Brynnan: An Evil in Siginak

A Deeper Mystery

In the night, Brynnan felt it again. A crawling, invasive feeling as a force probed at his . . .mind? No, it was more profound than that. He had told the Warlord that he believed a Mnemotech was responsible, like he had experienced during the Invasion, when a group of telepaths connected to machines attempted to take over peoples’ minds, including his own. Eventually, he had destroyed their operation. There were no longer any Mnemotechs on the planet, except in Narib, where Nijal and his brother Guardian, Dronnadh, trained them in medical explorations. But this probe originated in Siginak.

He lay passive to see what the probe would do. It seemed to burrow deeper, heading for his unconscious mind and then his spirit.

Enough, then! He shielded and stopped it abruptly. When he attempted to trace it to its source, it became lost in a web of personas, one of whom he was on the cusp of recognizing.

“Clever,” Brynnan mused.

He turned to wake Nijal. Placing a hand on the Guardian’s bare shoulder, he shook him.

“No need to attack me,” said Nijal dryly. “I have been awake the last little while, listening to you listening.”

“It’s not a Mnemotech, like the time the Invaders tried. I am unclear as to precisely what it wants.”

“Power, control. . .what else?” Nijal answered. “Is it gone now?”

“Yes. The force withdrew when I shielded. I waited to see if it would return.”

“Oh, my friend,” Nijal sighed, pressing his forehead against Brynnan’s chest. “Obviously, it seeks you for a purpose and the risk to you, and through you, is greater than it ever was. It must not gain control; with your growing powers, it can cause great harm.”

“I must think of a way to safely trace the force,” replied Brynnan. “In the meantime, I need a distraction.”

“No, my friend. You need to focus on something else important.”

“Like you,” Brynnan teased.

“Yes, like me. Think of me as your personal Dance of Cuts.”

“Ouch! Are you that dangerous in bed?”

“Try me and find out!” Nijal gave a low and seductive laugh.

Brynnan rolled on top of the Guardian, holding him tightly and taking his mouth in a deep kiss. His cock, rapidly stiffening, pushed against Nijal’s own. The Guardian returned the kiss and added more. He took Brynnan’s wrists, effortlessly turning him over and pinning him underneath his body.

Brynnan felt the heat and hardness of Nijal as he was held captive under him. He tried to struggle free but could not do it, even though his strength as a gymnast was well-developed. The Guardian was too powerful and skilled. So he happily gave in.

Nijal rubbed his cock back and forth against Brynnan’s, sweat moistening their skin, reducing friction between their bodies. Pre-cum lubricated both their cocks, making it easy to slide one penis over the other, building the erotic experience. Still holding Brynnan’s wrists, Nijal bent his head to suck his nipples.

“Yes . . .like that!” whispered the Bard. He revelled in the sensations that Nijal brought out in him, both from what his skilled mouth was doing and from his physical dominance of the Bard’s body.

Then Nijal straddled Brynnan’s chest, bringing his cock close so Brynnan could suck it. He allowed him to do that for a short time, then suggested, “Let’s jerk each other off. I want to feel your hardness in my hand.”

The Guardian released his partner and let him up. They sat facing each other, genitals almost touching, and stroked each other’s cocks. In such close proximity, it was easy to kiss, and they did so. What had been idle play engaged them as the sensations heightened, and they began to masturbate each other’s pre-cum slicked cocks in all seriousness.

“Let’s cum together, Nijal,” said Brynnan breathlessly as he gripped the Guardian’s stiff, thick shaft.

Nijal obliged, setting the pace with his hand until the Bard started to cum. At the same time, Brynnan could feel the roiling sperm surge along his partner’s cock as he ejaculated. Cum fountained, splashing them both, and he bent down to lick clean the head of Nijal’s penis.

“Feeling better?” asked the Guardian.

“Yes. You always know just what to do.”

*    *    *

As they rode that day with the traders, Nijal, who seemed to have been lost in thought, spoke to Brynnan.

“I think you should seek out your Father for advice. It is one thing for a probe to reach out to a normal person’s mind, but you are not normal. Your heritage from the Lord of Souls, the Huntsman, makes you a target of significance. You can shield now, but what if the force gets stronger?”

Brynnan considered his friend’s words. “I am always reluctant to involve him, but in this case, I think you’re right. Before, when the Mnemotechs on the starship sought me out, I could follow the mind connection directly back to them. This time, when I try, I seem to get a range of identities, all false; a chimaera, if you will. None of them real, but deceptions set to lead my mind astray.”

