Way of the Heron

+* * *

+The Way Of The Heron

+By C. T. Creekmur

+Prequel One

+Ulf's Saga

+* * *

Author's warning: This story depicts men performing sexual acts upon one another that immature people might find shocking. If graphic depictions of sex between men upsets you, or if you are under 21 years of age, then DO NOT READ THIS! - go read something else!

Please understand that this is a work of fantasy and fiction, set in a time when safe sex was unheard of. It is not intended to provoke or promote promiscuity or abandonment of common sense where sex is concerned. Especially in this day and age.

Though historical personages are mentioned, none of the principal characters are based on real individuals and any similarity to such is coincidental. This story is copyrighted (c) by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author.

Historical Note: This story is set somewhere along the central Mississippi River valley in the latter part of the 12th century. It is the first 'prequel' to a series of fantasy/historical fiction stories collectively called 'The Way Of The Heron'. These stories center on the concept of sex magic, the energies raised by mansex in particular, and what those energies can in theory be directed to do.

Regarding the Native Americans in this story, their portrayal is based on scraps of facts and fantasy gleaned from sources both historical and fictional. There is, alas, no evidence that a native tribe like the Elxa ever existed. I have imagined a tribe made up of men from many different tribes, who came to live together because of a common nature they shared, a feeling that a later time would call 'gayness', in a polyamorous bond of love freely shared between the tribesmen.

All civilized comments, suggestions or criticisms are welcome at tcreekmur@hotmail.com

And now, on with the story!

+* * *

+ULF'S SAGA

Come into a world of fey magic, a world quite close to our own, but invisible to all except those unique men whose hearts are different. Those special men whose souls yearn for caresses despised and forbidden by the 'normal' citizens of the 'conventional' societies they are always being born into...

...Ulf the Viking outcast found his way into this world by chance, guided by powerful entities friendly to all men of his nature. They summoned him to defend the Elxa, a tribe of gentle men whose inner, primal urges had led them to join together in a mystical alliance with supernatural forces long ago. The Elxa called this union of humanity and spirits the Way Of The Heron...

...but even such a unique combination could not prevail against an enemy wielding a mystic relic of a lost civilization, a ruthless man who would use its vast power to dominate and rule as an invulnerable tyrant. Ulf found himself called upon to lead the fight against this dark force, armed with an unearthly weapon against ancient sorcery, the tale of which would be forever remembered as...

+ULF'S SAGA

+* * *

"Come on, Little Wolf!" High Water laughed as he ran.

The seventeen year old native was sprinting ahead of his lagging companion towards the river. Clad in just breechclout and moccasins, his lithe, coppery limbs flashed in the summer sunlight. A small stone pendant engraved with a curious, curling glyph, the symbol of the Elxa tribe, bounced upon his smooth, muscular chest as he sped along a path he knew well.

High Water was anxious to get to the secret spot he and Little Wolf had found and used so often. So they could do the things to each other that the teenagers had come to love doing together there. Somewhere behind him, High Water could hear Little Wolf crashing through the underbrush in hot pursuit, as eager as he to reach their goal.

Coming to a bend in the path, High Water slowed, then stopped upon a whim. He pushed aside the leafy branch of an immature oak to get a better view of the river that flowed nearby. The Great River, as the Elxa called it, or 'the father of waters' as some of the other tribes who lived along its lengthy course named it, stretched a mile or more across at that point.

The young brave's eyes took in a serene vista as he gazed eastward. The river's sluggishly moving surface was dark and broad. The farther shore was thickly wooded and a few scattered birds, the only wildlife to be seen just then, flitted among the trees.

High Water knew that such peaceful looks were deceptive. His own name was proof of that. The year he was born, or so he had been told many times by his parents, the Great River had swollen and risen beyond anything the oldest of the elders could remember.

The river had become a vast sea of thundering, muddy waters, sweeping everything before it, eroding and reshaping the land. The peninsula High Water stood upon had not existed before that remarkable event. The hardwood trees that covered the spit of land were no older than the young brave, only now beginning to overtop the scrubby bushes and tall grass that had established themselves there first.

Thinking of that long ago event caused him to recall that just the day before there had been a storm, remarkable as much for its violence as its fleeting nature. So unusual had the brief tempest been that the elders of the Elxa tribe had called a council and talked for most of that day about the incident. High Water was not sure, but he thought the elders' concerns were somehow connected to rumors he had heard about an evil shaman, Black Cloud, whose sorceries were becoming a threat to all the tribes living along the Great River.

But those were matters for older heads to worry about. Now that High Water's daily chores were done, all he wanted was Little Wolf. He sighed with the desire welling within him, the primal need to feel his friend's warm body moving against his own familiarly as they lay in the tall, fragrant grass of the small clearing the young pair had staked out as theirs alone...

"Got you!" Little Wolf giggled as he grabbed High Water from behind. "Why did you stop?" he asked as he nuzzled one of High Water's ears. "Our secret place is further on."

"Perhaps I wanted you to catch me," High Water smiled, turning within the circle of Little Wolf's warm embrace to kiss his friend.

Both youths relaxed into the intimate touch, lips and tongues busy. As their hands stroked each other's backs, slipped around to caress their smooth chests and tantalize their erect nipples, they felt their young manhoods plumping up and beginning to push uncomfortably against the restraints of their deerskin breechclouts, demanding to be set free. And each lad also felt a great gratitude for having been taken in by the Elxa tribe.

Both of them had been driven away from the tribes of their births because of their desire for mansex. Each had heard of the Elxa, a tribe who welcomed all men who possessed, in their words, man-loving male hearts, and gone in search of them. In sacred dreams they had been guided by the totems that favored and protected the Elxa, until they reached the haven that unique tribe maintained for men like them. And there the two youths had met and fallen in love.

"I love you, High Water," Little Wolf murmured after the kiss, hugging his friend to him fiercely, "I love... "

"What is it?" asked High Water, feeling Little Wolf's body stiffen suddenly in his embrace.

"Look," he cautiously hissed in a low tone, urging his friend around and pointing towards the river.

High Water looked where Little Wolf indicated, but did not see anything unusual at first. Then he perceived a coppery glint where the sunlight was falling through the trees at the water's edge. In a sudden rush of recognition, High Water saw the body of a man lying on the muddy shore, draped over a log. And not an ordinary man.

"It... it is a Dawn Man!" High Water breathed.

The braves began to move slowly and silently towards the unmoving figure. They recognized him as one of a race some of their people called Dawn Men, because it was said they came from a land far to the east, though it was known that the strangers called themselves 'Norse' in their own language. The youngsters had seen those men before, of course. The seafaring foreigners had been trading all up and down the Great River since before the births of the native lads' grandfathers.

The Norse bartered trinkets of metal, whalebone and narwhal ivory. They also had finely made leather goods and bolts of stout cloth woven from substances unknown to the natives, which they called 'wool' and 'flax'. For these items they took copper and animal pelts. In particular, the fine furs of otter, mink, fox and ermine that went to adorn the far off chieftains of the Norse who dwelt, or so it was said, in great longhouses of stone.

Thus the Norse traded with many tribes, sailing wherever they could find profit in their great longships, crafts far larger than anything the natives used. The alien vessels with their billowing sails and lengthy oars looked to the natives like huge water skimming insects with wings. On their strange crafts the Norse seemed to glide effortlessly across the surface of the Great River, as if by magic. But neither youth had ever seen one of those men up close.

Now they saw that the stories they had heard from others about the strangers were true. The man who lay so still and silent had hair growing where their people did not, hair of a brilliant red color that covered his lower face and fleeced his thick arms. The sunlight coaxed glints of new copper where it touched individual hairs. Little Wolf was reaching out to touch the long, ginger colored beard when the man stirred and gave a soft moan.

The pair both jumped away in alarm. Then they promptly raced back the way they had come, to the Elxa village. The others had to be told.

+* * *

After an eternity of dark and turbulent dreams, Ulf opened his eyes. Slowly, the indistinct blur that surrounded him coalesced and came into focus, revealing an unfamiliar view. For a few moments, the Norseman stared upwards in incomprehension at the dark, curiously rounded sky.

But after a short time the man realized he was in a shelter of some kind. He was lying on a sort of blanket made from soft animal skins skillfully sewn together, covering a thick pad of river rushes. The woven pad of dry plants beneath the plush fur rustled noisily at his slightest movement.

The Viking could see several slender boughs planted in the earth, bent and lashed together to form a series of high arches, each a little taller than a man's height. Stretched over and attached to the semicircular supports was an irregular patchwork of deerskins stitched together with animal sinew and sealed with pine tar, forming a longhouse. Ulf had seen many of those types of buildings, both inside and outside, in the course of his past dealings with the Skraelings of Vinland.

