Date: Mon, 24 Apr 2017 20:47:20 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: The Heathens 15

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/the-heathens/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between young-adult and adult men. Go away if any of that is against your
local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but
flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty
**TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****

To our left, the husky voices of Pam and Zajak whispered and grunted,
whimpered and groaned. To the right, a higher-pitched keening of delight
and pleasure rang coupled with a low moaning of satisfaction, clearly
communicating the acts they enjoyed. The crescendo leapt first from the low
voices to the left, almost in synch. It seemed to help trigger a quick
completion from the right. The rising squeak that was surely Pyrkagia was
swiftly matched by a series of powerful chuffs of exertion. Harcos called
out, "Good night, my brothers." I had hoped for more than a cuddle, but was
already asleep before Harcos even fell into his own light slumber.

*****

The Heathens 15: Heathen Magic

By Bear Pup

M/T: oral, frottage, violence

I gradually rose to wakefulness, for the first time after Harcos began to
stir. He indulged me, however, and gave me his morning piss and his first
load of cream, then surprised me by pulling me up to his chest and kissing
and cuddling for a minute. I squirmed with pleasure and contentment.
Harcos reached down and found my rampant cock in the rich fur of his
belly. He positioned it the way he wanted, curling me more forward than I'd
been, cock more at his chest, then returned to the kiss.

His hands stroked slowly down my back until they came to my butt. He broke
the kiss briefly to spit into the fingers of each hand. In a moment, he had
my cheeks spread and he swallowed my squeal as I felt his thick middle
fingers alternately poke and tease, plunge and caress my exposed hole. At
the same time, his powerful paws began to hump me into his chest,
controlling every movement as those hands clenched and drove my ass.

I lost all sense at that point, trying desperately to buck harder and
faster to no avail. Harcos brought me close three times, then locked me in
place as I desperately cried for completion. Only when I began to nip and
gnaw at his probing tongue did he relent. I felt more than heard his deep
chuckle as he humped me over and over into that thick nest of sweaty and
now-slimy fur. I screamed like lost soul as I came, and he swallowed the
sound and fed it back to me as a lusty moan. It took perhaps five minutes
to empty myself, an eternity of bliss.

When I finally stopped shuddering and Harcos released my ass, I dove into
his chest like a creature possessed and sucked my cream from his pecs and
abs, taking a long, long time with what little goo there was on his
distended nipples. When he was clean (and utterly aroused), I moved down
and started to take him manhood again into my mouth. He laughed and pulled
me up, tousling my hair, "Enough, my little puppy. We have much to do
today, Kucuk, and it is time to be about it."

He petted my back and stroked me tenderly, then abruptly rolled me across
the tent and laughed again as I popped up with my eyes wide; Agyar, still
strapped to me, had poked me in the ass as I tumbled. "No barking, now,
puppy. Let us start the day."

As it turned out, it would be a very memorable day indeed.

Zajak had started to rekindle the fire and I made busy with the
water. Pyrkagia emerged, naked, perhaps unaware that we could see him come
and go from our crouch. He went behind the tent to relieve himself. Zajak
turned to me and whispered in our local language, "Did you take a good look
at our new young friend, my brother?" I shook my head and frowned. "Do so
when he returns from making mud."

I watched carefully when Pyrkagia rounded the tent and scurried inside to
dress (something Zajak and I had yet to do). My friend turned to me and
cocked an eyebrow at the look of wide-eyed amazement on my face. "Zajak,
he's HUGE!" When we first met the boy, I had thought him 13 and not yet
into his growth. Out of his clothes, it was clear that the child could not
be more than 11 summers. There was no trace of hair below his eyebrows, and
those were faint. He had the slightly-pudgy look of baby fat as well, and
incredibly smooth and supple skin.

Until you looked lower. There was no hair, true, but I'd seen smaller dicks
on ponies! He had large but tight-held balls below, clearly a size any
full-grown man would take pride in. Was he as large as Harcos? Certainly
not, but on his tiny, boyish, hairless frame it looked... unnatural! Zajak
furrowed his brow as we just looked at each other for a long time,
wondering.