“You did not tell me this before,” said Nijal, frowning.

“I encountered it previously, but I thought it was just me not being in practice in mind-work. Then last night, I considered the presence and analyzed it as far as I could. There will be a way to get to the source. I just have to find it. You’re right: my Father could help me understand. I will go to him after the day’s ride.”

Rain started from the low, dark grey clouds. Even though the current trail led through a dense pine forest, the precipitation sifted through. Brynnan reached in his saddlebag for his wind-silk cloak when Kuruntu rode up on his bay horse.

“Master Tajinder bids me ask if you would like to ride in the lead wagon with him for a while and avoid this rain. This is a long, level stretch of trail, and he says there is time for conversation.”

Brynnan was about to decline the invitation, but Nijal said, “Give him our thanks and tell him we will join him.”

As Kuruntu departed, the Bard gave a questioning look to his friend.

“Don’t dismiss it; it’s a golden opportunity,” Nijal said. “There should be no others to distract him like at the nightly stop. Let’s see if we can get more information.”

*    *    *

The open front compartment of the wagon was comfortable and dry. Tajinder had been facing the road, but now he turned to his guests while a young lad steered the team of horses. The three men moved back a little, out of earshot.

The Master Trader was a man in his prime, dark-skinned, with a black beard, deep green eyes and hair in multiple long braids decorated with beads. His face featured a proud hawk nose and full, curved lips. Brynnan felt an affinity with him; he was a hard-working man who paid attention to the details of his craft and cared for the well-being of his traders, their beasts, and his assistant. The Bard asked about Kuruntu now.

“Your assistant has shown an interest in us. He makes a point of speaking to us nightly and seems to want our friendship. I’m not sure why. Is his interest interfering with his duties?”

“Not yet. But I am aware of it. If it gets to be troublesome, let me know. Frankly, I’m surprised. Kuruntu does his work as he is supposed to, but so far has not shown much interest in developing friendships—he normally keeps to himself in his spare time,” replied Tajinder.

“He came to us late one night when Brynnan and I were . . .intimately engaged,” Nijal commented. “He showed interest, and I allowed him to join in briefly, but I am not sure about him. That’s why we ask.”

Tajinder looked surprised but not shocked. “That does border on unprofessional behaviour. Although when we were first introduced, I sent out feelers to see if there were any possibility of us getting together sexually. In my business, it doesn’t pay to make assignations or special friendships with people you don’t know and can’t trust, so it’s not unusual for master and assistant to share their bodies. But Kuruntu showed no interest in me or in having sex in general. Some people are like that, so I let it go. Perhaps, Brynnan, he’s attracted to your power and position at Torrent Mountain, and you, Nijal Silver Hand, with both your surgeon’s ability and your facility with negotiation and teaching skills that have brought you renown.”

“Perhaps he has an ailment he wants curing but is too shy to say so,” said the Bard dryly.

Tajinder laughed, a deep and pleasing sound, then said, “The only ailment I can see is this sudden desire to have sex with you both.”

“How did you meet him, and how did he qualify for work as your assistant?” asked Brynnan.

“While I was trading in Siginak, about six moons ago, I was summoned by Soren, their Chief of Personnel, who was a Master Strategist during the Invasion. He is officially is in charge of the placement of the newly arrived settlers. He said he had a young but capable man with experience in logistic planning who needed a role that would suit him. He convinced me I could greatly help their settlement program if I could take him on as a favour to his supervisor. I thought that ‘favour’ comment was odd, but he talked me into it. Besides, I was curious to work with one of these people who had travelled the Long Dark and wanted to know how different they are from us.”

“We are curious, too. We’ll continue to talk with Kuruntu. If there is anything you need to know, as Master Trader, we will inform you,” said Nijal.

“Thank you,” said Tajinder. “In two days, we arrive at Siginak.”

“And hopefully, the inhabitants’ mood will have lightened,” Nijal said.

Tajinder frowned. “You know, that’s the strangest thing; the dark mood that’s come on many of the inhabitants. You would think that they are facing some grave trial or peril—a plague or a coming invasion, but they can tell me nothing that explains it. Some people I have talked to have recently developed premonitions of doom or apprehensions of their own mortality. It is not conducive to successful trading. Perhaps there is some undiagnosed illness taking place. It is something for you to consider, Silver Hand,” he said to Nijal, using the moniker people had given him as a surgeon.

“Be assured: I shall look into it,” responded Nijal. “In the meantime, the rain has stopped. Brynnan and I will take our leave and continue on horseback. But I am looking forward to sheltering at the hostel tonight. I spend enough nights travelling and camping in the wild places.”