In the semidarkness, Ulf could just perceive the outlines of a great many paintings that decorated the curved interior of the structure. A dense throng of men and animals frolicked across the length of the concave surface, along with other, odder figures that Ulf could not identify. Spirits perhaps, or strange gods...

The pattering sounds of rain filled the longhouse. It drummed softly and monotonously against the taut hides overhead, causing the paintings to vibrate and tremble, as if they were preparing to leap off the walls. Ulf listened to the faintly hissing noise, and tried to figure out how he had gotten there, remembering the recent past.

Ulf had attached himself to a band of Norse traders out of necessity. As a man who preferred the love of other men, and a follower of the old Norse religion, he was doubly damned by the Christian zealots who had recently gained ascendancy over his homeland. Because of those 'sins' Ulf found himself exiled, like so many others who refused to kneel to the new order of things in Scandinavia. To escape oppression, many practitioners of the old religion had crossed the Atlantic to the new lands where the intolerant church's authority was nominal at best, and Ulf decided to go that way as well.

Iceland and Greenland already supported as many people as those harsh and glaciated lands could bear. But beyond them lay the vast continent of Vinland, beckoning to the land hungry settlers. A folk the Norsemen called Skraelings already occupied it however, and that race had so far prevented the Norse from building no more than a handful of tenuous settlements along the very fringes of the new world, wherever an easily defensible spot could be found. In the past century and a half, since Eric the Red had led the first colonists to Vinland's shores, many such had been established. And from them explorers and traders aplenty set forth.

The Skraelings' warlike ways did nothing to deter the equally bellicose Norse from voyaging to Vinland. Wherever a navigable river could be found, the men of Scandinavia went to explore and seek their fortunes through trade. Just as their forebears had throughout Russia, Europe and the Mediterranean, in the many centuries before Ulf's lifetime.

The longship Ulf sailed on, the Raven, had journeyed far, following a route that by the late 12th century was well known to the Vikings, who were the unrivaled masters of sea and river navigation, far ahead of any other civilization of the time in that respect. Their course led them along the lengthy eastern coast of Vinland, south to the end of a long peninsula, around it to the north and then west to the mouth of the Great River. Then the crew of the Raven sailed their ship confidently up that wide waterway, penetrating far into the interior of Vinland without incident just as many of their sister ships had before them. They sought the moundbuilding tribes who lived along the river; those peoples had copper and fine furs to trade. The voyage of the Raven had been an uneventful one until the Norse were caught up in a sudden tempest.

Now Ulf recalled the terrible storm that had struck the Raven without warning, its awful, deadly fury, the livid, sky-searing lightning, the wind driven, icy cold rain that stung as it struck exposed flesh. With his close friend, Orwin, Ulf had been struggling with the sail rigging when the longship was driven onto a sandbar. The shock had flung them both into the dark, churning waters, his last memory. Ulf breathed a prayer of thanks to Baldur, the god who had overcome death, for saving him, and prayed to the god again in the hope his good shipmate Orwin had also been spared.

Sinking his hands into the plush fur that covered the thick mat of woven rushes beneath him, Ulf pushed himself up to a sitting position slowly, feeling a wealth of petty protests coming from bruised flesh and aching joints. The rough blanket that covered Ulf fell away, revealing the man's muscular and hairy nakedness. He looked himself over carefully, scrutinizing his body.

Ulf's skin was peppered with small wounds and bruises. None of them seemed serious, though Ulf did wince once or twice as he ran his fingers across damaged flesh, probing beneath the dark crimson fur that covered a great deal of his body. For that characteristic, he was known among his comrades as the Red Bear.

Ulf could find only one injury that might be considered worrisome, a small but deep cut on his left side. The Norseman discovered that someone had already cleaned and anointed the wound with a pungently scented, greasy salve. Ulf rubbed a bit of the pleasantly scented, dark amber substance experimentally between his fingers and was surprised at how slick it was. It also made his skin tingle in a singular way.

Ulf raked his red hair back out of his eyes and smoothed out his coppery full beard as he looked about himself. He spied his clothing in a neat pile nearby, next to a banked fire that filled the longhouse with a pleasant warmth. Little tongues of flame floated in a ghostly manner above a bed of glowing coals, shedding just enough light for one to see. The illumination glinted off the metal studded belt that Ulf reached for, and the attached scabbard that held his sword, an heirloom handed down within his family for many generations. The old weapon had its own name: Bluefang.

Ulf slid the sword free and inspected Bluefang. Despite its immersion in water, no rust marred its dark blue surface, another peculiarity of the oddly colored metal from which the weapon had been forged. The rustproof blade still shone mirror-bright, tinting the reflected light of the low-burning fire sundry shades of blue as the Viking turned it.

As he hefted Bluefang in his hands, its weight immediately made Ulf feel ten times more confident. The men of his warrior caste feared few things in the world, but to die without a sword in one's hand was a horror not to be contemplated. The spirits of such unfortunate men were barred forever from the delights of Valhalla, doomed to wander endlessly in the cold, dark wastelands which lay between this world and the next.

Bluefang was a magnificent weapon, taken by an ancestor of Ulf's in battle against the Anglo-Saxons, almost two hundred years before. It was a Roman officer's sword, a spatha, as a learned monk once told him. But the metal from which it had been wrought had an uncanny, dark blue tint, making it quite a curiosity. No doubt, it had come to Britain with the conquering Roman legions long ago, and in time it had passed into the hands of one of the island's petty nobility.

A direct male ancestor of Ulf's, or so family lore said, had taken the weapon from a fallen British chieftain in one of the many battles that Viking had fought on behalf of his lord, King Canute. Ulf's forebear, like many other Norse adventurers of his time, had left their cold northern fjords to follow the great chieftain Canute and his sons when they struck out to take the throne of England from their distant cousins, the weak and ineffectual descendants of Alfred the Great.

Canute won his gamble and ruled the island nation with his sons by his side. Unfortunately, his sons had died without heirs and the Viking dynasty of England died with them. When that happened, Ulf's ancestor returned to Norway, but not empty-handed.

Among the treasures he had managed to accumulate during his sojourn in England was Bluefang. And since that time, the ancient sword had been passed from father to son until it came into Ulf's hands. Ulf recalled the last night he had spent with his father, just before he left home to seek his fortune across the ocean in the unknown wilds of Vinland.

Bjorn was an old warrior who was indignant at the church's banning of his son. Though he was a nominal Christian, he believed no man ought to be forced into worshipping the dead god who promised so much, but seemed to reward only his priests, who ate well and wore fine clothes while their flocks were bled for taxes to support them. Besides, he had known many fine Vikings who, like his son, preferred to share their beds with other men, all of them doughty warriors, good men to have at your back in a fight.

But Bjorn knew the power of the church could not be resisted, and that his son's only safety lay in flight. They had gone into the deep woods together to be alone, to give Bjorn the chance to repeat all the advice and warnings a father gives a son. Tears dropped from his eyes as he handed Bluefang over to Ulf, saddened by the thought that he would never see his son weld the weapon in battle, or hear the songs that would be sung of his victories.

They slept together that night, both rolled into an enormous bearskin. At Ulf's ritual initiation into manhood, years earlier, Bjorn had fed his boy his cock, imparting his strength through his seed and making Ulf a man, as ancient traditions decreed. Though they had not spoken of that event nor touched in a sexual way since, for Bjorn was not a manlover like his son, the pair were moved to share their bodies again, this time as equals, giving and getting in the full strength of manhood, gasping out their love for one another, both knowing they might never meet again in the flesh.

Ulf adjusted his stiffening penis, which had plumped up at the delicious memory of that magical night, the old warrior's hard body moving rhythmically against his, taking him vigorously, and yielding to Ulf's burning desire in return... Ulf shifted to sit crosslegged and laid his weapon across his knees as he forced his thoughts to turn from the past and consider his present situation. From where he found himself, he supposed the Skraelings must have rescued him from the river and brought him to this place, probably in of one of their villages.

But the fact they had left Ulf his sword puzzled him. The natives of Vinland were notoriously covetous of any metal they could get their hands on. They did not ken the use of iron as the Norse did and could not work metal, outside of crude implements fashioned from masses of natural copper, much too soft to be used for serious weaponry or tools.

And because of their warlike nature and superior numbers, the Skraelings would never learn about iron from the Vikings. It had been agreed long ago amongst the Norse settlers of Vinland never to trade iron or weapons with the natives or teach them how to smelt and forge the metal. The Norse rightly feared what such knowledge would lead to: a well armed Skraeling army that would eventually destroy all the Viking settlements so arduously hacked into the edges of Vinland's vast wilderness.

