock into his depths.

Cum hit Ansgar under the chin, then covered his chest as Killian came first. He held the shuddering body while continuing to pump upward, thrusting cock into Killian’s depths as more and more cum spread out over his chest, then trickled down over his stomach. Killian was gasping for breath and felt hot within his arms. Every sense was overwhelmed by their sex and he threw his head back and cried out as his own cock spurt wad after wad into Killian’s depths.

Lying side by side, still naked, they kissed and caressed the other. The pendants were locked together, and the green orb remained around them. They were warm, content in their exhausted and spent state. The outside sounds were muted, and they did not feel any exposure to the winds that blew over the mountain. They would lay like this for hours, napping at times, and kissing and touching each other when awake. When the sun was halfway down from noon, they reluctantly pulled apart and felt the return of cold winds against their bare skin. They dressed quickly and headed down the mountain, reaching the tavern in time for a warm meal and the conversations of others.

The Witch

She was sick with it, the constant awareness of a power beyond her own. It consumed her, night, and day, for days on end. She wondered when there would be relief from it, or if there ever would be. It was torturous, maddening, they way it came to her. At times subtle, like a memory rising from the deepest recesses of her mind. Then at other times it was a like a nightmare, vivid, the images so powerful they overwhelmed her until she could think of nothing else.

The shattered orb was joined by broken mugs, seer’s glass, and the soiled broken plates of meals refused. Her bed was torn apart, linens literally shredded as if attacked by an animal. The women, her apprentices, avoided her, coming only when called. It had been going on for seven days, a cursed number if there ever was one, and she wondered if she had to endure another seven.

She wondered where Morfran had himself hidden away. Her envoys searching far and wide for him, for he was hidden even from her means of looking. She hated herself for needing him, but her plan required it. If only she didn’t have to suffer so in the meantime.

Despite the sweating, she was chilled, pulling her coat tight around her body as she paced her room. Looking across it, she saw the shallow vessel, the bowl of Netherium with its waters of Mithrill, and she went to it again, as she did several times a day. She sought a different reveal, a change from what she had been seeing for the last seven days. But she knew before coming to the vessel, that things were the same. She felt it, the torturous nature of it. With the rod of Nth metal, she stirred the waters until they swirled around the vessel. Then she saw.

Two bodies intertwined within a green space. A staring, unblinking eye. A cock erupting, cum spraying up the chest of another. A mountain top, a rock outcropping, then a sphere of green with two naked bodies lying together. A serpent, dark, metallic looking, moving over white skin.

“NNOOOOOOOOOOO!” Zinerva screamed, slamming her fist down in the vessel splashing water everywhere. Where it landed outside the vessel it immediately began to sizzle, to steam up until gone. She raised her hands and saw they were red, the skin boiled raw, and suddenly she was screaming in pain.

Sitting at the table, Zinerva looked at her arms and hands, the skin back to white, although there lingered a rosy tint to each. The memory of the pain made her shiver and fueled her anger. She would bring down those two, and all the others, if it were the last thing she ever accomplished.

A commotion in the hall, raised voices, and she knew it to be Moya with news of their search. The door swung open and Moya rushed into the room.

“Zinerva, we found him.”

“Morfran? Where is that fool?”

“Hiding among the Greeks.”

Zinerva laughed, loudly, at the weakness of men, and their need to be with others. It was always their undoing.

“I trust he is on his way.”

“With urgency…and fear, my lady,” Moya replied, smiling as wickedly as Zinerva.

Departure

Bedwyr returned after twelve days, with a train of horses. They came into the town just before dusk, weary with their long ride back. Their crew met them with cheers and declarations of pride, at their leader returning in person to take them home. Bedwyr was humbled by their praise, for it was not the crew he came back for, but his son, Ansgar, who strolled into the tavern with another young man in tow, looking older and more mature than when he had last seen him. In the crossing of the room, he also noticed there was a connection between the boys, some shared secret they revealed in fleeting glances at one another. Ansgar came within a few steps of where he stood, then in a rush, closed the distance and bear hugged him. It swelled his heart and brought tears to his eyes to feel the firm embrace by his son. The other young man stood back, smiling at them.

Bedwyr pushed Ansgar back to get a good look at him.

“You look well, my son.”

“I am. I trust your journey wasn’t too taxing, but I know it was tiring.”

“Yes, indeed it was. The horses were a handful over the mountain trails,” replied Bedwyr, then he nodded toward the young man behind Ansgar. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Killian. He and his mother put me up while you were away. His mother works here…she’s behind the bar,” Ansgar replied, pointing Oilell out from the others at the bar.