Pyrkagia emerged dressed for the road in a beige tunic with rich chasing of
the same colour. He silently made clear he would tend to the breakfast
(fish and rough bread) if we wanted to clean and dress. Zajak and I shared
a glance, then readied ourselves for the day. Harcos was to the point of
sandals and I flew to tie the intricate knots. He ruffled my hair as I got
dressed and we emerged together.

The scent was intoxicating. Pyrkagia had unwrapped, seasoned and rewrapped
the fish in broadleaves and they sputtered just above the embers. A bread
of course meal and rosemary sat cooking on a stone, and the boy was just
finishing a tea which Harcos sniffed dubiously; the strange child-man
smiled. It was a tea of Orient Leaf, not rare but not inexpensive. And
definitely delicious. When I complimented him, his face grew dimples and I
beamed.

The fish had been sprinkled with the same Orient Leaf and the steam of the
broadleaves turned it into a gentle, smoky overlay for the sterlet. All of
us ate our fill; on lowland plains, we should be able to fish and forage
easily.

Pameten pulled Zajak to the snare line and showed him how to carefully
untwine and collect the thread, stakes and bell-cups. The other two
warriors made a quick foray downstream and returned as we readied for
departure. Dawn had just become day as we trooped southwest a few stadia
and forded the now-wide stream and the muddy hell between it and its
neighbour. When we finally clambered up the far bank, it was nearing noon
and there were five mud-caked, sullen, grouchy and irritable men; only the
ineffable Pyrkagia still had a grin through the streaks of reeking, drying
mud.

We moved back upstream and found a place where the water deepened. Without
preliminaries or even real discussion, we trooped in, clothes and all. The
mud slowly relented and we stripped, carefully laying the garments over the
carts before returning to get the rest of the mud off our now-shrivelled
selves. The water was not the brutal ice of the high hills, but it still
had a bite.

As the three warriors finished (more hair meant more mud), we three
servants prepared a quick lunch of jerky and cheese. Oddly, I thought,
Pyrkagia nearly ran to his cart and dressed quickly as soon as he left the
water. When the warriors returned, we each held a portion out to our master
and proceeded to dry the man we served. I finished quickly and began to
reassemble Harcos with dry clothes from the cart, then myself, now
completely air-dried. Stelio and Pameten had such different costumes for
road travel that I marvelled at the as they came together.

Pameten wore a stiff, interleaved kilt that left him free (and I assumed
quite chilly) underneath, but made quick and low movement easy. Above, he
wore a light, short half-tunic underneath a shirt of soft leather, and, as
always, his two adzes across his back.

Stelio, though, was another matter. He wore a long tunic that echoed the
ancient Chiton of the Greeks, but covered both shoulders and his arms and
ended at his knees as a tunica might. It was of a thick cloth, dusky in hue
with wide, dark-green bands at throat and hem, and a belt or zone of the
same hue gathered it at the waist. He had the inevitable pugio strapped to
it but no other obvious weapons. He had complicated, heavy bands or
bracelets from wrist to forearm and wore a type of boot instead of sandals.

We set off shortly, the warriors again wary and Pyrkagia secreted in the
folds of the cart. Zajak and I shared another look as we pulled our carts
just as Stelio did. We crossed another small river, this with a bridge and
moderate-sized town. We paid the one silver per cart to pass as the men
here were not the thieves of Qakh. We were perhaps a mille passus when
Harcos started to whistle softly under his breath.

I looked over and saw him make the hand gestures he's taught me before we
got to Qakh. Alert. Don't look. Behind. Prepare. Silence. He repeated those
signals for a few rounds, never looking toward me at all. I felt Zajak
stiffen as Pameten hummed an atonal rhythm in his deep voice. It was clear
that this was their own private signalling method.