Ulf, like many of his fellows who had made the journey to Vinland, had dealt with the natives often enough to learn to passably speak the language commonly used for trade. But most of what he knew of the Skraelings came from his comrades, in the form of lurid tales of torture, cannibalism and worse that had befallen unfortunate Viking captives. He had seen with his own eyes the skulls adorning one particular moundbuilding tribe's temple, evidence of past human sacrifices; and who could say how many of those skulls were Norse? So Ulf gripped the hilt of his sword tightly as he muttered a prayer of heartfelt thanks to his Aesir gods, Thor the thunderer in particular. Whatever his hosts' intentions were, he could face them like a man, sword in hand, and, if it were necessary, paint his path to Valhalla with Skraeling blood.

Looking around himself more carefully, Ulf found two wooden bowls on the opposite side of the sleeping mat. One contained water and the other held a number of thin, brown strips. Picking one up, the Viking found it to be a piece of dried meat. His appetite awoke and he began to devour the strips. Once he had polished off the tough meal, he lifted the water bowl to his lips and drank.

A flap at the far end of the longhouse was abruptly pulled aside and Ulf's pale gray eyes locked over the edge of the bowl with those of a male Skraeling who appeared to be in his late twenties, like Ulf. Black eyes set in a lean, hawklike face reflected the low firelight like chips of polished onyx as the native returned the Viking's appraising look. Ulf slowly put the bowl aside and made sure Bluefang was handy, without breaking eye contact. After a moment's hesitation, the man entered.

Besides moccasins, his only garment was a breechclout after native fashion. It revealed nearly as much of his body as Ulf was showing. Ulf noted that the man was unarmed as he ran his eyes over him. The native's form was lithe and finely muscled, suggesting something of the feline in his movements. His hair was as black as his eyes, hanging in a long queue that swayed as he walked. The end of it brushed rhythmically across the scrap of buckskin that barely concealed his plump buttocks.

Unlike Ulf, his bronzed skin was barren of fur, smooth and revealing of every curve and ripple of muscle that moved beneath it. As Ulf's eyes wandered hungrily over the native's comely form, he spotted an ornament hanging from a rawhide cord around his neck. It appeared to be a flat pebble, engraved with a sinuously curling glyph.

Ulf took all this in with interest and approval as he sat motionless but ready, studying the man as he moved towards and past the Norseman. The newcomer squatted nearby, beside the firepit and added more fuel to the flames. The growing light struck sparks off the raindrops that dappled the native's dark skin, flashing like precious jewels.

The new light also revealed an unexpected dimension to the paintings Ulf had noted earlier on the interior of the longhouse. The Norseman wondered at the rainbow of colors the artist had used to paint them. The native then shifted himself closer to Ulf and spoke.

"Can you understand my speech?"

"Yes," Ulf answered after a bit, composing his reply, "but I do not know if I can speak your tongue well enough for you to understand me."

"You speak well enough." The native smiled for the first time as he responded. "My name is Issapoma."

"Issapoma." repeated Ulf. "It sounds like another word I have heard, one for a god of your people."

"Yes. The wood-lord, or forest-god."

"One of the spirits who my people worship lives in the deep forests. Some call him the green man, or woodwose. He is powerful... "

'...as you appear to be... ' Ulf finished mentally.

"Yes. My name was given me in honor of a forest spirit like the one you describe. Perhaps they are the same." As Issapoma murmured those words, his eyes fell to the Norseman's matted chest and continued down, across the furry belly to the dark mass of hairy flesh nestled in his lap, "Your... weapon... is impressive."

"Oh... yes... "

Ulf managed the words, wondering if it really was his sword Issapoma had referred to. The world the Norseman was used to was almost exclusively male, a situation he and his Viking crewmates were more than comfortable with. In fact, it was what the crew of the Raven preferred. The captain of the longship Ulf served on had seen to it that only men who preferred men sailed with him, an unusual but not unheard of circumstance in the Viking world.

Aboard the Raven, Ulf never lacked for comrades whom he could turn to for physical pleasure. And there had been a special few among the crew who fed his inner, emotional needs as well, Orwin among them. Issapoma's eyes told Ulf that the native might be a man like Orwin, one who could give more than just pleasurable touches. Ulf returned his sword to its scabbard and set it aside, knowing it would not be needed for the time being.

"How are you called?"

"My name is Ulf, son of Bjorn."

"Does 'Ulf' have a meaning?"

"I do not know. It is a common name among my people. Many men of my race are named Ulf. But my comrades also call me the Red Bear."

"I can see why... May I call you Red Bear as well?"

As Issapoma muttered his distracted reply, softly and dreamily, he began to reach out towards Ulf. Then he caught himself, his desire warring with caution as he remembered whom he was dealing with. Ulf did not know it then, but the natives had their own dark rumors concerning the Norsemen.

Everything about them seemed mysterious, these pale-skinned men who had come across the waters in ships that looked like great, winged water snakes, men who were hairy all over, like animals. Men who bore metal weapons that gleamed and flashed as they dealt swift death. As the native hesitated, Ulf reached out and took Issapoma's hand, pressing it firmly to the mat of crimson fur that graced his broad chest as he answered.

"Yes, Issapoma," Ulf affirmed quietly. "You may call me Red Bear."

A quick intake of breath betrayed Issapoma's feelings of awe. Though he had seen Norsemen before, he had never touched one. He could feel the strong throbbing of Ulf's heartbeat, pulsing beneath the thick tangle of crimson fur. He rubbed his hand deeper into it to touch the fair skin underneath and watched, fascinated, as wiry redness sprung outward to bristle between the native's dark fingers.

"I... I have seen men like you before... men with hair that grows where my people have none, but I have never had the opportunity to touch any of them before... "

"But surely," Ulf said, releasing the man's hand in mild surprise, "when you brought me here and tended to my wounds, you could have handled any part of my body you wished."

"It was not I who found you cast ashore at the edge of the Great River or brought you to our camp," Issapoma explained while brushing his fingertips gently through the red hairs that guarded one of Ulf's erect nipples, grazing the sensitive, dark pink flesh. A smile touched his lips as the action elicited a soft sigh from Ulf. "I was told that two of our young men discovered you and ran back to our village, calling out: 'We have seen a man who is also a bear!'" Ulf reflected Issapoma's smile at the story. "And it was our shaman, Aya'qa, who tended to your wounds. I have only just returned from a long journey, and he sent me here to check on you."

"How long have I been here?"

"I have been told that for a night and a day you have slept like one dead here, within the mystery lodge, and now we are well into the second night. But Aya'qa's medicine is strong. No one doubted that you would recover."

"Mystery lodge?" Ulf asked, looking up at the colorful and intricate artwork again. "Is this a sacred place to your people?"

"Yes. We Elxa conduct our rituals here, of initiation, of appeals to the spirits that guide us, and healing, among others."

"Your people are called Elxa?"

"Yes. We are a small tribe, but sometimes strength does not depend upon size."

Ulf nodded before going on.

"Where are my fellow Vikings?"

"They are camped nearby. When you were found, it was assumed there were others like you in the area. Our chief, Two Eagles, led out a party of braves to locate them and ensure their safety. He found them encamped a little ways to the south of our village, salvaging what they could from their longship. Two Eagles and his men helped them build shelters for themselves and their goods there. Your chief, Gunnar, I believe his name was, accepted our assistance gratefully, once he understood we were not hostile."

"Why are the Elxa helping us?"

"Because we have a common enemy." By the fitful light of the low fire, Ulf could see Issapoma's eyes suddenly grow grave.

"What enemy?"

"A sorcerer in league with a spirit of evil. The dark thing he serves is known by many names. The legends of my people call it Wakon, the great serpent," Issapoma replied. Ulf was puzzled but sensed the brave had no desire to speak further on the subject. His next words confirmed the Viking's hunch. "But perhaps it is better we talk about those concerns when you are stronger. For now, lie back and let me tend your wounds."

"Are you a healer also?" Ulf asked as he allowed Issapoma to push him down on the bed.

"I am Aya'qa's disciple. He is teaching me his art, but the understanding of healing herbs and their uses are only one part of his wisdom. He is wise in the knowledge of a path of power handed down to us by our ancient forebears, men who lived so long ago none can now count the years. The Elxa all honor the knowledge these first ones discovered, which we call the Way of the Heron."

Ulf wondered what the man meant as Issapoma's hands began to explore the Norseman's body. Then Ulf was distracted as he glanced at the native's loincloth. He smiled faintly at the fullness it showed, a plumpness he was sure had not been there the first time he had taken note of it. Finding the cut on Ulf's side, Issapoma frowned in concern. He cleaned it carefully, then went to rummage about in a corner of the lodge.

When he returned, the native was carrying a small leather sack from which he produced more of the peculiar grease Ulf had noted earlier. He smeared a gob of the fulvous substance over the wound, plastering a small patch of red hair flat against Ulf's ribs. Then he put the sack aside and sat back.

"You were not badly hurt. That is good."

