Cair Daronwy
In their chambers, Anson took the sword in his hands and drew it out slowly from the sheath, the light of the lamps catching on the blade. Anson could see the sword was made of a material like grey and silver waves breaking over waves, more waves underneath as if he were looking on a silver sea. Etched up and down the blade in a long thin hand, were words he could not say.
“The legend says that the God Wode planted this sword in a tree?”
“Yes,” Anson spoke, paying more attention to the sword than his lover.
“But not that he made it?”
“Eh?”
“But not that he made it?” Ohean was louder.
Anson looked up, still dazed by the blade in his hands.
“Ohean, love,” Anson looked up at him, though his hands still ran along the mottled pattern of the blade, “it is a story, and a story of gods the Sendics stopped worshiping long ago.”
“And yet,” Ohean noted, “there is the sword, and it is very real. So, again, in your story, Wode did not make the sword?”
“I do not know,” Anson said. “According to the saga, he walked in, planted it in a tree and left. The truth is, he did not even say it was destined for his descendents… of which, I imagine, I am one.”
Then Anson said, “Why are you asking me this?”
“Because the sheath is Sendic,” Ohean said, “and that is all I have ever paid attention to. I knew little of swords. But that sword—”
“Is not a Sendic sword,” Anson finished.
Then he said, “I mean it is now. Now Sendics make their swords like this, but by the standards of what we lived like back in Dayne, the Sword of Sevard,” Anson pronounced, “is a Royan blade.”
“It is half Royan and half Sendic,” Ohean said.
“As am I,” Anson finished.
Suddenly, Anson said, “And you took this from Ralph?”
“It was mine to take, yours to take back.”
“And how was it? Seeing him?”
“I needed to see him,” Ohean said, “to know how much I love you. Shall we go to our rooms now?”
Anson nodded, eyes hooded.
“We shall.”
“Come to bed,” Pol called, and Austin could see his lovely body on the other side of the gossamer curtain.
Pol was humming lightly, and by now, Austin knew the song.
Five alive, the Great old Man,
the mighty Oaken Tree
Mighty rash, who bore the Ash,
and Ash and onto Thee
Seven came down
Oh, and seven came down
Austin undressed uncertaintly, a little drunk from the long feasting, and intoxicated by the beauty of the palace. He came toward the bed and Pol, who was like a young god, and now the two of them lay naked together. Pol said a word, and the lights went out. Soon Pol slept, snoring softly, leaving Austin, suddenly stiff, to remember. Zahem and Erik Skabelund, after so long a time, played constantly in his thoughts these days.
The first time Austin came to the Temple he undressed timidly in the anteroom.
Erik Skabelund came into the shower room, toweling his compact body, and Austin could hardly stop himself from looking at the firmness of buttocks, of rounded thighs and biceps, his firm stomach.
Today was the Bestowal, and before the ritual bath, most had the sense to take a real bath. The ritual bath was short and public. Skabelund wore an elaborate tight waisted silk jacket and tie over well fitted trousers, Now Austin wore nothing at all. He was waiting to be totally stripped, taken out of himself and placed into the deep mysteries of Zahem.
There was something private and cave like about the Emersion Room. What levity was in the boys faded when they entered the dim chamber. In the semi darkness of the anteroom, each boy undressed, folding his clothes on a bench, and then went through a small door into an even darker room where hands were placed on their shoulders and on their sides, guiding them to steaming pools. Austin put his hand over his groin, feeling himself unfold in the presence of so much vulnerable beauty. He shook to see all of these boys he’d seen rough with each other, naked and exposed and wondered what could possible happen if they were naked with nothing between them.
“Hot!” he heard Skabelund say. This brought Austin back to reality.
The water Austin stepped into was just right, and he remained only a little while before a man of middle years pulled him out. He stood dripping before the man who held a vial of oil. He touched Austin’s wrists, his feet and then, surprisingly, his penis. He recited:
“This is the name of the Token—‘Health in the navel, marrow in the bones, strength in the loins and in the sinews, power in the Priesthood be upon thee, and upon thy posterity through all generations of time, and throughout all eternity.’”
They dried him thoroughly. He felt warm and holy and good, and now his nakedness was covered only in a white robe. Heading out of another door, a hand surprised him by gripping him and whispering, “Your name is…” But what the name was he understood ought not be spoken until the Bestowal a few minutes off and then, at last, in the moment of his death when he stood before the Gate of God.