“Well, I owe them much for taking care of you.”

“No sir, if was our pleasure,” Killian finally spoke up, moving up closer. His response made Ansgar blush, forcing him to look down at the floor.

“Well, I do appreciate all you have done,” Bedwyr replied, then turning to the room, he raised his voice, “I appreciate everything that has been done for us, as does the king.”

The meal finished and a few drinks later, found the travelers upstairs for much needed rest. Bedwyr to one room, the other two men to the second. Oilell and Grania cleaned up the tavern and blew out most of the lanterns. Grania let Oilell out, then retired to her room upstairs.

Oilell strolled home, wondering about Killian and how he would take Ansgar leaving. She knew they had grown close over the last twelve days, much closer than she thought wise. But for Killian, it had been the first real friendship with someone his own age, and she could not deprive him of it, no matter how short lived it may be.

When she got home, she found the fire stroked up, and on the table, a lone lantern burning so she could see and a pitcher of water to quench her thirst after a long day at the tavern. Killian’s door was closed, and she walked up to it, tempted to knock, and ask if they were asleep already, but instead she just rested her hand on the rough wood for a moment. Then she dressed for bed and blew out the lantern.

In the darkness of Killian’s room, they lay next to each, pendants connected creating a warm glow between them. They listened out for Oilell to get in bed, then they kissed, gently pressing lips together. Hands touched chests, stomachs, and fondled cocks until they were hard.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” said Killian, and Ansgar put a finger to his lips to quieten him.

“Don’t think of it; not tonight.”

Ansgar moved on top, his body undulating and moving around, building up their aroused state. He shifted up and took Killian’s cock in hand and penetrated himself on it. He moved on it, slowly, gently, savoring the feel of the penetration. He hugged Killian and rolled over to his back.

“Fuck me…please…” Ansgar whispered.

Killian moved on Ansgar, pushed into his depths then tugged outward until nearly slipping free. Over and over, he worked his cock into the depths of Ansgar’s hole. He increased his pace until the very beginning of squeaking from the bed, then he slowed to silence it, thrusting into Ansgar as hard as he dared.

It would take a long time for Killian to come, the pace keeping him on edge until his cock ached for release. Then he shuddered with release with jaw clinched to keep from crying out. He shoved inward with each ejaculation until spent, then fell still, enjoying that moment right after when his body felt sensitive to every touch. He kissed Ansgar, on the lips, along the jaw, the neck, downward, across the chest, nipping at a nipple. Ansgar shivered and begged him to stop. He moved further down, dragging his tongue over the navel, across the abdomen just above the pubic hair, then he moved to the cock, where he captured the head and pushed forward, sinking most of its length in his mouth. He moved on Ansgar slowly, feeling every aspect of the cock as it slipped through his lips. The flared head, the shape of the shaft, and the vein snaking down one side in relief. Ansgar was too aroused, and soon, Killian’s mouth filled with cum.

The next day would be their last together, for the return journey would begin early the day after. Bedwyr and his men rested and made preparations for departure with the aid of Grania and Oilell. It gave Killian and Ansgar the opportunity to go up on the mountain one more time.

Despite the warm temperatures at the lower elevations, the air on the mountain was cool. They hiked with determination, a steady pace up the familiar path until they came to their rock outcropping. They called it torus, for its elevated position and its function during their past hikes. There was no foreplay, no teasing of the other, for they simply stripped off their clothes until only the necklaces remained. With their coming together, already getting aroused, the pendants stretched out and locked together as soon as they were close enough. They glowed green, then the sphere of light surrounded them, leaving them in a calm warm space.

There was no holding back as they did the night before. They cared not how loud they cried out. They manipulated the other, made cocks rock hard and leaking. They kissed with a passion of lust, desire, and fear. Ansgar went to his back, pulling Killian down on top. He wrapped his legs around the narrow waist, kissed the long neck, tongued the ear, the grazed it with his lips as he spoke.

“Fuck me, Killian. Put your cock in me.”

Killian penetrated Ansgar’s tightness, easing all of his cock into him, then he began to fuck.

The sphere of space glowed green and within, echoed their cries. Killian grunted with every push and Ansgar moaned, then begged Killian to keep going, to fuck him harder. They rolled over the rock, limbs intertwined, while Killian pumped cock in Ansgar’s depths. There was no holding back, Killian fucking with such an urgency, they sweated and gasped for breath.

Feverish with their lust, their slick bodies moved against each other. Hands raked sweat as they caressed hot skin. Lips kissed bare flesh and tongues captured the salty essence of it. And Ansgar’s cock left slick trails wherever it rubbed against skin.

