The Swithin Chronicles 3: The Comet Cometh

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  The big man lay down, taking Uly with him, pulling him into his embrace. “You’ve ridden me before, little one,” Ryanac whispered, guiding Uly into the right position. Uly just made an “um” sound while busily sucking on one of the big man’s thumbs. Markis went weak at the knees.

  Markis reached for the oil Ryanac had set close by. He used it to work Uly open, his heart and cock hitching when Uly made small moans in his throat.

  “You want me again?” Ryanac asked him, kissing him, and when the kiss broke, Uly let out a soft sigh.

  Uly didn’t know what was wrong. He couldn’t believe he was behaving like this, and yet he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to. He was so tired of being afraid. He’d died today, and after that, what did he have left to fear? Certainly nothing that Markis or Ryanac would do to him.

  “What’s wrong, Uly?”

  Opening his eyes, Uly became aware of the small sounds he’d been uttering, and that he’d pulled his expression into a frown. He knew what Markis was about to say, and if not Markis, then Ryanac: that he didn’t have to go through with this.

  “Set me free,” he whispered before he even realised he was going to say it.

  “What?” both men asked, and he could hear the puzzlement in their voices.

  Uly shook his head. “I can’t explain it. Open the abyss, take us into it, and you’ll know.” He hadn’t quite shared the abyss the way Markis and Ryanac had, but Markis and he had made love with the comet once, and he knew… He knew it would be all right.

  “Markis,” Uly pleaded. “Trust me.”

  Clearly confused and uncertain, Markis did as he asked. A moment later, Markis gasped, and his shock had nothing to do with the encircling ball of light.

  “It’s clean.” Markis didn’t have any other words to explain how the comet felt. All he could see was Uly turning his head to look back at him. Uly and Ryanac were with him here in the abyss, and they felt the same thing. He looked at Uly, questioning.

  “I told you once that the evil I felt in the abyss wasn’t yours. I realised earlier when you brought me back that it was your brother’s.”

  “I didn’t…” Markis didn’t know how to complete the sentence, but here he couldn’t hide his thoughts.

  “No. You only gave me his life force, not the darkness inside him. Markis, don’t ever think that. You can feel the truth of that here. It’s clean. I’m clean. I’m free.”

  He was. Markis didn’t quite understand how, but all the doubts Uly had carried, all the shame, all of it had died, maybe the same time Uly had died earlier. Uly forgave Markis for Mairtin’s death, and here in the abyss, the hearts of the men he loved told him he needed to do the same. He hadn’t even realised he was hanging on to it, so wrapped up in righteous anger and justification had he been until now. Closing his eyes, Markis focused on the two beings here with him, sharing the abyss, and let go of his guilt and shame on an outward breath. That still didn’t explain…

  “I need you both,” Uly said, and rather than use words, he opened everything he was, everything he had been, everything he hoped to be. Markis shuddered.

  “Damn, Uly, you’re beautiful.”

  He was. Uly was light and optimism, hope and expectation. Ryanac was strength, passion, steadfastness, and wisdom. Markis was… He frowned. No, he couldn’t be, but the two men answered him that yes, he was; he stood for integrity, faith, truth, and love. They were complete in such a way that nothing was or should be anathema between them. They could share anything, for they had just shared their very essence, their spirits.

  The physical union over the spiritual was unnecessary, but Uly craved it in such a way he felt certain he would go out of his mind if they didn’t fulfil his desire. He heard Markis say “Sshh,” and Ryanac whisper, “Hush,” and then he lost his mind in sensation. As well as Ryanac’s cock, he could feel Markis’s fingers easing their way in. Even as the penetration felt as though it might be too much, the abyss shivered over their skin. Markis shielded them, Uly could tell, for he wasn’t feeling what the other two felt; not yet. He feared he might go crazy when Markis finally let the full weight of the abyss descend, and he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  He heard Ryanac’s soft chuckle, all too aware that the big man knew his thoughts. So did Markis. They knew…

  “Uly, of course I want us to wed.”