"What is that stuff?"

"The salve?" Issapoma smiled, "It ought to be very good for you, Red Bear, since one of its ingredients is bears' fat."

Several heartbeats of silence followed, filling the space between the two men before Ulf dispelled it.

"You said you had just returned from a journey and that it is late. You must be tired. If you wish to, you could sleep here, with me," the Norseman invited.

"Somehow," the Elxa brave smiled wryly, "I doubt I would get much rest."

"I'm not sure I would either," admitted Ulf as he stroked Issapoma's leg gently and deliberately, "but I would like it if you stayed with me, just the same... "

"Yes," the native said as he stood and kicked off his moccasins, "I would like that too, Red Bear... "

Pulling at the knot that fastened the cincture of rawhide encircling his waist, Issapoma loosened it, let his only garment fall and stood suddenly naked before the Viking's hungry eyes. Ulf raised himself up on his side and brought his face close to the watching native's swelling manhood. The sharp aroma of Issapoma's genitals filled his nostrils as he inhaled, a delicious, intoxicating man-scent.

The dusky foreskin was already retreating, revealing a dark rose colored glans. Ulf opened his mouth, but only to rasp the long crimson hairs of his moustache from side to side across the exposed portion of Issapoma's sensitive cockhead. It jerked upward wildly in response, bouncing against Ulf's upper lip and depositing a drop of precum there, sweet man-dew. Ulf's tongue snaked out to savor the taste as he pulled away to look up at Issapoma.

"I have never had a man of your people before, as you say you have never had a man of mine. I share that with you tonight, Issapoma. And I want you to know I am glad that it is you I will please and be pleasured

by. I will give you all of myself... "

Before Issapoma could respond, Ulf swallowed the man's cock with all the expertise of one born to the task. The native gasped aloud and quickly lowered himself to the sleeping mat where Ulf felt his tumid member engulfed by Issapoma's equally expert mouth. The sensations each engendered in the other were just too good to hold onto for long.

Before he knew it, Ulf's essence was erupting wildly into Issapoma's mouth. A few moments later, the native's gooey cum blasted across the Viking's eager tongue, salt sweet and savory. Each was surprised by the ordinariness of the other's taste, which was no different from what they had experienced before, from their own encounters with friends and comrades in the past.

Both men had assumed their differences would extend even to the nature of their seed. But the sameness was a pleasant confirmation to them of the essential unity of all humankind. They were just two common men, taking their pleasure unashamedly with each other, as so many other men had done in the past, as far back as the unknowably distant human dawn.

They continued to nurse on each other's softening cocks, greedy for every last flavorful drop of manseed they could get. Issapoma finally released Ulf's manhood and kissed it before turning to cuddle with the Norseman on the sleeping mat. Their arms wound about one another as their lips met. Opening to the kiss, each tasted the savor of his own sperm on the other's tongue.

Ulf drew back and murmured how good Issapoma felt. The Elxa brave chuckled in reply. The Norseman's eyes widened and he looked at his new friend askance.

"What?"

"You said. 'You feel very muddy, Issapoma.'!"

"I guess I do not know your language as well as I ought to."

"I could help you learn more... you know a lot already."

"Sure," Ulf yawned.

"We both need rest, my friend," murmured Issapoma, hugging Ulf to him. "Let us try to sleep."

"Alright... " Ulf breathed.

As he relaxed into the native's arms, Ulf glanced upward and noticed the same singular sign that was etched on the small stone Issapoma wore. It was painted among the other arcane markings that festooned the interior of the mystery lodge. The curling glyph seemed to hover protectively over the bed he shared with Issapoma. Shutting his eyes, Ulf allowed the pattering sounds of the rain falling on the outside of the longhouse to soothe him to sleep.

+* * *

"Ulf, son of Bjorn, the Red Bear."

Ulf seemed to awaken when he heard those words. The gentle voice that had addressed the Norseman had a strange, hauntingly melodic quality; aetherial music seemed to play in the background as it spoke. But even more oddly, Ulf understood its words, even though he was quite sure it had not spoken to him in the Norse tongue. Or any other that he recognized, for that matter.

"Yes?"

As Ulf answered, he looked for the one who had spoken to him. The Viking found himself standing in the midst of a remarkably thick and profound blackness. He put out his hands, expecting to touch the walls of the mystery lodge, but found nothing solid and spoke again.

"Where am I?"

"Do not be afraid, Red Bear," the voice answered. "You are safe here, in the spirit realm, a place men with man-loving hearts like yours can visit in their lucid dreams. From this reality, I speak to my followers, all like you who possess man-loving male hearts and know how to listen to them, as you listened to yours and knew instinctively that Issapoma was your brother, and not your enemy. I have guided these special men for thousands of years, along a path of wisdom they have termed the Way of the Heron."

"What are you? A God?"

"If you wish," demurred the voice. "No human mind can comprehend what I truly am, so I let those who choose to listen and be guided by me call me whatever they are comfortable with. Issapoma's people, the Elxa, call me the Heron Spirit."

"Let me see you."

"As you wish."

A sudden light appeared and Ulf saw he was standing by the banks of the Great River. He gazed beyond the dark, murmuring waters and saw something troubling. Storm clouds hovered on the northern horizon, occasionally lit up by lightning. Thunder muttered dully across the sky, sounding like the grumblings of irritated gods.

Ulf saw other villages of native people, some between him and the unusual disturbance, others to the east, west and to the north as well, his eyes oddly undaunted by distance or intervening objects. Some of the settlements were in ruins, having been destroyed, others had been abandoned. Those people who remained had submitted to a new conqueror and lived in fear of him, the one who dwelt beneath the epicenter of those angry clouds, the eye of an incipient storm.

"It is our enemy, Black Cloud," the voice of the Heron Spirit spoke again. "He is the one who sent the storm that destroyed your longship."

"Black Cloud?" Ulf wondered at the unfamiliar name. "Why did he attack us?"

As Ulf asked his question, he turned to the source of the voice. He froze as he saw an enormous, dusty blue bird, a heron, standing beside him and towering over the Viking. The bird turned its eyes on Ulf and he saw they were unlike any eyes he had ever conceived of: great, rolling balls of bright, violet fire, burning intensely in the bird's skull.

"If you will accept it," the unearthly being began, "there are evil spirits as well as good ones in this world; vile ones who delight in seeing men suffer and die, and feed off the pain generated by hatred and death. Such a one is the great serpent, Wakon, a dark entity who aids our enemy in order to further his own ends. Wakon told Black Cloud of you, and of the power you carry, a power that could undo and destroy Wakon's malevolent schemes. So he ordered Black Cloud to kill you.

"Black Cloud's sorcery is strong, but he could not overcome my power, which encompasses and protects all men like yourself, men with man-loving hearts. I preserved your life, Red Bear, so that your power could help my people in ending the evil that blights our lands."

"What... what power do I have that would stand against such evil magick?" the Viking asked, still awestruck by the strange godling that stood before him.

"Come," the Heron Spirit said, giving a little flap of its wings, "and I shall show you."

Abruptly, the scene around Ulf changed. He found himself standing with the Heron Spirit on the high ramparts of a palace built like a fortress. Sunlight glared strongly off the whitewashed walls. The strange citadel was built on a hill that overlooked a city crowded with humanity.

A race unfamiliar to Ulf thronged the narrow, unpaved streets of that foreign metropolis. They were shorter and darker skinned than the natives of Vinland, and went about their business in the semitropical heat clad in very little. The men wore loincloths, and the women only a little more. Ulf had never seen their kind before. The Viking looked to the Elxa tribe's deity for an explanation.

"What you are seeing happened long ago, in a distant land none of your people have ever visited."

"What land?"

"Some call it Hind."

"I have heard old traders speak of it," Ulf breathed. "It lies beyond the lands of the Moslems, far to the south of my peoples' home."

"Yes. It is here that your power originates. Look."

Ulf followed the Heron Spirit's upward glance and gasped. A great, blazing ball of fire seemed to be hanging in the sky. As others in the Hindian city spotted it, panic began to spread.

As the people fled to the temples or out into the countryside, the object grew in brightness, rivaling the sun for a short time. A mighty roaring could be heard, as if something were moving at an incredible speed. Ulf watched in astonishment as the burning object fell into the courtyard of the palace with a explosion of sound that seemed to shake the entire city.

Ulf watched as soldiers rushed to surround the blackened crater, gazing in shocked disbelief at the shining mass which had embedded itself in the palace gardens. A man appeared, a prince of Hind, or so Ulf assumed by the rich clothing he wore, of silks ornamented with precious jewels, as well as the way the others deferred to him. The ruler watched the fallen star with his subjects and all were awed by the rich blue color that appeared as the metallic object cooled, a hue those people associated especially with divine power.