Killian on his back, Ansgar riding his cock, the pendants stretched out between them trying to connect. They glowed brighter than before and vibrated in the air. Even the air seemed to vibrate as Ansgar moved up and down, feeling the penetration within, how Killian gave him a fullness of body, this connection he didn’t know how he would live without. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he moved faster, rougher, ass bouncing off Killian’s abdomen. Hands moved up each straining thigh, then one moved over his stomach, sliding over the undulations of skin shaped by the muscle beneath. Then it took his cock and stroked it. He shuddered with the ministration, cried out and came, spraying cum over Killian.

Killian felt the cum showering down on him, and he shoved upward and filled Ansgar with his own.

They stayed on the rock for as long as they dared, naked bodies once again intertwined. There were soft whispers, promises neither believed and declarations they could never say among the others. When they pulled apart, the pendants ceased to glow and the sphere dissipated, leaving them chilled in the cool air of the mountain. Once dressed, they silently headed back down the trail.

The next morning, Killian stood to the side of the crowd, watching the men ride out. He slowed his breathing, fighting back the tears, none more so than when Ansgar looked back and waved. Once the group was out of sight and the townspeople dispersing, Killian ran home, choking back the tears. He rushed inside into his room, closed the door, fell on his bed, and cried harder than he had every done in his life.

A Mistake Realized

Tegid Foel moved to the balcony, looking at the commotion in the street below. The ancient city was always so alive, and he loved it. The people and their old culture, and the shear madness of the closeness of everything. He could smell meats cooking, lamb and pork, vegetables being grilled, and bread baking.  And much to his pleasure, the occasional scent of fermenting bread being made into beer. He watched street vendors hawking their wares and when he looked up, out across the great Nile River, he saw the old pyramids.

He stepped back into his room, finding Aneksi lying on the bed still asleep. He looked at her nakedness, the dark skin and black hair, and he felt his old lust rise again. He started for the bed, slipping the shirt from his shoulders when he staggered, nearly tripping. A vision, one too powerful to ignore. He blinked his eyes, but the only thing he saw was the vision of the two young men. He moved to a chair and sat with elbows on each knee, head down, as the vision unfolded before him.

Bodies intertwined, naked, glistening in the green light of the sphere. Tears, tears, and more tears. Ansgar on horseback, riding away. The young men separated, the pendants lying still against chests. 

“They’re vulnerable,” Tegid Foel whispered.

The vision cleared, and he jumped up and began to pack.

The Witch

Morfran stumbles into the room, gasping for breath as if he ran all the way from Greece. He is sweating and eyes look around with fear. He sees Zinerva lying on a chaise, her dress so shear he can see her body beneath. He knows of her teasing ways, the way she lures men to their end, and he trembles at the sight of her.

“Relax Morfran, you’re not here to die. Not yet, anyway,” said Zinerva, laughing in such a manner as it makes Morfran more afraid.

“What is it you wish of me? I can not possibly be of service to someone as great as you.”

“Stop babbling you fool,” exclaimed Zinerva as she sits up, her firm breasts pushing out on the shear fabric and Morfran cannot pull his eyes away. “I want your special talent, the one magical ability I do not possess the full capability that you possess.”

“My ability…to break down magical barriers?”

“You admit to this ability,” said Zinerva and she sees Morfran step back. “I told you to relax. Why must I deal with you fools,” she utters.

“What barrier do you need me to bring down? I thought you were…did you not bring down Agrona’s protective shield when she betrayed you? Was it not one of the most powerful known to us?”

“You know of this past conflict I had with Agrona?”

“I know it cost her dearly.”

“Yes…her life after a long torturous existence in the dungeons of Thun,” Zinerva replied, smiling at the memory of long ago.

“W-w-what barrier do you need me for?”

“One I’ve not seen before. It is ancient, so ancient that I can find nothing about it in the texts.”

“Impossible? You have copies of nearly every writing and there is…” said Morfran, stammering to a stop when he sees the look by Zinerva. He takes a deep breath and moves to the table where Zinerva now stands. Up close, he can see her even better, the feminine shape beneath the shear fabric and he is aroused and terrified in equal measure.

“What is this barrier you ask assistance?”

With the Nth metal rod in hand, Zinerva slowly stirs the vessel with its waters of Mithrill with a counterclockwise motion. Morfran sees it, some scene coming into focus. It glows green, and as the waters calm, he sees the two naked bodies intertwined within a sphere.

“What ancient magic is this?” Morfran exclaims, looking up at Zinerva.

“The one you must help me undo.”

“I…don’t…” Morfran stammers, then he looks at Zinerva, seeing the determination, the fury behind it, and he nods his head. “I’ll do my best.”