This happened every three days, and Austin, bored by his education, looked forward to it with mingled horror and delight. One day, as he was leaving, Skabelund, just redressed, ran to him
“Ey, Austin, wait up!” Skabelund said as Austin was walking away with his bag of clothing.
“Hold on,” Skabelund said.
Austin did.
In that half dark and empty room, Skabelund reached into his shorts, and pulled out his cup. Austin was instantly jarred, and then Erik Skabelund stuck his hands back in and started rubbing himself. Austin wanted to look away. He wanted to be away. He wished he hadn’t come here. But at the same time he knew this was the true mystery, the actual excitement, the thing he wanted to see.. Under his trousers his own penis was going heavy.
“See,” Skabelund said, suddenly pulling out a penis that was large and full headed, stiff and thick in his hands.
“Health in the navel, marrow in the bones, strength in the loins and in the sinews. This is what it is.”
Austin was hard. His mouth was dry, and his body was trembling.
“Yes...” he remembered saying.
Every day they went to the Temple, Skabelund exposing himself before they went to the shower. By the time they got there it was no one but Austin and Skabelund, and in the shower Skabelund would wash himself slowly as possible, touching his nipples and stroking himself into erection then laughing it off. Austin laughed it off too, not understanding what was happening, unable to stay away.
One day, after Temple services, Skabelund just said, “Would you like to please me?”
“I…” Austin began. He could hardly speak because his heart had come up into throat, and his chest was pounding. “How could I?”
Skabelund’s voice was tender, He said, “Please, Austin. You know how. Don’t make me beg.”
Skabelund laughed and pointed to Austin’s groin.
“I know you want to,” he murmured.
“Don’t say that,” Austin said, embarrassed, hard and trembling all at once.
“It’s okay,” Skabeland said, pulling down his trousers. “I’m the same way.”
And then Austin dropped to his knees, but Erik Skabelund said, “No. Not right here. Further back behind the dressing room.”
Austin got up quickly and almost tripped to the gallery behind the dressing room, to a little dark space in the empty wash hall.
And then, suddenly, Erik’s cock was in his mouth, he was taking it deep, and pulling it in and out, licking the head, devouring it, and Erik was muttering, “Oh... ah... oh...”
His voice was high and pleading, and his hands went for Austin’s hair and then fell, lifting up and down, helpless. Austin opened his eyes and looked up to see Erik thrusting, his eyes closed, his lips parted. He looked like he was praying. His hair was shaved low. Austin came up and put his hands around Erik’s face, then kissed his mouth.
“No, Austin. Not... that,” he said.
And then Austin went back to sucking Erik. He was so huge and so tender and so hard and so slick and the more Austin did it, the more he wanted to never stop. And then Skabelund’s body rocked, and before he could push Austin away, he gushed into Austin’s throat As Austin’s cheeks ballooned and then, Erik’s semen dripped out of his mouth, down his chin, onto his shirt. It dripped in a thick rope on the floor.
“I’m sorry, Austin,” Erik said, leaning against the wall. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
Austin wanted to lick Erik clean. He wanted to kiss him again.
Erik said, “Okay, now it’s your turn, Austin.”
Swiftly, Skabelund went to his knees, sucking, and Austin cried out and planted his palms against the wall. He was afraid to touch Erik, to put his hands on Erik’s head the way Erik had done to him, but Erik reached out and pulled Austin’s hands to his scalp, guided them in rubbing his hair and his shoulders until he was confident in doing it himself. It felt so... good.... Austin was surprised when he was coming, but he caught himself and tried to pull out of Erik’s mouth. Instead Austin pulled him in deeper, and he moaned as he emptied his balls in Erik’s mouth, and while his body rocked, shot, Erik held his hips, sucking him even when Austin was heaving, exhausted after his orgasm.
When it was over they sat side by side.
“Now, Aussla, I’m going to kiss you,” Erik said. “I don’t know why I said you couldn’t do it to me. I was scared, I guess.”
Austin only nodded, thinking of touching Erik, then placed his hands at his sides.
Erik kissed Austin. When his hands went to the back of Austin’s head, and to his thigh, Austin’s hands went about Erik. They kissed for a long time before heading to the showers.