Time passed somehow and Ulf saw the prince delivering the mass of 'sky-iron' as the Hindians called it to the most skilled of his metalworkers. The Viking watched as the blacksmiths reheated and forged the alien, colored metal, working it into a new shape. And then Ulf saw the craftsmen delivering the fruit of their labors to the prince, a great scimitar, its golden hilt set with jewels. a weapon fit for an emperor, its blade flashing a deep, mysterious blue.

"It's... it's the same color as my Bluefang... " breathed Ulf.

"It is Bluefang," the Heron Spirit informed the Viking. "Wrought from strange metal that fell from the sky. It is like no other earthly weapon, and carries power unsuspected by any of those who have possessed it."

"But how... "

"Did it come to be in your possession?" the Heron Spirit finished. "Watch, and you shall learn."

Time seemed to speed forward. Ulf watched as another nobleman of Hind, a descendant of the prince who had ordered Bluefang to be made, fell in battle against the armies of the great Alexander as the Macedonian tried and ultimately failed to conquer Hind. A Greek soldier carried Bluefang back to his mountain home, a trophy of war, where it stayed until the Romans came to annex Greece to their growing empire. The sword changed hands again, was carried to Rome by a conquering general and reforged at his order into the shape of a conventional Roman spatha.

More time passed and Ulf saw the unique sword carried by a descendant of that general, an officer who was part of the invasion force the Emperor Claudius had gathered to conquer the island of Britannia. That soldier married the daughter of a British chieftain who supported Rome, and founded a family that played a great role in maintaining the rule of Roman law, even when, in time, the Roman world crumbled before the onslaught of barbarian hoards. Ulf saw his own ancestor clash with the head of that family in battle, slay him, and take Bluefang for his own. Then Ulf saw his own father handing Bluefang to him, the day before he had left for Vinland.

"What is this power you say Bluefang has?" Ulf asked as the vision ended.

"Bluefang is forged of unearthly metal. Whosoever holds it is proof against all the magickal forces of this world, forces like those wielded by our common enemy, Black Cloud, the wicked and willing servant of Wakon."

"Who is this Black Cloud?"

"Look."

Ulf saw his surroundings had changed again. He stood with the Heron Spirit in what appeared to be a village of native Vinlanders. Most of the people Ulf could see were armed men whose exposed skins were painted with many images of snakes in garish colors, symbols of their devotion to Wakon and the great serpent's high priest, Black Cloud.

This army of snake warriors seemed to be guarding an oval shaped mound near their village, obviously manmade and very old. Ulf had seen monuments like it before, having traded with the moundbuilding peoples who lived along the course of the Great River. Those tribes held the works of their remote ancestors as sacred and used the mounds' flat summits as the stages for conducting obscure and complex religious ceremonies.

But this earthwork had been partially dug away, an act unthinkable to the natives Ulf knew. The excavation revealed a strange stone structure that had been deliberately buried beneath the mound. One look at the construct's form told the Viking it had not been built by the Skraelings. In fact, it was unlike any sort of building Ulf had ever seen before.

The proportions of the structure were odd, 'off' somehow, baffling Ulf's attempts to comprehend the nature of its appearance. He could see only that it was flat-roofed, multi-sided and constructed of some unusual reddish stone. The outer walls had been polished until they were as smooth as glass and shone like mirrors in the sunlight. The reflected light was tinted the same bloody hue as the rock. Bathed in this baleful illumination was the enemy Ulf had been warned of.

Standing before the entrance of the stone construct was an imperious figure, looking like one born to rule over lesser men. His head and arms were encircled with broad bands of beaten copper, polished to mirror brightness. He carried a unique weapon, brandishing it like a scepter over his cowering minions.

It was a sort of spear tipped with a large crystal. The elongated, sharply faceted stone was colorless, but it glowed and glittered in a most peculiar and unusual fashion as the sun's light fell on it. The crystal threw off an iridescent, multi-hued light as it was moved. As Ulf turned his attention to the copper crowned man who held the strange spear and studied him, the man suddenly turned and glared in the Viking's direction. His face was a mask of hate and Ulf recoiled from it.

"Can he see us?"

"No, Red Bear, he cannot."

"Is that Black Cloud?"

"Yes, the shaman who follows dark paths. He dreams of conquest, of dominating all who live along the Great River. Wakon and the other evil spirits he leads have given Black Cloud a mighty weapon whereby he can gain all his vile desires, all his cravings for godlike, absolute power over the lives of his fellow men: the Sky-Spear."

"That spear?"

"Yes. It too is ancient, far older than Bluefang. The Sky-Spear is a remnant of a global civilization so advanced that the wise men of that empire, called Atlantis, seemed to be a race of wizards, but their knowledge availed them not, and they and all their works were destroyed and vanished many millennia ago in a cataclysm of their own making. Nevertheless, a few artifacts survived the destruction of Atlantis... "

"Like the Sky-Spear." Ulf finished. "And that building?"

"It was a temple to the great serpent who has many names, Wakon being just one of them. He is an elder god of evil and was worshipped by deluded, power hungry men until good people banded together to stop the foul rites of torture and human sacrifice that were offered up on Wakon's gory altars. The depraved, sadistic priests of the bloodthirsty fiend were all slain and the obscene structure buried beneath a mound of earth meant to hide it forever from the sight of men.

"But evil never dies. It waits patiently until it thinks all have forgotten, then rears its head to tempt a new generation that knows it not. Wakon guided Black Cloud to this dark temple, and to the Sky-Spear that was hidden inside, so that the grisly offerings of human pain and blood to the great serpent might be made once more."

"What is the power of the Sky-Spear?" asked Ulf as he studied the fragile looking weapon.

"The crystal that tips the spear is an Atlantean device," the Heron Spirit explained. "With it, Black Cloud can command the weather, summon lightning to kill his enemies and destroy their villages, or... "

"...deadly storms." finished Ulf grimly. He looked at the Heron Spirit. "Can Bluefang really protect me against such sorcery?"

"Yes, your sword can neutralize the power of Black Cloud's Sky-Spear. He cannot harm you while you hold Bluefang. Will you help us, Red Bear?"

"Will your people stand with my comrades to fight Black Cloud's snake warriors? They outnumber us Norse."

"I will see to it," the Heron Spirit affirmed. "Together, an alliance of the Elxa and the Vikings can stop this evil. And afterwards, there will be great rewards for you and your fellow Norsemen, if you choose to take them... "

As if in illustration of what the godling meant, Ulf saw a momentary vision, a glimpse of another place, conjured by the Heron Spirit. At first he thought it was a range of hills made up of red and black rock, but he soon realized that the black areas were gaps eroded into the red rock by countless years of rain and wind. The canyons formed in this way were deep and mysterious.

Inside one canyon, Ulf's eyes were drawn to a city of adobe dwellings perched on a sheltered cliff, like no inhabited place he had ever seen before. Ulf had the most relaxed feeling of peace within himself as he looked at the canyon city, as if he were looking at the place meant to be his home. He began to speak, to ask questions about it.

+* * *

"But where is this city?" Ulf asked aloud, rousing his bedmate.

"Red Bear?" Issapoma began, his arms reaching to hug the dazed Viking closer. "Are you awake?"

"Am I? I don't know. I saw... strange things."

"What things?"

Ulf repeated what he had seen. Issapoma carefully listened in silence, nodding every so often as he gently caressed the Viking's hairy body, smoothing his fur. When Ulf was finished, the Elxa brave whispered in awe.

"You have had a powerful medicine dream, my friend. The Heron Spirit is my people's totem, chief among the spirits who guide and sustain the Elxa. We are also known as heron men in his honor. It is clear he has preserved your life so you can carry Bluefang into battle against Black Cloud and destroy the dark shaman."

"I can't do it alone. Even with my comrades we would be too few to fight Black Cloud's horde of snake warriors, even if Bluefang could protect us all from the magic of his Sky-Spear. Will your people fight alongside mine?"

"When they know of your vision they will follow you, yes. But I would follow you without it, Red Bear," Issapoma affirmed, stroking the man's furry chest lovingly. "Despite our differences, I feel you are my brother, and if battle comes, I would be honored to fight by your side."

"Among my people," Ulf said, touched by Issapoma's speech, "a comrade who would do that would be my brother, a swordbrother."

"Would such a man share only your battles?"

"No, we would share everything: our lives, our bodies... We would be closer than brothers."

"Such a man would be fortunate indeed, if he had you for so close a friend, Red Bear... "

"Issapoma... " Ulf breathed, feeling the native's stiff cock pressing into his belly. He reached down to touch the heated wand of flesh gently. "You are a strong and beautiful man. And I am glad you are here with me now... "

"I too am happy to be here, Red Bear," Issapoma smiled. "Can you not feel it?"

"I... I did not think I would find men among your people who were like my comrades."