Absentmindedly, Zinerva stirs the waters again, while staring at Morfran. Her hand moves clockwise and the waters glow green again. She looks down, realizing another vision is unfolding.

The young men are embraced, then one is on horseback, riding away. The pendants cease to glow green.

Zinerva laughs, and it fills the old palace, echoing off the stone walls and floor. She turns to Morfran, smiling in a way that makes him swallow hard.

“We’ve been giving an opportunity. Be ready to leave at dusk.”

“At dusk? I can’t travel at night; it’s dangerous.”

“Not with me, it’s not.”

Larouco Village at Bregenz Castle

Ansgar avoided everyone, had since getting home. He roamed the village, sat in the tavern sipping beer, and holed himself up in his room. He felt hollow, like a hole existed in the middle of his chest. Every breath was laborious as he stumbled around and wondered how life could be so cruel. Even the pendant felt cold against his chest, as if it lost its power when they parted.

He wandered down the last lane, the one that led to the blacksmith’s shop when he saw a man on horseback coming his way. The horse was regal, more than any of the king’s horses, and when the light reflected from it, it reflected the dark reddish-brown of its coat. The rider rode properly, back straight, moving in the saddle with the horse’s slow gallop along the lane. How he knew was a mystery, but Ansgar knew the man came in search of him. He moved to the side of the lane as the horse came up and stopped in front of him.

“Ansgar, there is no time to explain, but you must come with me.”

“Who are you?”

“Tegid Foel, the man who made sure Killian and you received the pendants. Killian is in danger and we must ride out immediately.”

“Killian?” Ansgar uttered, the name he had repeated so often over the last six days. “He’s in danger?”

“Yes! How soon can you be ready to leave?”

“How quick can this horse get me to my home?”

Tegid Foel reached down and helped Ansgar climb up and behind him. He whispered some phrase, some word Ansgar couldn’t make out and the horse turned around and galloped as fast as it dared along the narrow lanes, forcing villagers to jump to the side.

An Unfulfilled Prophecy

Killian lay in bed, tossing and turning, as he had done for days after Ansgar left. He had no idea a person could hurt in such a manner. The dull ache in his chest, and the fatigued feeling as if sick, feverish with the cough. He threw the covers back and slipped on his clothes and shoes, then eased out of his bed chamber, seeing his mother was sound asleep. He knew she worked tirelessly during the afternoons and night, coming home exhausted, so he did his part, keeping the house clean and cooking for himself.

He moved across the room, eased the latch up and slipped out into the night. Where the moonlight could shine, everything glowed, radiating more power than the areas that were in dark shadow. Strolling down the lane, past lanterns left to burn all night and houses closed against the chill of night, he made his way to the docks, where the dark waters lapped at the piers. He sat against a crate, feeling the rough surface on his back, and stared up into the sky. The moon was phasing away from the full moon, and he thought of the story his mother had told him as a child, of being born on a night the moon had been green. It sounded fanciful, even to his young ears, but after his time with Ansgar, it no longer seemed a tale told by his mother, but the truth.

He tried to imagine scenarios that would bring Ansgar back to him. A message from the king, or a need for fish, or…something, anything, that would have Ansgar ride over the mountain and back into his life. A few clouds floating across the dark sky, outlined by moonlight from above, making them seem unreal.

Then he felt it. Something was wrong. The fields around him began to vibrate, to look agitated, and he sat up, suddenly fearful of what it could mean. Then he saw fire arc through the sky and land somewhere in the town. He thought it was an arrow wrapped in burning cloth, but the explosion that followed spoke of something far different. Something of great power. Something evil.

Another fire arced through the sky, followed by another explosion, one that sounded close to his home. He jumped up and ran.

The lanes became a mass of people running in different directions, no one sure where to go. Another explosion and dirt and debris rained down on Killian as he wove through the people seeking safety. Bells rang out, he knew men of the town were being summoned, and just as quickly, wondered if they were up to the task at hand.

The sky over the town glowed red and yellow, and dark clouds of smoke billowed upward. Rounding the last bend, he saw the front of his home was blown apart, where the door had been now a gaping hole, wood smoldering and burning around its edges. He ran through it into the smoke-filled interior. He could see through the smoke, eyes penetrating it to see his mother on the floor trying to get up. Her leg had a large splinter of wood sticking out of the calf.

“Mother!” Killian cried, as he stooped to her, slipped his arms under her legs and back and lifted her. “We’ve got to get away from the town,” he exclaimed, rushing to the door with a strength he never thought he possessed.

