The Old Ways - 1. Story

The snow crunched underneath my boots, causing the chatter of woodland creatures to temporarily cease as the perceived danger walked past them. I was no danger to them on this trip. It wasn’t food I was hunting. A few minutes later, I stopped in a small clearing, making sure to stay on the outer edge to avoid any faery circles that were covered by the snow. I brushed the snow off of a small log and sat. My legs were weary from my long journey, and I still had a ways to go.

I drank a few sips from my pouch of water and opened my provision sack. I ate a small meal of cheese and bread before resuming my quest. It had taken me the better part of a week to reach this point, and it wasn’t much further to my destination. My heart raced in anticipation. It was an honor to be chosen for this quest, and I bore the responsibility with the import it deserved.

Three hours later I stood at the edge of another clearing. My breath hitched and a surge of emotion swelled through my body, causing me to drop to one knee in deference to my location. The Sacred Grove lay before me. It was even more beautiful than I imagined. Tall evergreens stood proudly, covered in a light layer of white, powdery snow. Mistletoe grew in bunches amid the gnarled branches, their lighter green a counterpoint to the depth of color of the sacred pines. In the center of the clearing was a majestic oak; its leafless branches reached up to the winter sky like a sentinel to the heavens. I could almost envision the Oak King himself stepping out from behind it, on his way to do battle with the Holly King.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the bundle of sacred herbs. I sprinkled a mixture of laurel, blessed thistle, and bayberry around the perimeter of the grove, then used my flint to light a bundle of sage. I waved it around, making sure the smoke covered the cardinal directions as I chanted a blessing in Gaelic.

Once my task was completed, I removed a deerskin-covered bundle from my pack and carefully took out an ancient knife with an elaborately carved handle. My task was a simple one: harvest mistletoe for the upcoming Yule celebration. I whispered more words in Gaelic as I removed just enough sprigs for our use, thanking the spirit of the grove for its sacrifice. I hoped my offering of fruit and herbs was satisfactory. As I left the grove, a slight breeze blew through the trees and through my hair, causing me to draw my cloak closer around me. I smiled, content that I had fulfilled my duty to our order.

*****

My two-week journey had left a large backlog at the smithy. Even though my apprentice had performed admirably in my absence, a lot of people waited until my return to bring their work in to us. I had just finished placing an iron rim around a wagon wheel, when I heard a soft voice.

“You were gone a long time. I’m glad to see you’re back. Betsy only likes you to shoe her.”

The corner of my mouth lifted into a smile, and my heart skipped a beat as it usually did when I heard my friend’s soft voice. “Let me cool this, then I’ll be right with you.” I poured water over the wagon wheel, causing a giant cloud of steam to wash over me. I emerged from the steam cloud drenched in sweat; the dirt and ash that had accumulated on my skin throughout the morning ran in rivulets down my bare torso underneath my leather-smith’s apron. Even though it was winter, it was hot enough in the shop to go shirtless.

My friend stood by his horse, patting her neck and talking to her softly. His momentary distraction allowed me to look him over. He wore the brown robes of his order, tied around his waist with a soft rope. He was slight of build with light brown hair and dark brown eyes. His smile was a thing of beauty that made my heart stop every time I saw it. I normally preferred men that were more like me physically. Large and strong, with full beards and a chest full of hair.

That all changed when I met Ailen. I felt an instant attraction to the slight monk, even before getting to know him. Ours was an unlikely friendship, and one that caused much gossip amongst the townsfolk. A Christian monk and the son of the pagan high priest were not supposed to be friends. Even though most of the village embraced Christianity after the missionaries arrived, there was still a small number of us who followed the old ways. I thought it was ironic that Ailen’s name meant “made of oak”, our sacred tree. It suited him, though. For he was as strong as his namesake, even if he didn’t appear to be.

“How is old Betsy? Due for new shoes already?” I ran my hand along the old mare’s face. The monks at the monastery led a very frugal existence, but they did have Betsy to plough their small fields.