They took their leave of the Master Trader and mounted their horses again after removing the lightweight rain-shell blankets that had protected the beasts’ backs.

They encountered Kuruntu on the trail and spoke with him for a little while before the young man was called away.

“Brynnan and I will be unavailable tonight,” the Guardian told him. “I have a procedure to perform that will go far into the early morning. But seeing as tomorrow night is our last, if you wish, you can join us then.”

“I will indeed look forward to that,” said Kuruntu. “There’s a gift I would like to give Brynnan, if you will let me. Something that could bring him the ultimate pleasure.”

Brynnan’s senses immediately went on alert at the young man’s phrasing, but he could detect no underlying malice in his words. Nevertheless, he felt the warning brush of the Guardian’s mind touch his own.

Outwardly, he smiled at Kuruntu. “I am intrigued. Until tomorrow night, then.”

When the young man had left, Brynnan turned to Nijal. “I wasn’t aware of any procedure. Who is injured?”

“No one. But I do not want Kuruntu questioning your absence when you visit your Father tonight. I will look after your harp and keep watch if you need me when you return.”

Brynnan reached across from his horse and took Nijal’s hand. Squeezing it, he said, “You are such a good friend to me, Nijal. How do I deserve all the care you have given me?”

The look in the Guardian’s green and gold eyes, like sunlight on leaves, gave him all the answer he needed.

*    *    *

It was time. Having bathed and prepared himself, the Bard was dressed in a simple, deep amethyst robe, a gift from his father. It was designed to survive his body’s transition to the otherworld intact. He carried no weapons or gear. Nijal embraced Brynnan, stepped back, and Brynnan faded. The Bard felt that strange, cold sensation of travelling body, soul and spirit in the Shadow-ways connecting the underworld realms. He never knew where in his Father’s kingdom of Annwn he would arrive, only that it would be close to the presence of King Arawn, Lord of the Hunt. This time, Brynnan found him in a wild, lonely place where a clear lake under a mountain peak glimmered in the eternal twilight.

“Welcome, my son,” said Arawn, stepping forward and enclosing Brynnan in a fierce embrace. “You have come, I sense, with a question.”

“Yes, Father. I need advice. But why are you in this place? It is indeed beautiful, but I see no hunt nor followers of yours.”

“Do I need a reason?”

“I have never yet known you to meet with me without a purpose.”

“You are right. I intend to show you something. It may shock you. But first, you will need my essence and my strength.”

Brynnan wondered what trial faced him now and felt a flutter of trepidation in his gut but, at the same time, the beginnings of a sexual yearning to share his body with his Father.

“Do we need to do this before I ask my question?”

“Yes. You may find that the answer and the asking are one.”

Arawn took his son’s hand and led him into a copse of trees near the lake shore. To Brynnan’s surprise, he saw they were apple trees; but then Annwn’s apple trees were a signature feature of the land. Beneath one large, gnarled tree, a deep red blanket covered the grass.

“You were expecting me?“

“Where you are concerned, I am not unaware,” Arawn replied.

A lone bird cried, its call haunting, and Brynnan sought for it. When he looked back at his Father, he was caught by the look in the King’s eyes. It drew him in, and it seemed Arawn was gazing directly at his soul. A strange feeling came over Brynnan, but at the same time, he unconsciously slipped the purple robe from his shoulders, letting its silky material pool at his feet.

Arawn’s clothes, too, lay on the grass, although Brynnan was unaware of him removing them. But Annwn was like that: time suspended, distances shrank or expanded, things . . .happened. Therefore, acceptance was key, and Brynnan accepted when his Father reached out and kissed him. As the kiss deepened, Arawn’s tongue marauding his son’s mouth, the Huntsman pulled Brynnan to the cloak on the soft grass, then he kissed his throat and neck above the golden torc collar that enclosed it. Brynnan closed his eyes, leaning back to expose the scars, old wounds from a claw collar and the surgical scar from when Nijal had operated to restore his voice. He shivered as he felt Arawn kissing them.

He lay passive as his Father kissed and licked his way down his body, pausing to suck his nipples and then moving down over his taut abdomen to his groin, past the stiffening cock to his son’s balls where he concentrated on sucking each testicle into his mouth.

“Father . . .” Brynnan groaned, melting into ecstasy.

He opened his thighs wider to give Arawn full access, absorbed in the feelings the lapping tongue and sucking mouth produced. The Huntsman eventually moved even further down, biting and licking his son’s inner thighs and legs all the way down to his feet.