A soft tapping like a loose wheel could just barely be heard from the third
cart and I watched as Stelio shifted from the more-comfortable
crossed-straps to shoulder straps. Slowly, Harcos and Pameten spread wider
and 'told' us to tighten in with the third wagon. We approached a copse of
stunted tree and Harcos signalled me. It Begins. Stay. Defend.

A loud, rough voice erupted from the thicket along with at least five men,
ragged but armed. "HOLD!" The voice came from a huge man, rough and
uncouth. In the local trade language, he said loudly, "Stand quietly and do
not draw weapons, or you will die." When none of the warriors reacted, he
said in broken Latin, "Warriors of Rome?"

Pameten, smiling broadly, replied, "We are! Now please step aside so we can
continue." The brigand laughed and nudged his men who chuckled at the
stupidity of their prey. I took a quick look behind. There were at least
six men there. I began to shake, straps now undone and grasping the long
pole like a lifeline. Zajak was pale with terror. Stelio moved
forward. With Harcos to the left, even with the carts and Pam the same to
our right, they formed a widely-spaced arc between us and the bandit
leader.

"You know you die?" He rasped in terrible Latin.

Pam turned to me, "Brave Kucuk, speak for me in the local tongue." I
translated, using the same calm voice that Harcos had schooled into me at
the causeway.

"These are warriors of Rome. Harcos, Pameten and Stelio. They have no
fear. There is nothing in these wagons for you beside death. And we are
protected by a powerful spell." I shot him a glance. Really? Spell?
Whatever. "Those who approach from our front will die at our hands. Those
that approach from behind will die in fiery torment."

Pam voice overrode my own with a bellow, "MOVE!" The band of thieves
stepped back, clearly afraid, but the brigand laughed.

In our tongue which I translated for the warriors to hear. "We are not
children to run from fairy tales! You and your 'spell' can either die this
day or give up your carts." The men had spread in a wide semicircle and I
could see their muscles tense in readiness. They were armed with spears,
mostly, but I saw several swords and the brigand bore a huge cudgel.

I watched in mounting fear as Stelio, expressionless, unwound his
'bracelets'. They were a pair of long chains with a shiny, sharp-edged disc
at the end of each. He began to twirl them at an angle over his head, a
bullroarer of the ancient plains. Pam had an adze in each hand and a wide,
lustful smile. Harcos looked fearsome, his barbarian face inscrutable, but
his sword held ready. What happened next was... confusing.

At some signal, the brigands rushed. A strange sound from behind the centre
wagon pulled my attention and I saw what seemed a dust devil spinning. The
first bandit to fall was at the hands of Stelio. One chain wrapped around a
charging foe and he yanked, hard, and the gurgling scream as his life ran
from his gouged neck was sickening. Harcos next accounted for two with a
wide, arcing blow that he continued across the chest of one who fell
howling and the knee of another who screamed.

Pam, though, Pameten was a fiend. His smile broadened as his first adze
found the shoulder of an attacker, and he pulled hard and the screaming,
helpless man fell into this partner. The other adze then struck, opening
the belly of the second man as he was toppled by his fellow. The first
adze, now free, staved in the skull of the first victim. A deep and
powerful voice rang out from behind us, "NOW!" and Stelio couched, Harcos
and Pam following suit.

I spun in time to see a wall of brightly-coloured flame erupt in a
semi-circle, engulfing the charging men. The heat, even from that remove,
was intense and shocking.  Something flew forth from the tiny dust devil on
each whirl, replenishing the flames in pulse after deadly pulse. When done,
three men were running, one with hair ablaze. One lay dead or dying and the
two other were screeching as they clutched their burned and blistered
faces.

The brigand, completely unnerved as his band of thieves was destroyed
turned to run, a move brought to a sudden and lethal halt as Harcos' pugio
seem to bloom from the lowest part of his spine. The man's back arched and
he spun, and he impaled himself further as he fell, making a long, keening
whimper and nothing else.