In the lane, he ran toward the west, the side of the town that was closest, and away from the direction he saw the fire come across the sky. It had come from the southeast, where the mountain road came over the ridge line, and he intended to get as far away from it as possible. He came to the edge of the town, his mother clinging to him, and made his way along the docks, using overturned boats and crates for concealment. When he came to the open beach, he hoped the explosive light of fires in the town concealed them, as he raced along it toward a clump of trees.

A Witch Seeks Her Revenge

Zinerva stood on a rock outcropping by the road, watching the town on the coast burn. She laughed, wondering if one of the flares of Ceridwen’s Fire hit its target. She looked over at the trembling wizard, disgusted by his weakness and fear. And satisfied he had not been needed. The blind young man would be dead by morning. She merely needed to find him and extinguish his life if he wasn’t dead already.

“Morfran, do you think we got him?” Zinerva asked, knowing the young man still lived.

“Not yet,” Morfran replied.

“Well, don’t just stand there quivering in fear, enjoy yourself for once and show them what power you possess.”

Morfran raised his hand, holding a red gem in its palm, and he uttered some ancient incantation. Zinerva scoffed at the primitive nature of it but was still impressed to see lighting flash across the sky, then striking the town below.

“Not bad, old man. Now watch this,” said Zinerva, staring at the lighthouse at the edge of town. It shuddered, stone falling loose, then the top broke free and fell into the town below. The light box with its fires still burning, landed on its side and rolled over three structures before coming to rest in the tavern.  

So preoccupied with her revenge, and Morfran fearing for his life, neither heard the horse come up behind them, or how it turned into the woods, concealing its two riders.

Tegid Foel and Ansgar dismounted and moved quickly to a place they could see the town below.

“Killian!” Ansgar exclaimed, causing Tegid Foel to cover his mouth.

“Sshhh, we can’t let Zinerva hear us.”

Ansgar nodded his head, and Tegid Foel removed his hand.

“Where would Killian go when attacked?” asked Tegid Foel as they watched in horror as fires burned in the town.

“I have no idea.”

Tegid Foel turned to Ansgar, pulled on the chain until the pendant came into view, holding it in his face.

“Find him!”

Ansgar knew there was much about the pendants he did not understand, but he was beginning to realize there was much in the world that was far different than his preconceptions. The ride to Ebora had made no sense. They had left Larouco that morning and although the horse moved quickly up the lane, they covered distance in a way he couldn’t comprehend. Some landmarks were passed, others never seen as if they skipped over them in some manner. One stretch of road would lead to one he knew to be much further along. It was as if they only had to travel portions of the road, until they were on the mountain.

Now he was being asked to use the pendant to find Killian, and he wanted to protest, tell Tegid Foel he didn’t know how, but he took the chain from him, holding the pendant before his eyes and pictured Killian. Pictured him the first time he had seen him, then when they first kissed. He pictured him naked, lying with him, sated after their sex. Then he saw Killian with his mother, hiding among trees near the shore. Over their shoulder, he saw the fires of the town and the water’s edge to their left.

“They are somewhere to the west of the town among some trees,” Ansgar exclaimed, looking down below for a place that matched his vision.

“They?”

“Killian and his mother, Oilell,” replied Ansgar, as he scanned the shoreline. “There, that group of trees. They are hiding in there.”

“Good, now go to him. The pendants need to be brought together. I’m afraid it is up to the two of you to defeat Zinerva.”

“Us? How?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve seen it, her defeat, and it is with the power of the pendants.”

“What will you do?”

“Distract the bitch,” Tegid Foel uttered, and Ansgar heard the harshness of tone, and knew this man who seemed so composed was burning with fury on the inside.

Ansgar eased to the road, crossing it, then made his way down the mountain. He moved as fast as he dared, stumbling over rock and root, until he came out on the flat plain that separated the mountain from the sea. Looking up, he saw an arc of flame cross the sky and land in the town, followed by an explosion. Zinerva was continuing her attack, and he knew time was short.

Going from one group of trees to the next, he raced across the plain. At first, he didn’t notice, but when debris was blown into his face, he realized the winds were picking up. They came off the cold waters of the sea, dropping the temperature. As he reached the last group of trees, the winds began to howl in ferocity, blowing so hard limbs fell from the trees. Then the rain started, and Killian saw it was heaviest over the town, quickly drowning the flames and dissipating the smoke.

“Killian? Where are you?” Ansgar called, holding his voice down. He moved through the trees until he could see the shore was nearby. “Killian, please, answer me.”

“Ansgar?” Killian replied, moving around a tree. “What are you doing here?”

“Why do you think? Where’s your mother?”

“She’s here.”