“She’s not due for another couple of weeks, but she threw a shoe the other day and it needs to be replaced.”

She was standing slightly unevenly. I ran my hand down her left front leg and she lifted it obediently. The hoof was a bit rough around the edges from the shoe tearing off, and there was minor bruising on the sole. I set her foot down gently and straightened up. “She has slight bruising on that sole but looks ok otherwise. Why don’t you leave her here tonight? I’ll poultice that foot, and put a full set of shoes on her tomorrow. Her feet are long enough to be trimmed again, and it’d save you a trip.” Not that I wanted to see him less, but I tried to be as accommodating as possible to my customers.

Ailen nodded. “Ok.” He shifted his feet and looked at the ground, wringing his hands.

“Is something on your mind?” I asked.

He looked at me with those liquid brown eyes, and I wanted to take him into my arms. “I started translating an old text and was hoping I could get your input. It’s in Gaelic, and there’re some passages I’m having trouble with.”

“Sure, I’d be happy to. I’ll stop by tomorrow after I finish Betsy. That way you don’t have to come into town again.”

“Actually…do you mind if I come here? It’s a text the elders might not…approve of.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Come by my place at six. We can have dinner and discuss your text.”

He sighed, relief evident on his face. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

After giving me a soft smile and little wave, he turned and headed down the road. I watched him walk a short distance before untying Betsy and leading her into the stable. I poulticed her foot before finishing my work for the day.

I stoked the fire in my small cottage and then cut up some potatoes to add to the pot of rabbit meat I had stewing in the fireplace. I threw in some herbs along with the potatoes, and sat in a chair, wrapped in a blanket, watching the flames. It was one of the rare times I felt lonely. I had accepted my sexual preferences very early on, knowing that it meant a life of solitude and secret affairs. Men like me weren’t accepted like we used to be, since the Christians came and pronounced us ‘sinners’. I decided long ago that I wasn’t going to marry a woman and have a family just because I was ‘supposed to’. Living the bachelor’s life was fine with me. I was a passable cook and didn’t have many household chores, since I spent most of my time at the smithy. I made a comfortable enough living that I was able to hire a girl to do the cleaning and laundry once a week.

Meeting Ailen challenged every belief and notion about my life that I had. I had lain with men before and enjoyed it tremendously. Sex was one thing, but wanting a man to share my house and bed with was another entirely. Especially when that man was a Christian monk. I stood and stirred the stew, adding more herbs after tasting it. I imagined Ailen in my place, cooking our dinner; taking him in my arms after I came home from a hard day’s work at the smithy; kissing him and lying with him in our bed.

I frowned and cursed under my breath. I needed to stop these thoughts. We were from two different worlds, and as much as I might have wanted to live with him as a man does a woman, it would never happen. I wonder what he’d think if he knew the thoughts I had about him. It would end our friendship for certain, and that was the last thing I wanted to happen.

I thought about the first time we met. I was standing in the town square, struggling to read a pronouncement that had been nailed to the community board. He read it for me, and with a shy smile, offered to give me reading lessons. He could have offered to lead me to the Christian devil himself and I would have followed. Ailen taught me how to read, and I discovered a love of classic literature. More than once we spent an entire night arguing the finer points of Greek philosophers or discussing the religious tenets of his faith. Even though I hadn’t had much schooling as a child, I loved to learn, and Ailen had found a most willing pupil. I headed to bed after cleaning my dishes, thoughts full of my beautiful friend.

I knelt before the mighty oak in the Sacred Grove, praying in Gaelic as I sprinkled sacred herbs around the base of the tree. I held a Christian bible in my hand, and placed it in a circle of herbs, chanting a request for a blessing from the Oak King. A large figure coalesced next to the oak, dressed in robes of green and wearing a laurel crown. He held a staff made of oak, which was adorned with sprigs of holly and mistletoe. He was the epitome of masculinity. Tall, broad-shouldered, with well-defined muscles and abundant facial hair that was a mixture of auburn, red, and green. He had an aroma about him that reminded me of spices, freshly mown grass, and sex. I bowed my head before my king, honored that he chose to reveal himself to me.