"In what way?"

"Men who like to be with other men. Where I come from, some think it a crime and would punish us for pleasuring one another in this fashion."

Ulf followed that by explaining to the heron man what the intolerant Christians who ruled his homeland did to men who were caught having sex with other men. Though he had never seen it, Ulf had heard the stories of the tortures and of men burnt at the stake in public squares, spectacles meant to 'edify' those who came to watch. Issapoma nodded solemnly.

"You already know the people of this land you call Vinland and we call Turtle Island are divided into many tribes. Each one has its own way of dealing with men who have desires like ours, man-loving men, called 'faint hearts' by some. Some tribes can be harsh with them, exiling men with such feelings. Others insist that they don female clothing and live like women, doing menial chores and barring them from hunting or warfare, seeking by such humiliation to discourage others from taking the same path."

"And how do the Elxa feel about... ah... man-loving men like us?"

"The Elxa," the native responded through a grin, "are a unique tribe. There are no others like it that I know of. As I said, there are tribes that think as your Christians do, that a man should not find pleasure with another man. But men with such urges are constantly being born amongst them nonetheless, for spirits move without regard to the ways of men and take bodies wherever they like. When they are old enough, many of these men leave their intolerant tribes, follow the ancient, wordless song that sings within their man-loving hearts, find their way to the heron men, and join us." Issapoma reached up to touch the engraved pendant he wore. "This is an Elxa glyphstone, marked with our tribal sign. Any man you see wearing one has our nature and will be a brother to you."

"So... " wondered Ulf, thinking he comprehended Issapoma's words, "there must be many such men amongst the Elxa... "

"We are all that way." the native confirmed, causing Ulf's eyes to widen. "The Elxa tribe is one of voluntary association, by men who wish to live with other males who have the same feelings and desires as they do. My brothers come from many tribes, some from very far away. All sought the trail to their true home and brothers, led on by portents, omens and subtle signs. And, of course, medicine dreams like the one you had, inspired by the spirits that protect all man-loving men, and especially, the Elxa."

"You mean the Heron Spirit?"

"And others, yes. The Heron Spirit is the chief of the many invisible forces who choose to aid our tribe," nodded Issapoma. "Those mighty ones called our forebears together, in a long ago time when snow and ice lay thick upon this land and no summer warmed it. So long ago was it that not even a legend remains to tell how it happened." The brave cocked his head and regarded Ulf for a moment or two before speaking again. "Those totems guide us, just as they have guided you to us, Red Bear."

"But I'm not a man of your race."

"The totems I speak of judge men by their spirits, not by their outer appearance, Red Bear." Issapoma replied.

"Did they call my comrades too?" the Viking chuckled. When Ulf saw the puzzled look on Issapoma's face, he went on and explained how his captain had, in imitation of the Elxa, sought out only men who preferred men to sail with him on the long voyage from Scandinavia to Vinland. Issapoma smiled in reply.

"They shall be as welcome as you and perhaps find much pleasure here with our braves. Have you a special partner among your Norse comrades?"

"I have a close friend, Orwin, but he already has a mate, a swordbrother." Ulf responded, looking into Issapoma's dark eyes. "Do you have a mate, Issapoma?"

"No."

"How could such a handsome man be alone?"

"I could ask you that as well, Red Bear," the heron man answered, feeling the Norseman's desire rising to match his own. "Here, let me show you another use for the salve... "

Ulf watched as Issapoma reached for the leather sack. In a little while the Viking was moaning in raw pleasure as the native stroked the thick, tawny gel on Ulf's stiff cock. As it caught the heat of the Norseman's flesh, the fulvous goo softened, becoming extremely slick as well as making the skin of Ulf's penis tingle oddly. Issapoma smiled at his bedmate's reaction.

"The juices of many potent herbs are mixed into our special grease, my friend. Some of those herbs are said to be able to make a man prolong the act of love... "

"Let's find out if it's true," Ulf fairly panted in return, aroused to a height of passion for Issapoma he had never before felt for another man.

He started to rise, but Issapoma stopped him. The native straddled the Viking's brawny body and, looking deeply into Ulf's pale gray eyes, lowered himself slowly onto Ulf's slick cock. The greasy salve allowed Ulf to slide inside Issapoma easily.

"You alright?" Ulf grinned. He could clearly see the look of bliss that had spread itself across Issapoma's face.

"As I said before," the heron man gasped passionately, "your weapon is impressive! I scarcely dared hope you would put it inside me... "

Ulf wordlessly reached out and took a firm hold of Issapoma's hips. Then he started to thrust himself upward into the welcoming, wanting warmth that surrounded his cock, a heated void that gripped his manhood bonelessly on the outstroke in such a way as to drive Ulf into a sexual frenzy. After a few minutes of that treatment, the Viking impatiently urged Issapoma onto his back and began driving himself into the native wildly until his orgasm wracked him and he shot his hot seed deep into Issapoma.

Too exhausted to resist, Ulf let his partner lay him out and felt Issapoma's fingers lubing his manhole well with the coolly tingling salve, gently slipping in and out. When he was ready, Issapoma lifted Ulf's legs and perched them on his shoulders. The heron man brought his dark tool to bear and buried it deep inside the Viking in one long stroke. Once Ulf was used to the enormity stretching his innards, Issapoma began his ride.

Ulf had to admit Issapoma was an expert at what he was doing. The Elxa brave knew about the firespot inside a man's body, and how to stimulate the soft button of flesh as he fucked. They could both feel it as the ridge of the heron man's glans rasped deliciously across the small bump within the Viking, each stroke bringing both men closer to the edge. Ulf was soon hard again and stroked himself determinedly as Issapoma labored above him.

"Issapoma... you feel so good... I'm going to... again... ah... Ah... AH... "

The native lowered his head and managed to catch the first couple of volleys in his mouth as Ulf's member spewed. He allowed the subsequent shots to fall and soak into the crimson pelt that graced the Red Bear's chest and belly. Then, when his own orgasm began, Issapoma kissed Ulf and forced the sperm he had caught back to its source, thrilling the Viking. Ulf kissed back as hard as he could, sucking his own spooge out of the brave's mouth as Issapoma moaned wordlessly and thrust and shot, filling the Norseman's furry ass with what felt like wave after wave of liquid fire.

"By Odin's single eye!" Ulf gasped after the couple broke their kiss and disengaged. "I've had few rides like that in my life!"

"Anytime you want me again, my brother, all you have to do is ask." Issapoma returned wearily as he snuggled against Ulf's warm and hairy side. Ulf embraced Issapoma to hold him there. Sleep soon took the exhausted pair back into its blank embrace.

+* * *

A bright ray of morning sunlight entered the Elxa's mystery lodge through a small hole in its covering. The beam stroked Ulf's face, causing him to awaken. The deliciously warm and vital presence of Issapoma's body so close to his own was instantly arousing to the Viking and his manhood arose, eager to repeat the games the men had played in the night. Then Ulf was distracted by the smell of smoke.

Not the smoke of the fire that burned nearby, but a sweet scent, heavy and somehow stimulating. Ulf had smelled it before. It was the custom of many Skraeling tribes to ceremoniously burn and inhale the smoke of a sacred plant they cultivated solely for that purpose. Ulf had heard that the smoking ritual could induce altered states of mind and visions, but of course, he had never tried it himself.

Ulf slowly lifted his head to look around the mystery lodge. The Norseman's eyes locked at once with those of another native. He was an older man, in his fifties, perhaps, the same age as Ulf's father, of impressive and commanding mien. Ulf saw the glyphstone hanging from his neck and knew he was a friend.

The Elxa elder was sitting at ease beside the fire, calmly smoking a pipe whose stem seemed unusually long. The instrument was fantastically ornamented, carved and colored, with a single dusty blue feather, a heron's feather, Ulf realized, dangling from beneath the fuming bowl. The heron man's long hair hung loosely about his shoulders and was streaked with white. As he greeted Ulf, a veritable cloud of the fragrant smoke drifted from his nostrils and lips.

"Good morning, my son."

"Ah, good... good morning... " Ulf managed as he sat up.

He was somewhat embarrassed about being found in an obvious state of arousal with Issapoma. The bulge in the blanket that covered him only served to enhance his eye-catching erection. Despite what Ulf knew about the customs of the Elxa, he did not want to offend the heron elder. His unexpected visitor went on casually, however, calming the Viking's fears.

"I see you have recovered from your injuries rather well," he murmured wryly as his eyes lingered on the lump in the covering between Ulf's legs. "I trust my apprentice has... taken good care of you?"

Ulf smiled in relief as he noted the knowing smile that graced the elder's face. Apparently the heron men were far more enlightened and easy with sexual expression than the Christians he knew. The Viking looked at Issapoma, the Elxa brave's features relaxed in sleep, feeling something good inside him as he whispered.