“She’s hurt, right? How bad?”

“How do you know?”

“I’ll explain later, but first, we have to get up on the mountain…just the two of us.”

Killian began to protest, then he saw Ansgar’s expression and knew.

“Mother, you have to stay, but you’ll be safe here, I promise,” said Killian, looking down behind a bush.

“Killian! No!” Oilell’s voice was strained, scared, and Ansgar moved around the bush to where they could see each other.

“We have to go. The witch Zinerva won’t give up until she has killed everyone if she isn’t stopped.”

“But what will you do?”

Killian came up next to Ansgar, holding out the pendant. It drew Ansgar’s, causing it to stretch out, then they began to glow green.

“Mother, we have to go,” said Killian in a calm voice.

Oilell didn’t understand, but she realized something was different about Killian. Then she realized how he led them through the chaos of the town, down the docks and to the trees as if he could see. She saw it in his face, some awakening of power, and despite all her fears and instincts as a mother, she nodded her head.

As Killian led them up the mountain, they felt the winds change, and the storm that came in from the sea was blown back out. The fires in the town rose up again, with smoke covering the sky above. The wind over the mountain was unnatural, hot and dry and it seemed to fuel the fires.

“Zinerva has beaten Tegid Foel,” Ansgar uttered as he helped Killian onto a rock.

“Tegid Foel? He’s here?”

“Yes, and it seems he is in trouble.”

They made their up until at the road, then moved parallel with it, within the cover of the woods until they were behind Zinerva. She was laughing, as another flame came into existence, then sailed outward toward the town.

Killian burned with his anger, fighting the urge to physically attack Zinerva. He knew it would be suicide to attempt such an endeavor. He wondered if any attack would work. He looked at her, the way she seemed to radiate a darker color, almost black. She was so intent of revenge, it changed her, made her different. Every scenario of an attack seemed foolish. Then Killian realized it wasn’t up to them to attack her. They just needed her to come to them, attempt to attack them when they were at their strongest.

Tapping Ansgar on the shoulder, Killian motioned for him to follow.

Killian led Ansgar back up the road, staying in the trees. They crossed over to the other side, finding their old trail. Moving silently, they made their way along the side of the mountain. It was a short distance and they saw someone lying in the trail. As they approached, the person stirred, then sat up, and they realized it was Tegid Foel.

“Are you alright?” Ansgar asked as they came to his side.

“Yes, but Zinerva has overpowered my attempt at stopping her.”

“We’ll handle it from here. You hide and don’t let her see you,” said Killian. He tapped Ansgar on the shoulder as he stood, “let’s go.”

Tegid Foel didn’t ask what they were going to do. He’d seen it, knew they would lure the witch to them and in some manner never revealed to him, end this assault. He watched the two young men, still boys in his eyes, make their way up the trail and disappear around a bend. He eased to his feet, feeling the burn of Zinerva’s attack on his chest, and went up the trial behind them until he came to a place he could hide.

“What can we do?” asked Ansgar when he knew they were far enough away the witch could not hear them.

“We’ll lure her to us.”

“What? She’ll kill us!”

“No, she won’t.”

“But how will we lure her?”

“By being happy.”

“Huh?”

“Trust me.”

It didn’t take long to reach the rock outcropping, the rock in which they had felt the greatest freedom.

“Do you remember what it felt like to be here, just the two of us?” asked Killian.

“Yes.”

“Strip,” said Killian as he pulled his shirt over his head. Ansgar watched the shirt get tossed on the rock, then Killian loosening the tie at his waist and working the pants down each leg.

“Ansgar,” Killian whispered.

Ansgar began to remove his own clothes, tossing them on the rock with the garments Killian had taken off. They were soon naked, only the necklaces around their necks left on. Killian moved onto the rock and held his hand out to Ansgar.

“Come,” Killian whispered, and he helped Ansgar to climb up and stand next to him.

The stood close facing each other, and felt a calming, a sense of contentment they had felt before. The pendants vibrated against their chest, then floated outward coming together. They glowed green, and when Killian moved to Ansgar, kissing him, they glowed brighter. The sphere radiated outward until they were within it once again. The interior was as before. Calm, warm, outside sounds muted. But Killian saw Zinerva, how she became aware something was happening, and turned to her right seeing a green sphere of light rise from a rock outcropping. She screamed, face contorted with anger, then she yelled at the old wizard at her side. It aroused him to see her anger, to feel outwitted, and he pushed Ansgar down on the rock and moved on top of him.