“Arise, my son,” the Oak King said. His voice sounded like the rustling of leaves, and sent a shiver down my spine.

I did as he commanded and stood before my god. I’m a tall man, and my head only came up to his shoulders. The king stepped close to me, glancing down and seeing my arousal at his presence. He placed his hands on either side of my face, then leaned down and kissed me.

I tensed as images flooded through my mind: the circle of standing stones where my order held our seasonal rituals; myself in the Sacred Grove, placing my offering and cutting the sprigs of mistletoe; Ailen’s smiling face as we talked late into the night; Ailen’s face in the throes of ecstasy as I slowly thrust into him, the Oak King watching and nodding in approval.

The images stopped abruptly when the Oak King released my mouth and removed his hands. He smiled and nodded. “You have my blessing, child.”

I awoke drenched in sweat and aroused to the point where it was painful. I immediately gripped my hard cock and brought myself to a quick, but very satisfying release.

After work the next day, I prepared a small lamb roast I had purchased from the local butcher and placed it in the stewpot over the crackling flames. It didn’t take long for the aroma to fill my small cottage. I chopped some vegetables, then set the table after placing them in the pot. I had just finished sweeping the floor when I heard a knock at the door. Ailen smiled and handed me a loaf of crusty bread. “I made it this morning,” he said.

I placed it on the table. “Thank you. It will go perfectly with our meal.”

“It smells wonderful in here. I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble.” His soft English accent sent shivers down my arms.

“Of course not. It’s no trouble,” I said, gesturing to the table. Ailen sat, placing a small package wrapped in deerskin next to him. “Dinner’s almost ready.” I poured him a mug of cider and placed it in front of him.

“Thank you,” he said before taking a sip. “This is lovely.”

I removed the pot from the fire, placing it in the middle of the table. We ate in mostly silence. I stole glances at him as we consumed our meal, remembering my dream from the night before. Having him in my home, enjoying something of my creation, was stirring feelings that I had tried desperately to repress. I never wanted him to leave. Despite my dream of the Oak King’s blessing, I still couldn’t imagine the beautiful man sitting across from me sharing my feelings.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Ailen said softly. “Is everything ok? You seem distracted.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I cleared my throat. “So, what is this text you want me to look at?”

He looked at the bundle next to him and ran his hand over it softly. Goosebumps rose on my arms as I imaged that hand running over my skin. His eyes met mine, and I could see warring emotions play across his features. “We’ve talked a lot about my faith…but not very much about yours.”

I nodded slightly. “I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

He cocked his head slightly, frowning. “Of course I’m interested. It’s a big part of who you are. I---“ He stopped abruptly, then sighed. “Seamus, this text belonged to my mother. She managed to hide it and save it after my grandfather died.” He opened the wrapped package with the same care and diligence I had used when unwrapping the ceremonial knife in the Sacred Grove. When he was finished, a small leather-bound book was revealed. He wordlessly held it out to me. I gasped when I beheld the figure on the front---a man in green robes with a laurel crown, holding an oak staff. No wonder he wanted to meet here. He would likely be shunned from his order for possessing such a text.

My hands trembled as I opened the small book. I leafed through the pages, becoming more and more fascinated the further I got. When I reached the end, I shut the book and held it close to my heart.

“Tell me what it is,” Ailen whispered.

I opened my eyes, brushing away the tear that had fallen down my cheek. “This is incredibly rare. Our traditions are all passed down by word of mouth. I’ve never seen a written text before.”

“I knew it…” He gazed at me with a faraway look. “My mother spoke rarely of her father. I only met him once or twice. I heard rumors, but…” He inhaled and held his breath for a moment before slowly exhaling. “Now I know.”