  Confusion washed in. Then why…?

  Ryanac laughed gently. “Uly, pay attention,” Ryanac said. Uly obeyed and the answer came to him. A union such as the one he wanted usually involved all partners marrying. Markis was already wed to Tressa. For Uly to marry him, Uly would have to wed Tressa, and that wasn’t what Markis wanted. Markis was right, for Uly had no wish to marry the small woman, no matter how much he liked her. Markis wanted to join with Uly and Ryanac. He’d been looking into their laws, trying to find some way that they could take vows independent of Tressa. Of course, Sardian and the council wrote the laws, so in time, anything might be possible.

  Markis’s laugh gently chided him for his doubts. His warmth wrapped Uly in love. Intimate flesh stretched and opened. Their skin stroked him, calming. The abyss shuddered around them, waiting, almost as pensive as the men. An alternating rhythm old as the world kicked in. Uly could have sworn that below the waist, he was on fire, but it was a good heat. He could only guess what it felt like to Markis and Ryanac rubbing, pressed so tightly together, using him to…

  Markis dropped his control in a way that Uly suddenly knew he had never done before. Uly was not only himself, but he was also the two men, all three sensations overlapping, drowning them, flooding in and out of them even as their bodies erupted in the only physical way it could short of splitting. Now they all knew why Markis’s skin sometimes split in a lesson. This passion was too large to contain within a single human frame.

  They flooded him with liquid warmth, and it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. They quivered, spent, still aware of each other, and yet the abyss hadn’t finished with Markis. The man at his back went into spasms, shuddering; only Ryanac’s tight grip held him in place. The abyss spiralled, rolled Markis, dragged the man in its wake, and then waited for him. Ice encased him, and Uly could feel it, knew Ryanac’s teeth ached with the pain, and then it eased, the golden spiral of stars growing tighter, pressing, constricting…finally sinking into Markis’s skin.

  By the time Markis opened his eyes, they were lying in a huddle, aware of each other in reality and in the abyss, but also as separate beings, physically and spiritually. Uly blinked, glancing once more into the abyss. He could see the power, reach out to touch it if he wanted, but it wasn’t his to command, though he could share it if that’s what Markis wanted. He could also see all the knowledge of the book just out of his reach. He drew back. That knowledge was for Markis to use.

  “You never choose the easy route,” Ryanac remarked, clearly trying to lighten the moment.

  “I didn’t do that. Uly did.” Markis sounded as though he needed to think to get the words out.

  “You don’t have to fight it anymore,” Uly said, suddenly sure that he was right. “The comet is one with you now.”

  Markis’s chocolate brown gaze, complete with golden flecks, flicked towards his face. They stared at each other. “You’re right. It’s mine now.” His fingers traced Uly’s face. “Thanks to you.”

  Uly couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “It wouldn’t have happened,” he said, “if I hadn’t realised I was where I belonged, and that where I belong is wherever the two of you are.”

  * * * * *

  Later, Uly moved his head from where it rested on Markis’s chest and looked up to his face. He waited until Markis opened his eyes and looked down at him. “I get it now,” he whispered. “Sereik, sex. How it means harmony as well as conqueror, why it’s so important to the Swithin. The harmonious state of being.”

  “To give pleasure to each other,” Ryanac said, his voice from where he lay reverberating through Uly’s skin. The big man stroked his h
ip.

  “You definitely have been reading,” Markis whispered, a gentle smile on his lips.

  Uly nodded. “It’s entrenched. Most people are born with it, to give pleasure, to receive it. I understand it. I love it. I surrender to it.” He lay his head down on Markis’s chest, and closed his eyes, content.

  Epilogue

  The end…?

  Markis looked up as Ryanac and Uly entered the room. He glanced at the blond man, but right now, his gaze had to be for Ryanac. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

  The big man’s face broke into a broad grin. “Are you kidding? Anything that is yours is mine, and mine is yours. You know that. We share each misery and each joy.” Ryanac looked down at the struggling bundle in Markis’s arms.