Legs hooked around Killian’s waist and hard cock pressed into his stomach, he moved his hips putting his own at Ansgar’s entrance. He pushed, breaching its tightness, and kept pushing hearing Ansgar cry out, begging him to push it in all the way. In short order, Killian was working his hips, pumping cock within Ansgar, thrusting deeply. Their fuck was slow, a steady rhythm, and they could barely hear Zinerva screaming at the top of her lungs while she watched.

She could not believe her eyes. The audacity of it. The two young men she sought to destroy, and they lay naked before her, fucking without shame. She screamed, yelling at the top of her lungs in a fury that made the winds howl over the mountain. Trees fell over, and rocks came loose, rolling down the mountain side. Only the town was spared her outburst, currently protected by a strong wind from the north, pushing back her tempest, this storm of revenge and anger and madness.

Morfran stepped back, intent on running away, but Zinerva turned to him and he froze in her furious glare.

“What are you waiting for? Break through that or I’ll have your head,” she yelled, pointing at the green sphere.

“I don’t know if I can Zinerva. Look at it! I’ve never seen such magic,” Morfran stammered, fearing what he knew was impossible.

“Do it!” Zinerva yelled.

Morfran moved closer and began his incantation, one learned along ago. He uttered it in the rhythm of ritual, then began again. The stronger the barrier, the more he had to repeat it. Zinerva prepared herself, for she was going to strike as soon as the green sphere dissipated.

Up above them, on the ridge, lay Tegid Foel. He watched Killian fuck Ansgar, moving with desire and lust, as his body flexed with muscle. They seemed oblivious to Zinerva and Morfran and what they were attempting. As Morfran began the incantation once again, the sphere seemed to swell larger and get brighter. Leaves and debris bounced off its surface. Even a boulder the size of a man could do no damage, shattering on impact as if exploding from within.

Zinerva grew impatient, yelling once again at Morfran, demanding he increase the strength of his magic.

“Fools,” Tegid Foel uttered as he watched Zinerva wave her arms, crazed with her desire for vengeance.

Killian pumped his cock in Ansgar’s depths, feeling the tight opening finally loosen around his cock. He moved in a steady rhythm as hands rubbed his back and lips kissed his neck, then grazed his ear.

“Fuck me harder…please,” Ansgar whispered, no longer aware of what was occurring outside the sphere. It was as if the pendants took away his fear, allowing him to feel the pleasure of their sex. Killian was hot against his body, and he pushed upward increasing the sensation.

“I missed you,” Killian uttered and Ansgar clung to him,

“I’m not leaving again,” Ansgar replied, wrapping his arms around Killian, and rolling them over to where he was on top. He opened his eyes and looked through the green wall of the sphere seeing Zinerva staring at him with fury. He leaned back, hard cock sticking straight out and moved up and down on Killian’s cock. He let her watch, not feeling any shame at taking another cock’s. The pendants stretched out between them glowing bright.

Killian ran his hands along each thigh until one encircled Ansgar’s cock and he stroked it until his hand was slick. The pace of their fuck increased, with bodies sweating, feeling feverish with their lust, and the pendants vibrated at a higher frequency.

Ansgar watched the old wizard, how his lips moved faster and faster, uttering some foolish incantation. He smiled at Zinerva then threw his head back while pumping his ass up and down. When he looked up again, he mouthed ‘bitch’ slowly, making sure Zinerva made it out. She screamed, casting some spell, and lightning began to strike the sphere. It glowed brighter.

The pendants grew stronger, the energy vibrating the air and making it hot. A green charge passed between them and it made the sphere swell larger, taking in the whole rock and forcing Zinerva and Morfran to step back.

Zinerva was furious, so angered by what was happening, she stammered and cursed, causing the mountain to be covered in dark clouds. Rains fell heavily, and lighting struck trees, splitting trunks and breaking limbs. The winds increased and trees continued to fall over, and rocks tumbled down the mountain.

Morfran tried to concentrate, to keep his eyes on the sphere without thinking of the power it displayed. He spoke faster, repeating the incantation over and over. He felt the old spells power. An ancient power he had thought was invincible, but he now had doubts, for he had never seen such power as the green sphere. The calm within, despite the fury around it.

Lighting struck the sphere, its discharge detonating over it with every strike. Boulders exploded against it and the winds swirled around it, unable to penetrate in any way. And within, Ansgar rode Killian, moving up and down. It infuriated Zinerva. They were making fun of her, taunting her with their carnal display. She raised her hands and brought to her lips the strongest power she knew. She began to utter the command, feeling the air around her charge with its power.