“How did you get this?”

“My mother told me where it was when she was on her deathbed. She told me to keep it safe and hidden.” I wasn’t surprised. Any Christian family found with such a thing would be immediately shunned.

“I’d like to know what it says.” He looked at me with a serious look on his face. “Please, Seamus. I want…no…I need to know what it says.”

I stood and headed over to the fireplace, setting the book down on a chair before adding wood to the fire. Ailen watched me, unsure of my actions. I gestured for him to join me. He rose and then sat in a chair opposite mine.

“First, tell me why you want to know.”

“I already told you,” he whispered. I raised an eyebrow. He looked me in the eye. “It’s a big part of who you are, Seamus. And a part I know nothing about, aside from rumors.”

“What rumors?” I asked.

“You are the son of the High Priest.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Which means you are next in line.”

“Yes.”

“All I know about the old ways has been taught to me by Christian priests.” He paused. “They say some pretty horrible things.”

“I’ve heard what they say.”

“Is any of it true?”

“That we sacrifice virgins and animals and dance naked in the woods before having orgies?”

He winced at my words. “I’m sorry, Seamus. I should never have assumed you’d take part in such awful things.”

I laughed, then sobered. “There was a time when ritual sacrifices were performed, but believe it or not, we evolve too. When animal sacrifices are held at Samhain, we consume those sacrifices in honor of the harvest. We aren’t squeamish about sex, either. It is part of the cycle of the seasons, and as such may be part of a fertility ritual. We don’t exactly go around having orgies, though.”

He blushed and held his hand out for the book. I gave it to him. He flipped through the book and stopped at a certain page, running his trembling hand over it before looking me in the eye. I couldn’t read the expression on his face, but I felt like my heart stopped beating. My mouth felt dry, and I felt a stirring down below. He held the book out to me and swallowed. “Tell me what this says,” he whispered.

Our hands brushed when I took the book from him, and I shivered from the contact. When I looked at him, his eyes were wide and his cheeks flushed. He’d never looked more beautiful to me. My eyes widened when I saw the page he wanted me to translate. It was illustrated by a drawing of two men embracing; their manhood erect and in direct contact. It was a page celebrating masculinity and the love that could be shared between two men. I closed my eyes, gripping the book tightly.

“The elders say that such feelings are wrong. I want to know if your beliefs are the same.”

My heart was pounding in my chest. I was dangerously close to telling my friend how I felt. I shook my head. “No, we don’t believe as you do.”

“I said the elders…not me.”

I jumped when I felt Ailen take my hands in his own, and I opened my eyes to see my friend kneeling at my side.

“You make me question everything I’ve ever been taught,” he said softly. The glow of the firelight illuminated his features. His eyes danced with a light I had never seen in him before. “Yule is only a couple of days away. I’d like to watch your celebration…if you’ll have me.”

I nodded wordlessly. I didn’t trust myself to speak. Ailen smiled and rose, squeezing my hands before he did so. “I think I’d better go now. Thank you, Seamus. You have no idea how much you’ve helped me.”

“Two days from now at high sun at the standing stones near the old castle,” I managed to say.

He nodded before heading out the door.

*****

The standing stones were decorated with evergreen branches, bayberry, holly, and laurel. Oak leaves were strewn about the base of the stones as a tribute to the Oak King. The mistletoe I had harvested from the Sacred Grove hung on string in between the stones, prompting a kiss between those who passed under it. The women of our order were setting up a feast on a large horizontal stone. A fire blazed in the center of the circle of stones, which is where the majority of people were gathered. Ailen was nowhere to be found.

I tried to hide my disappointment as I conversed with other order members. I was talking with my father when all conversation abruptly ceased, to be replaced by disbelieving whispers. My father frowned, then strode over to Ailen, who stood at the edge of the circle uncertainly, shuffling his feet.

“What are you doing here, monk? This is a private gathering,” my father said brusquely.