"Yes. He is... a fine man." Ulf lifted his eyes to the elder, who did not miss the tender way Ulf gazed at and spoke about Issapoma. "Are you Aya'qa?"

"Yes."

"I understand I have you to thank for my life. I promise I will pay the debt."

"I do not doubt it. My spirit guides have told me you will be a brother to the Elxa, a defender... " the shaman tilted his head as if he were listening to something Ulf could not hear. "Yes, and your fellow Norsemen as well, if we survive."

"Do you speak of Black Cloud?"

"You know of him?"

"I had a dream... a medicine dream, Issapoma called it."

"You must tell me of it."

Just then, Issapoma stretched languidly, rubbing himself against Ulf's hairy side.

"Oh, my brother... " the Elxa brave breathed softly. "You feel so good... so very good... "

Ulf leaned down to kiss Issapoma's cheek.

"We have a visitor," he whispered in the native's dark ear.

"Oh?"

Issapoma yawned the word unconcernedly. Ulf had expected a momentary embarrassment, but was pleasantly disappointed. Apparently, Issapoma was not at all concerned about being caught in bed with another man. The brave smiled at Aya'qa.

"Good morning, father." Ulf knew the word Issapoma had used denoted an honorary title. The brave was not connected to the shaman by blood. "Are you well today?" Ulf was surprised when Aya'qa answered with a soft, lyrical chanting:

Through the smoke of the sacred pipe I have seen the rare beauty of two men lying close...

Arms and legs and hearts intertwined...

How lovely!

"What was that?"

"It is the way of our heron brothers, Red Bear," Issapoma began, "to sing when our spirits are touched."

"Your name is Red Bear?" asked the shaman.

"I am Ulf, son of Bjorn, but my comrades call me the Red Bear."

"You are aptly named, my son," Aya'qa nodded as he tapped the bowl of his unique pipe into his palm. With a softly spoken prayer he dropped the nearly spent dottle into the firepit. Then he put the pipe aside, hanging it from a pair of rawhide loops suspended at the side of the lodge. "Now," the shaman went on as he moved closer to the prone men. "Let me see your wounds, Red Bear. And tell me of your medicine dreams while I work."

Ulf began to describe his experience as the shaman unceremoniously yanked the covers off the naked pair and ran his hands and eyes over the Norseman's furry body. Following Issapoma's example, Ulf tried to be nonchalant as the elder inspected a small scrape on the Viking's inner thigh, so close to his tumid cock that Ulf could feel the heat from the shaman's hands. The wound on his side came in for the most attention, but Aya'qa seemed satisfied with the way it was healing.

"You are a strong man, Red Bear," he said when Ulf was done relating his dream. "Your comrades will be glad to know you are out of danger. As to your dream, I have already told your leader, Gunnar, of the danger Black Cloud poses to us all and he has agreed to speak to his crew and see if they will fight against this evil alongside the Elxa."

"But what of the strange city I saw?"

"I and many of my brothers have also seen this city in their medicine dreams, Red Bear. Some of us think the Heron Spirit wishes to lead us away to this place, to make it the new home of the heron men, one safe against attack by hostile men like Black Cloud. We can talk more about the city later. For now, the dark sorcerer must be the sole focus of our attention. He must be dealt with, and I hope your comrades will help us."

"What choice do we have?" Ulf asked as he and Issapoma both arose and began to don their clothes. "We could build another boat and try to escape, but what's to prevent Black Cloud from using the Sky-Spear to try and drown us all again? No," Ulf concluded as he buckled the belt that carried Bluefang's scabbard around his waist, "either this evil he-witch must die or we do. I for one vote we kill him first!"

"Spoken like a Viking!" another voice boomed in Norse.

The three turned to see a shaggy headed and bearded blonde man peering into the medicine lodge. Ulf recognized his captain, Gunnar Njalsson. Gunnar grinned at Ulf.

"How is the Red Bear?" he asked, still speaking Norse.

"Ready to fight, if I must," returned Ulf.

"Good, we have plans to lay before our swords drink the blood of our enemies!"

"What of the Raven?"

"Come and see, if you wish."

Ulf nodded and Gunnar withdrew. After explaining to the two heron men what his captain wanted, Ulf gave Issapoma a lingering farewell kiss before leaving the shaman and his apprentice in the medicine lodge together, conversing softly in their own sibilant tongue. As he stepped out into the sunlight, Ulf blinked and took in the Elxa village. It looked no different than any other native encampment the Viking had seen before, except for the notable absence of women.

There were only a few tribesmen in sight just then, who were all going about their ordinary business. But the natives' eyes were irresistibly drawn to the Norsemen, whom they found an unusual distraction. Ulf noted their apprising looks, very much like the ones he had gotten from Aya'qa. The Elxa camp was indeed a friendly port. It appeared as though the shaman and Issapoma would not be the only heron men interested in getting to know the newcomers better.

"Ulf!"

Ulf turned and found himself in a bearhug given by another member of his crew. As his arms automatically wrapped themselves around the redheaded man, he recognized him. It was Orwin, his good friend who had shared his fall from the mast of the Raven into the river. Ulf knew his story well.

Orwin was not a Norseman, but an Englishman. Moslem pirates raiding the southern coasts of Orwin's homeland had captured him as a boy. Purchased by a lecherous Moor who kept a harem of comely young men, Orwin had been well used sexually by his Islamic captors, a fate not entirely distasteful to him since he was a manlover. And in the process Orwin had learned well the many ways known to the ancient east of pleasing men, as Ulf knew from firsthand experience. Later, a Viking raid on the coasts of Cordoba brought Orwin face to face with Gunnar, who at once claimed the handsome young sex slave as part of his share of the spoils.

Though they began as master and servant, the pair grew close and eventually Gunnar freed Orwin, but by then the Englishman was bound to Gunnar by ties stronger than chains. They pledged themselves to each other as swordbrothers and the Norsemen who sailed with Gunnar considered Orwin an equal. Ulf felt Orwin's member hardening between them and remembered the games they had played aboard ship. Apparently, Orwin was remembering them also.

"Hello, Orwin, my friend."

"God's teeth, Ulf! It's good to see you alive! When you went into the river and disappeared, we thought... "

"I was worried about you too, Orwin, since we both took the same fall, but I don't know why. Everyone knows we Vikings are tough and hard to kill!"

"Come on, you two!" smiled Gunnar, patting both their shoulders. Though he loved Orwin, the Viking captain did not feel threatened by how Orwin felt about Ulf. Gunnar had a soft spot for the Red Bear as well.

Following a trail that led south from the Elxa village, the three men exchanged stories, catching up on what had happened to them in the recent past. As Aya'qa had said, Gunnar knew of Black Cloud and Ulf was about to speak about the medicine dream he had experienced when the men heard an unexpected noise.

They recognized the sound of a native flute playing an unusually melodic tune. Ulf was immediately reminded somehow of the Heron Spirit and the oddly musical quality of the godling's voice when it had spoken to him, as if it had been accompanied by a number of such flutes. As one, the curious men turned and moved silently into the thick woods that lined the path, seeking the source of the haunting music. All their senses were alert, just as if they were stalking game.

The Vikings soon came to the edge of a grassy clearing, spangled with unfamiliar wildflowers whose delicate scent perfumed the air. A convenient clump of bushes served to obscure the trio admirably. Peeking through the greenery, they looked on in mingled surprise and amusement as they spied one of their crewmates, Ingi Eriksson. He was sharing the sun-soaked, open space with an Elxa brave.

Both men were naked. Ingi reclined on a native blanket, exposing a brawny form fleeced with an abundance of dark blonde fur as he gently stroked the hairless, bronzed body of his companion. The muscular Elxa brave was sitting crosslegged beside Ingi and playing the flute Gunnar, Orwin and Ulf had heard. Both men's cocks were hard, but they seemed in no hurry to do anything about them.

Gunnar nudged his companions gently and pointed. Ulf and Orwin saw then what Gunnar had noticed first. Splatters of manseed glistened like liquid pearls, here and there, on the blanket and in the grass. There was even an errant gout of sperm clinging to one of Ingi's fair, bushy eyebrows, a mark of previous passion that so far had gone unnoticed by either of the men. Ulf noted a small leather sack lying near at hand as well, containing more of the wonderful Elxa lube.

There was no doubt the pair had already made love, and more than once. Gunnar backed away from their hiding place and his friends followed silently. None wanted to disturb the pleasure of their comrade. Gunnar chuckled when they regained the path.

"These Elxa are quite a friendly folk, eh?"

"They're all like us," replied Ulf. Seeing the confused looks Gunnar and Orwin gave him, Ulf went on. "Didn't you know that?"

"No!" they exclaimed in unison.