I looked around. In matter of seconds, four lay dead, three had fled and
the remainder were down and likely dying. With the caution and grace of a
great cat, Harcos prowled forward, ready for a renewed attack that did not
come. He looked down into the pain-glazed eyes of the brigand chief and
calmly flashed his blade across the man's throat. Zajak began to vomit next
to me and I shook, fighting back the same response. He flipped the man and
retrieved his dagger, then walked to where the two bandits he'd wounded
lay.

"Kucuk! Speak for me!" I jerked forward at the command. My voice was not
the stoic, brave negotiator but that of a terrified boy years younger than
my actual age. "Silence. Your captain is dead. You will heal. Run
away. Now." The man with the deep and bleeding gash across his chest
screamed in pain when he stood, but he hurried, staggering, away. Harcos
bent to the other. "Your knee will never heal. You may one day walk. Do you
choose a crippled life or a quick death?" The man was weeping, trying to
cradle the mass of bone and sinew that was his devastated knee.

I knew before he did what his response would be. He was a coward, a weak
and useless person. "Let me live, sir." I was sickened, knowing that his
life would be a horror to the end of his days. Cripples were rarely
tolerated; cowardly and useless ones condemned themselves to
torment. Harcos bent again and yanked a stretch of cloth around the thigh
and yanked hard enough that the man screamed and fainted, but the blood
ceased to flow.

Pameten had calmly dispatched the man with entrails hanging from him; there
could have been no hope for him short of the touch of a true saint. He
double-checked the death of the first he felled then moved to comfort the
quaking Zajak, who still sobbed uncontrollably in the aftershock of the
battle.

Stelio slit the throat of the dead or unconscious burned man to end any
suffering there might be. He called me forward to translate, offering the
same choice Harcos had. The lest-burned begged for his life. The other had
taken the full force of the flame in his face and simply tilted back his
head for the dagger of Stelio. As the knife did its work, I heard a
murmured prayer from the tall, thin man, invoking a god that was old before
the Greeks built cities. I could not understand the tongue, but that name
was clear. Ashtart.

"I need you to be creative, young one. Please tell this one that he will
have his life. But he will promise two things. First, he is to tell in the
villages of the sorcery that the Roman warriors now possesses. Second, he
must keep his eyes closed until nightfall or be forever blind." I nodded.

I bent as the injured man watched me in mortal terror, having just seen a
compatriot give himself to the tall man's dagger. I heard a whispered
prayer. He may not wear it proudly, but he was of the One True Faith when
things went bad.  "What do you call yourself my brother?"

"V-V-Vefali." Yes, a hidden Christian. The name meant 'true' or 'faithful'
or 'trustworthy' and was not uncommon, but within the faith it was often
used with deeper meaning.

"I am..." I hesitated, having sworn to never use the filthy name inflicted
upon me by my twisted family, "forget my face-name, brother. I am Tomas
within the brotherhood of Christ." His eyes went wide and he winced and
cried out with the pain. "As you choose to act the Heathen," his eyes
dropped, "I will not ask your true name, not yet. Listen to me, Vefali, and
listen close.

"I saw the signs of our brotherhood," I lied, "and pled your case with the
fearsome and unforgiving warrior of Rome. He will consent to give you your
life with three conditions." Looks of relief, agony and desperation fought
for his face.

"First, Vefali, you will tell all who will listen of the infernal Heathen
magic that some Warriors of Rome now wield. Your scars -- there will be
scars -- will be your testament. Warn them all, but more especially the
faithful, my brother. Tempt not the mighty witchcraft they hold." He nodded
frantically.

"Second, Vefali, you will close your eyes when I tell you, and not reopen
them until the daylight is gone. A single glance, a crack of the eyelids,
will leave you burned and blinded for life. This Heathen curse is vile,
brother, but effective." He nodded again, relief winning through even the
pain.

"Those are for the unwashed warriors of Rome. The last condition buys you,
Vefali, my intercession with the Heathens that I am forced {HA!} to serve:
You will live in the One True Faith the rest of your days. You will find a
group that practices the True Love of Christ and live as pure a life as you
can. Can you agree to this, the greatest and hardest of these conditions?"
He wept openly and nodded. "Then by what name should the magic call you?"