  A small hand reached out and tugged on Uly’s hair as it always did. It had been two years since someone had tried to take Uly from Markis. During the kidnapping, they had severed Uly’s braid. Uly’s hair had grown since then and now hung in a soft drape over his shoulders. Uly seldom braided it except at the sides to keep it from falling in his face. It was one of these slender braids that the baby tugged on as Uly leaned over. Much shorter strands that one could hardly call a fringe lay over his brow just above each eye, leaving the centre of his forehead bare. Markis always liked to place kisses there. He liked to place them everywhere else as well, of course.

  There were other changes. Uly had taken to wearing rings on his fingers and toes. He had balked at the idea of having anything pierced, but he liked these adornments, and Markis liked them on him. For some peculiar reason, Samir throughout the city had taken to wearing rings halfway up the fingers in front of the second knuckle. He wasn’t sure if Uly copied the trend or had started it.

  He turned his head and glanced at Tressa. She sat on the couch with a soft, bemused look on her face. There was also something patronising in the look, but there was no malice. She saw him watching and lowered her gaze with a small smile. She knew that he knew her too well by now. She loved them, her “boys” as she had taken to calling them. None of them were boys, but they were hers in a strange way, although they stood separate from her as well. Tressa had a female lover in the form of Meira. What they shared she kept private, and Markis was happy to allow the relationship inasmuch as he allowed her anything. Tressa took what she wanted and it pleased him to see her happy. The three men stood apart from her as Samir. It didn’t seem possible, but Ryanac’s mother had been right. They now had the perfect relationship, and Tressa had found her own happiness.

  “You’ll take her as yours?” Markis turned his attention back to the baby girl in his arms.

  Ryanac gave him a suffering look. He didn’t have to ask why. Ryanac would be as good as a father to this child. Uly just smiled, taking hold of the end of one of his slim braids and stroking the baby’s face with it until she laughed. Uly’s jaw was a little sharper now, older. His eyes were just as cool, but sometimes they held a sharp intelligence that hadn’t existed before. Still, Markis liked Uly’s eyes best when he was in bed, adrift with bliss. He loved every kiss because Uly still craved it like the first kiss.

  Ryanac’s face had softened by comparison. He didn’t look any different, certainly not in size or in age. He just looked content. Markis had named the child Sarad after the official, but little used, name of the Swithin City because he was determined to give her all the training he could to survive anything an enemy threw at her. When Sarad had been born, and she hadn’t looked anything like Uly, the council had surmised she must be Ryanac’s. Even he and Uly had looked at Ryanac and Tressa in question. Even though Tressa had only slept with Markis with the intention of getting pregnant, being a girl meant that surely the child couldn’t be his. That was two months ago. Sarad was Swithin all right, but only Markis went to Tressa’s bed and then only occasionally. That meant…

  “She’s strong,” he said. “Watch.” Holding her in one arm, he brought up his right hand and formed a clawed circle with his fingers. He called the comet, formed in into a tight circle at his fingertips, and then formed the light into a small ball he could hold. Sarad laughed, held her hands out to the glowing light and touched its surface. Her fingers ran over it as though it were solid, which it wasn’t. Uly caught Markis’s gaze with his, and at Markis’s nod, he pressed a finger against the ball. His finger passed into it. He drew his hand back quickly.

  “It kind of tickles and stings at the same time.”

  “Not to me. Certainly not to her. If I let her, she could roll it along the floor and play with it.” Markis let go of the light, dispersing it, and grew serious. “I hate this.” He didn’t have to say any more. The two men standing next to him both nodded. It was safer for her that they let people believe Ryanac was her father for now, probably for many years to come. Tressa moved towards them and took the baby for feeding. Shavar weren’t able to have female children. Their offspring to date had always been males. There had never been a female Shavar in all of their history. Yet again, Markis and Tressa had broken the rules.