As his Father worked his way back up his body, Brynnan’s cock throbbed in anticipation. He was not disappointed. The Shadow Lord reached his son’s cock and took it into his mouth. His sucking of it nearly made Brynnan cum on the spot. He struggled to control himself, but Arawn urged him on.

“Give me your cum, my son; let me swallow it. Then you will become revitalized as you suck my cock in turn, and after that, I will fuck you so you can receive my seed: my essence and power.”

Arawn’s words aroused Brynnan intensely, and, thinking of his Father fucking his ass, he let his control slip and ejaculated, his cum pumping into his Father’s mouth. Brynnan revelled in the action of Arawn’s throat muscles as the Shadow Lord swallowed.

Brynnan took a brief rest, accepting the cup of the green wine of Annwn, fermented from grapes that grew on the cusp of sunrise. The wine’s potency brought a flood of warmth to his belly and renewal of desire. He stroked his Father’s cock as he drank, then, putting aside the empty cup, he kissed Arawn before moving straight down to his large, hard cock. He surrendered to its enticement and swallowed it, letting it fill his throat.

Rather than moving his head, he let his rippling throat muscles do all the work. Arawn sighed in satisfaction, placing his hands on Brynnan’s long, dark hair, which had become free of the thong that tied it back.

He could have stayed there sucking his Father’s cock for a long time, and perhaps he did in this strange land where time was not consistent, but Arawn’s voice interrupted his ministrations.

“Enough, my son; I want to fuck you in the ass now. Lie back and face me.”

Brynnan positioned himself, raising his hips to give his Father easier access. Arawn knelt between his legs, stroking himself as he looked down on his offspring. Pre-cum leaked from the head of his penis, dripping onto Brynnan’s balls and ass. Then the Shadow Lord leaned forwards, supporting himself with extended arms, as he let his proud cock seek the entrance to the rectal passage.

His cock found its way and plunged inside. Brynnan moaned in desire. Arawn held it still for moments before pushing forward slowly until the cock was sunk inside to its hilt. He kept still again, just to let Brynnan feel the length and thickness of the cock stretching his ass. Only then did he begin to move back and forth.

“Please, fuck me deeply, my Father. It is my sole desire.”

Arawn obliged as his strokes increased rapidly until he was pumping in an aggressive rhythm, fucking his son soundly.

Brynnan could not keep quiet as desire overwhelmed him again. Their minds melded, and Arawn’s inner being was open to him. He sensed vast halls of experience, profound understanding and his Father’s intrepid commitment to his duties and purpose. Brynnan knew then that he was part of Arawn’s purpose, although he could not begin to guess what his ultimate role was. It seemed as though his Father was letting him into the secret rooms of a vast palace, and the Bard did not shy away, not even from the darkest places. Like stars in the night, he saw the beauty in Darkness. But before he could explore further, Arawn brought him back to the moment, and he realized he was about to cum again.

But the Shadow Lord forestalled him, “I am cumming now, and I want you to hold off until I am finished, so I can take your seed once more.”

“Then hurry, my Father,” Brynnan said, clenching his teeth in the effort not to ejaculate then and there.

Arawn was more than ready, Brynnan felt his Father’s cock buck, and spasm as the cum pumped into him, flooding his ass. The Shadow Lord mercifully did not delay but withdrew and at once took his son’s cock into his mouth, prompting Brynnan to give up his cum in an ecstasy of surrender.

Arawn stretched across Brynnan’s body with a deep sigh before lying beside him and pulling his son’s head onto his muscled shoulder. Brynnan responded by wrapping an arm over his Father’s chest.

“You may ask me what you wish, my son, although I won’t guarantee that I can, or will, answer. I know that you are under some sort of duress.”

“Something or someone—perhaps more than one—is attacking my mind; not just my mind but my inner self. It emanates from Siginak, where the Guardian Nijal and I travel. He is tasked with finding the source of a strange, depressive malady that grips the settlers, and I travel to find out who is attacking me and why.”

“I think you will find that the two problems have the same cause. The answer, of course, lies in your past actions.”

“But I am almost certain that it is not the Mnemotechs, those mind-controllers from the mothership that orbits our world in the Material Realm.”

“I am not implying that they are responsible. But come, I think you are ready to face what I would show you.”

Deep inside, Brynnan balked. A sort of dread lurked there that a terror he could not face would manifest itself. But those feelings had never stopped him before and, he decided, would not now. He would embrace the truth wherever it led.

*    *    *

To be continued . . .