Tegid Foel clung to the edge of a boulder as he watched, amused by Zinerva’s anger and frustration. But he was shocked by what was occurring within the sphere, the sex between Killian and Ansgar. It was sex that was forbidden by so many cultures, but he had known so many who did it, in secret or openly admitting it when their culture allowed for such a sexual exploration of pleasure. The two bodies shined green within the sphere, with skin wet from their exertions. He wondered how long they could continue. Then he saw Zinerva raise her hands and knew the end was near. He recognized the gesture, how Zinerva began her incantation, and he knew it was powerful, dark magic. Magic that could cause the earth to open to its internal fires or the sky to rain it down upon the land. He tightened his grip on the rock and watched as Zinerva swung her arms forward, throwing a flash of light at the sphere. It encircled the sphere, wrapped it in a yellow fire that sparked and cackled like the charge in lighting. It grew brighter, turning blue, then white hot. Trees nearby burst into flame as did the old wizard, who ran screaming to the edge of a shear drop and threw himself over. The wizard’s scream would soon be overwhelmed by the fury of Zinerva’s spell, and his body would disintegrate to ash before reaching the ground.

Tegid Foel held his head up just high enough to watch. The fire encircling the sphere swelled, grew hotter. There was a cracking sound, and he feared the vision was wrong, that Zinerva would find a way. But it was the fire, not the sphere, that cracked, split apart and spun out from the sphere. It knocked Zinerva off her feet, flinging her over the side of the mountain.

Just as fast as it had started, the tempest of Zinerva’s making died down. The rain stopped, then the winds calmed to a gentle breeze. As the clouds dissipated, the sphere grew brighter and brighter until its green light illuminated the side of the mountain and the plain below. Inside the sphere Ansgar was still on top of Killian and he suddenly shuddered with his release, spraying it over Killian. The cum glowed green over Killian, who had thrown his head back and shuddered with his own release.

Tegid Foel believed it was over, the pendants merely needing to be separated to stop the sphere, but he saw the pendants release a charge, bolts of green lighting striking the inside surface of the sphere. The sphere swelled larger, then it collapsed in on itself.

It was gone.

He rushed down the mountain until standing where the rock outcropping had been, seeing a perfectly curved cut out of the side of the mountain. The sphere had taken everything within it, including Ansgar and Killian.

Stunned, Tegid Foel stood for a long time staring at the depression. He wondered if this had been in the prophecy, but he reconsidered other aspects, knowing there were events that had not unfolded as shown to him. Something was off, or he had misread how events were to unfold. He moved to the edge of the shear drop, looking down into the darkness, wondering about the wizard and Zinerva. He knew the wizard had been burned up, but Zinerva would be different. He would have the town search for her, knowing she would not be found.

Cairo, Egypt

Tegid Foel made his way down the busy street, glad to be back to the busy city. It had been two lunar cycles since he rushed to the north countries, and he was returning for rest and to try to put it all behind him. There had been no sign of Killian or Ansgar, no message relayed or the two of them strolling over the mountain in triumph. They were gone, vanished without a trace.

Stopping at a food vendor, purchasing fresh bread, he tore a chuck from the round loaf, and ate it while resuming his walk down the street. It was crude, almost uncivilized, but after watching Killian and Ansgar in their fuck, tearing at a loaf of bread and eating while walking down the street seem trifling.

He had organized a search for Zinerva, sent out scouts to check her known residences and posted rewards for information about her whereabouts to every government official he knew. She seemed to have vanished the same as the two young men, but he knew it was not the case. She was somewhere in hiding, waiting for the time she could lash out again, no matter how long she had to wait.

He came to the building which housed his residence on its top floor, and he climbed the stair slowly, one step at a time. His was the only residence on the top floor, so only one door faced him on the landing. Door unlocked, he entered this home, one of many, but his favorite. He crossed the room, pulled the heavy curtains back allowing the late afternoon sun to penetrate deeply into the room. He looked across the city and smiled at how it was as he left it, bustling with people. Looking up, he saw the ships being rowed up the Nile and further to the west, the three pyramids. He smiled at the familiar scene, satisfied it would last for thousands of years.

Turning, he froze, gasping for breath. On the dining table sat two small metal boxes, their lids closed. He moved to them, wondering what power brought them to this place. He had seen the pendants in the sphere and knew they disappeared with Killian and Ansgar, or so he thought. He picked up one, spun the small circular hasp, feeling it click open and opened the box. Inside, on the leather cushion lay one of the pendants. He set the box down with trembling hands and picked up the other one. He opened it, finding the other pendant inside.

It didn’t make sense for the pendants to come back to him. He reconsidered the visions, the details of each, then he looked at the pendants. He suddenly realized his mistake, and smiled as he closed the two boxes, securing the hasps on each.

To be continued..