  “Trust you to be different,” Ryanac said as though he could read Markis’s mind.

  Markis watched the two most important women in his life move away and didn’t realise his expression was pensive until Ryanac lay a hand on his shoulder, and Uly snuggled into his embrace, worming his way in against him in the way that Markis could never refuse, no matter how stressed or how tired he felt.

  “She’ll be fine,” Uly whispered.

  “She has three fathers, not one,” Ryanac said. “She has us as teachers.”

  “She has us to look after her, and she will live the Swithin way of life.” Uly’s hands moved up Markis’s back, and his head tilted. Cool grey eyes looked into his as Ryanac enclosed both of them in his arms; the guard was the only one of them who could do that with room to spare.

  “Tell me, Ryanac,” Markis said. “Do we belong to each other, or do the two of us belong to you?” Ryanac laughed. Uly searched Markis’s face, stroked his lips, his gaze telling him everything was going to be all right.

  “I love you,” Uly whispered. Ryanac chuckled. Between them, no matter what they might face, somehow these men always managed to make Markis smile and lighten his heart.

  ~ * ~

  Glossary

  Markis ‑‑ pronounced Mar-ques (Marques: Portuguese – nobleman) Shavar (Hebrew – comet)

  Uly ‑‑ pronounced Yuli (Ulysses: Latin – wrathful) Samir (Arabic – entertaining companion)

  Ryanac ‑‑ pronounced Ryan-Knack (Ryan: Irish – little king) Silas (Latin – forest dweller)

  S-names are designations rather than names.

  Swithin ‑‑ strong

  Simeon ‑‑ little hyena (a scavenger)

  Sidon ‑‑ a male nightgown

  Sidony ‑‑ a female nightgown

  Safiyah ‑‑ best friend

  Samir ‑‑ entertaining companion

  Shaylah ‑‑ blind (someone who refuses to see)

  Dai’mean ‑‑ soother

  Ga’lin ‑‑ healer

  La Ruan ‑‑ thief (insult)

  Semari ‑‑ captain (industrious leader)

  Sedryche ‑‑ line shieldsman (battle chieftain)

  Seberto ‑‑ flank shield (glorious)

  Sarris ‑‑ reserve shield and troops (troops of a fort)

  Sarvis ‑‑ spearman (skilled)

  Serrick ‑‑ spearman (mighty)

  Sarrette ‑‑ spearman (brave)

  Serves ‑‑ polearms (army warrior)

  Saldorra ‑‑ archers (winged gift)

  Sedek ‑‑ successful (in training)

  Sonndre ‑‑ personal defender

  Sardian ‑‑ king

  Sardia ‑‑ queen

  Serelia ‑‑ pregnancy

  Sereik ‑‑ conqueror (love and sex)

  Shere ‑‑ beloved; a plea

  Sema ‑‑ tame (acceptance)

  Semaris ‑‑ taming (a sexual practice)

  Saysiah ‑‑ res
urrection

  Sarad ‑‑ survivor; also the official name of the Swithin city and the name of Markis’s daughter

  THE END

  Sharon Maria Bidwell

  Sharon Maria Bidwell was born one New Year’s Eve within the London area. Since having her first short story accepted and the editor announcing her as “a writer who is going places,” her work ‑‑ poems, short stories and articles ‑‑ have appeared steadily in print and online publications. Previously, she kept the erotic side of her writing separate. The genre appealed, though, as it allows her the freedom to create something more expressive, less oppressive. She firmly believes that having a chance at such “free reign” reflects favourably in her work. It has always been a part of her personality in that she likes surprising and delighting people. She links her most favoured and often most successful work closely to fantasy, though her writing crosses genres.

  She loves reading, the movies and going to the theatre and spending time with a few very special people. Her friends are waiting to discover something she isn’t good at. She often thinks about moving but lives primarily in a world of her own. Visit this diverse writer’s site at http://www.sharonbidwell.co.uk, or her MySpace page at http://www.myspace.com/aonia.