“I invited him, Dad,” I said, stepping in front of my father and motioning to Ailen.

“Why on earth would you do such a thing? They want to destroy our ways!”

“Ailen has no such desire. He’s my friend and wants to learn more about the old ways.”

My father looked between us and nodded. “If you vouch for him, then that’s good enough for me.” He gripped my shoulder tightly before walking back to the fire.

“I can leave if I’m going to be a disruption. I don’t want to ruin your celebration,” Ailen said. He looked very uncomfortable. He was dressed plainly, with a white shirt, soft, tan pants, and a cloak.

“Nonsense. All are welcome here,” I stated loudly.

One of the women approached us with a mug of spiced cider. She handed it to Ailen with a smile before returning to the table of food.

Ailen sipped his cider as I gave him a tour of the standing stones, explaining the symbolism and meaning behind the different herbs and plants that decorated the stones. It felt strange for our roles to be reversed. It was usually he who was teaching me. After I finished the tour, it was time for the ceremony of the Yule log. My father allowed me to lead the ritual, and I chanted the prayers in Gaelic with pride, before placing the Yule log that was adorned with sacred herbs on the fire. I swore I saw an image of the Oak King himself smiling at me in approval as the flames rose, consuming the log.

After the ritual, it was time for the feast. Ailen never left my side as we consumed pork pies, a variety of fruits and nuts, spiced cider, and caraway cookies. I was amazed at his quiet acceptance of our celebration, and by the reception of the members of our order. Although initially wary, it didn’t take long for people to warm up to Ailen and welcome him to our feast.

We stayed once the feast was cleaned up, after everyone had left. My father was the last to leave, embracing me tightly. “I’m proud of you, son. You did an admirable job today.” He clapped his hand on my back. “And I approve.” He glanced in Ailen’s direction before winking and striding down the hill.

I sat on the stone table next to the slight monk, watching the sunset in silence. “So what did you think?” I asked after a pause.

“It was nothing like I’d imagined, to be quite honest,” he said. “I thought it was lovely.”

I reached over and took his hand in mine. “I’m glad.” He scooted closer to me, and I put my arm around his shoulders, drawing him into my side.

“I had a dream about this place the other night…” he started, looking at the ground, then directly into my eyes with soft smile. “I think I met your Oak King.”

I gasped, and he laughed, the sound like music to my ears. He reached up and brushed my hair behind my ear. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me any longer.”

I nodded and placed my hands on either side of his face before leaning down and pressing my lips against his. A shock passed through my system at the contact that I’d been denied for so long. From the look in his eyes, he felt the same. Ailen initiated our second kiss, pressing his body close to mine and flicking his tongue against my lips. I gently pressed him backwards, until he was lying on the stone with me on top of him. I could feel our desires pressing together as bent my head down, nuzzling into his neck, kissing from his ear to his shoulder, and inhaling the intoxicating scent of the man I loved.

His hands pressed into my back, feeling for my bare skin as he moaned softly from my ministrations. The sound almost made me lose it, and it was much too early for that. I explored every part of his body as I slowly removed his clothing, and then my own. I reached for a jar of oil, left behind as an offering for the Oak King. I had a feeling he wouldn’t mind if I put it to good use.

Ailen writhed underneath me as I prepared him. Every moan, pant, and gasp he produced only made me love him more. I paused in my preparation to kiss him, burying my face in his neck and holding him close. He winced with the pain of my initial entry, then his features relaxed as he ran his hands along my back, pulling me close.

A tear ran down my cheek as I made love to my beautiful friend. I couldn’t resist kissing his swollen lips and looking into the brown depths of his eyes that mirrored the love and joy that I felt. Neither one of us lasted long. I lay on my back, looking up at the clear night sky, chest heaving from my exertions. Ailen nestled into my side and I absently stroked his hip, then kissed the top of his head. “You’re going to have to leave your order, you know.”

“I know…” he replied with a smile. “I already have.”