"Grigoris," he croaked.

I turned to Stelio and winked with the eye Grigoris could not see. "He
consents." The tall, dark warrior's slitted eyes pierced mine. He slowly
smiled.

"His eyes must close, and stay closed." I relayed the instruction and the
burned man instantly squeezed shut his eyes in spite of the searing pain
that rocked his body with the action. Stelio stepped to the cart and idly
tapped his fingers upon the wood, as if bored and waiting. In moments, the
form of Pyrkagia emerged, hand cupped and moved to the crouching,
tight-eyed man. He looked to Stelio.

"Tell him to hold out his hands and sit straight. A lifting of the spell
will begin."

"Grigoris, put forth all parts that are burned, hands and face and neck, my
brother. Sit still while the mighty Warrior of Rome calls forth the Heathen
Goddess' wind that begins to remove the powerful curse. Never open your
eyes before darkness, my brother, for blindness and pain not known in the
Holy Word will result."  His trembling hands and face exposed, he sat, very
obviously expect not healing, but a blade.

Pyrkagia bent before him and opened his palm. A fine, bluish powder was in
his palm. He blew softly across it and the mist that resulted coated the
burned areas of the poor man's body and face. The man cried out in relief
as the burning eased and I had to remind him of the dire consequences of
even slitting a single eye.

While that transpired, Harcos and Pam had apparently been retrieving the
loot of this vile band. They distributed several casks and boxes between
the carts, as well as a strongbox that looked strangely heavy. Without a
word, Harcos drew me into the straps of the cart. "Where do we head, my
Al-- Harcos?"

"Far from the stench of death." He was grave and furious, and I threw a
prayer to the One True God that it was not aimed at me. As a shameful
afterthought, I amended the prayer to request assistance of any heathen god
that might be listening as well.

Harcos said nothing more and moved forward. I followed with Zajak and the
mysterious Stelio in the train. The day-long battle had, in fact, taken
less than the better half of a single hour. We walked another two full
hours, the horror and thrill of the battle washing from us in waves of
exhaustion as we walked and walked... and walked. Harcos halted us and
turned to the north as the light faded. Perhaps a stade or two from the
track was a place where two arms of mountain had been carved into a
declivity.

As Zajak and I sank to the ground, Pam and Harcos strung the snares around
the makeshift camp. None too soon since real darkness came quickly.

Pyrkagia had a roaring fire before with Zajak or I could catch our
breath. Pameten came to us with a huge cup, letting Zajak have half and the
rest for me. It was a potent wine of strange flavour and my muscles
unclenched as it pulsed through me. Both Zajak and I sighed. We shuffled to
help the preparation of dinner and Pyrkagia waved us away.

We ate quickly and all retired. Tonight, the sharp-eared Stelio and
inexplicable Pyrkagia would protect our slumber. When we were stripped and
in the bedding, Harcos pulled me to him, spooning me into his massive
frame. "Zajak vomited, expected from a first battle. Why not my Kucuk?"

I thought for a moment, "Because my Al-- my Harcos was not wounded. The
death of those who would have hurt him were nothing, the same as the
dispatch of a wolf amongst the sheep. I cannot feel for their souls, my A--
Harcos. For they did not threaten my... my... my *you*."

He pulled me to him in a brutal hug and whispered, "Today you have more
than earned the right to call me whatever you will, my Dasqas, my jewel."
Then something happened that simply shook my entire world, from foundation
to firmament. Harcos began to cry silently into my hair as he clutched me
to him. I longed to comfort him, my Aldus, my salvation. But there was
nothing I could do. I seized his arms in my small hands and wrenched them
tighter, willing every pore of my skin to exude healing and love. I started
the deepest of my Soothings, and cried as my Aldus, my Harcos, my Master,
my universe slowly drifted into dreamless sleep.

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
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Beaux Thibodaux: 14 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 15 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Off the Magic Carpet: 7 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/
Lake Desolation: 7 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Dear John Letter: 2 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/
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