Ulf explained what he had learned from Issapoma. His companions' expressions grew amazed. Gunnar muttered incredulously as Ulf finished telling what he knew.

"By Tyr's mighty sword! It's true I've seen no women amongst them, but I thought the Elxa had hidden them from us, the way other tribes do when we trade with them, to protect them from rape. A useless exercise where men like us are concerned! A whole tribe of men like us, you say?"

"That's right," Ulf confirmed. "And so far, it appears they're eager to get to know us, if you know what I mean!"

"From what I just saw," grinned Orwin, "I certainly do!"

"Well, that certainly puts a new meaning on what happened to us this morning!" Gunnar mused.

"What happened?"

"Well, Ulf," the Viking captain began, after casting a questioning look at his swordbrother. Orwin grinned and nodded, giving Gunnar permission to go on. "Orwin and I went off this morning to have a look at the surrounding country, get a feel for it and scout out any good defensive positions, just in case we might need one. We found a very pleasant little spot not too far from the river and, well, one thing led to another, and... "

Ulf grinned in understanding.

" ...anyway, I was about to take Orwin when he pulled me to him as if he wanted to kiss, but whispered instead that we were being watched and privately indicated a direction. Casually getting up, I went in the opposite direction, then quickly doubled back. I caught two naked Elxa boy-men hiding behind some bushes. It was obvious they had been stroking each others' cocks while watching Orwin and I getting ready to make love."

"What did you do?"

"Gunnar grabbed them," Orwin said, picking up the tale, "and thrust one to me. They were perhaps seventeen or so, and so frightened that they didn't put up a fight. Gunnar winked at me and asked the boy he held if he liked what he saw. When they realized we weren't going to hurt them, they relaxed and started to touch our bodies. They seemed fascinated by our body hair."

"That's because the Vinlanders have none themselves," rejoined Ulf, "but go on with your story!"

"We were soon each getting expert blowjobs," grinned Gunnar. "Those boys must have practiced on each other for a long time, to get so good! They couldn't have had a chance to do that with men of our race before, but it was obvious they were enjoying themselves with us. So we laid them down and returned the favor, mouth to cock, until we had all four shot our seed and were satisfied."

"Afterwards, Gunnar talked to them and found out we had stumbled onto their 'secret place', where they liked to go and make love. At the time, we assumed they came there because their tribal elders disapproved of their relationship," Orwin chuckled. "Their names are Little Wolf and High Water. We looked for them later when we were in the village to see how you were doing, but they weren't around."

As Orwin spoke those words, the trio arrived at the site of the Norsemen's camp. Ulf saw some of his crewmates along with a couple of Elxa braves dealing with various chores. They worked around a pair of newly built longhouses, similar to the one he had awoken in. Ulf was glad he was not the only one amongst the group of Norse traders who had a familiarity with the language of the Vinlanders.

At the edge of the river, they spied one of their number and went over to him. He was a brawny man with pale blonde hair, so light it was almost white. As the Vikings approached, they heard him as he stood on the muddy shore and muttered disgustedly to himself.

"Freyja's tits!"

Sigurd Rolfsson was gazing ruefully across the dark brown waters as he cursed, naming the Norse goddess of love... and whores. Ulf also looked across the placid river to see what had upset his crewmate. He spotted the topmost part of their sunken ship's mast protruding about a foot above the muddy, ripping current.

"Were we able to salvage anything from the Raven?"

"Ulf!" Sigurd exclaimed, bearhugging his comrade when he realized who had spoken. "By the poisonous fangs of Fenris, Loki's demon son, it's good to see you!"

"Be careful, Sigurd," warned Orwin. "Ulf has a wound in his side that isn't healed yet."

"Oh!"

"It's okay, Sigurd," Ulf grinned as he was released. "I'm glad to still be here, and not haunting the halls of the sea god, Niord, where they say drowned men go."

"So are we," Gunnar agreed.

"We've retrieved most of our gear from the Raven," Sigurd began. "Our strongest swimmers, Ingi and Njal, were out there all day yesterday diving and bringing things up. The water's so muddy though that they had to work mostly by touch."

"The good news is," added Gunnar, "that our tools have all been recovered. Olaf and his sons can begin work on a new ship as soon as they can find suitable trees."

"We have all our weapons too, so we can deal properly with this damned Skraeling sorcerer who attacked us!"

"It sounds like you're ready to fight, Sigurd," Ulf observed.

"Everyone is," said Gunnar. "As soon as you feel up to it, Ulf, we'll perform the war ritual, strengthen ourselves for battle and ask the gods for victory."

"I'm not badly hurt, Gunnar. I'm ready to stand with my brothers. But there is something important I must tell you and the rest of the crew before we commit ourselves to this fight."

"What?" asked Orwin as Ulf drew his dark blue blade to show his friends. They fell silent, as they always did in the presence of the awe inspiring sword.

"I have learned that Bluefang is the reason Black Cloud attacked us."

"How do you know this?" Gunnar asked in surprise.

"I'll try and explain... "

+* * *

"...and that's what I was told." Ulf finished a short time later.

"The Elxa are like us?" Sigurd asked in astonishment. "A band of men who prefer men, gathered together from out of all the Skraeling tribes of Vinland for mutual support?"

"That's what I understand, yes." Ulf nodded. "And their god, the Heron Spirit, came to me in a... what they called a medicine dream. He showed me Bluefang's history and told me my sword has the power to defeat Black Cloud's sorcerous Sky-Spear."

"A weapon forged of iron that fell from the sky," Gunnar murmured thoughtfully as he reached out and stroked his fingers along the cold surface of the deep blue blade.

"Bluefang is more than just a oddly colored sword then!" wondered Orwin.

"The Heron Spirit said whoever holds it is proof against earthly sorcery, Orwin. I promise you my friends, if my Bluefang can protect me long enough to get within swordstroke of this he-witch, the snake-loving bastard will be shorter by a head!"

"When we gather for dinner this evening, you can repeat your story for our comrades, Ulf. And then we can make plans to conduct the war ritual."

No sooner had Gunnar spoken than an Elxa brave appeared, coming down the path from his village. Spotting Ulf holding Bluefang, he approached him and his comrades. Ulf resheathed his sword before the man spoke.

"You are Red Bear?"

"Yes," Ulf answered.

"My chief, Two Eagles, invites you and your friends to a feast in our village tonight, at sundown."

Ulf translated the brave's words for Sigurd, whose knowledge of the native language was not as complete as Gunnar's or Orwin's.

"Tell him we accept," Gunnar replied. "I'll get the others organized. If you like, you can go back and thank Two Eagles for the invitation."

"Alright." Ulf agreed.

Ulf returned with the messenger, whose name he learned was Tuco. At the chief's lodge, Ulf spoke to Two Eagles, who seemed quite taken with his Viking visitors and Gunnar in particular, in whom he sensed a kindred spirit, a leader of men like himself. After his talk, Tuco showed the Norseman to one of the longhouses in the Elxa village where he could rest until the feast was ready.

The lodge was not as large as Two Eagles', but in the back of the structure, Ulf spotted a huge bearskin covering a thick mat of reeds. Just looking at the plush bed made Ulf feel fatigued, so he stripped and moved to stretch out on it. As he knelt, an oddly shaped object sheltered in a niche attracted his attention.

Ulf picked it up. It proved to be clay vessel, gayly painted. But the utilitarian object had been lifted to an altogether higher artistic plane by the supreme efforts of some master potter. Ulf marveled as he turned the pitcher over in his hands; never had he seen such art - or such sexual explicitness expressed by art.

The potter had molded two men engaged in anal sex. The passive partner lay upon his belly, his cock and balls projecting backwards between his wide-spread legs. The active man was well and truly seated on lover, his cock buried, his balls pressed against the upturned ass. The faces of the men, eyes closed, mouths open, showed an ecstasy that the potter himself must have experienced to render it so finely.

A hollow handle, with a pipelike upward extension was attached to the active man's back. When the pitcher was tipped forward, the liquid within ran from his open mouth. That the exquisite vessel was empty did not surprise Ulf. Considering what a fine and unique object it was, it surely would not be meant for casual use. The Viking placed the vessel back in its niche reverently before relaxing on the bearskin.

Sleep did not come easily for the man. Ulf tossed and turned awhile, missing the comfort he had gotten from having Issapoma to cuddle with. But finally he managed to doze off.

+* * *

Ulf knew he was dreaming; he was gazing at the finely wrought pitcher again. As he admired the vessel, he became aware of the slate-colored feathers it rested upon and wondered at them. As he focused on them, he saw the feathers were part of a wing. With a rush of something like consciousness returning, Ulf recognized the Heron Spirit.

"It is very old," the Elxa godling murmured in its oddly melodic voice. At the same time, Ulf wondered at how alert and awake he felt in the state the Elxa called medicine dreaming. "It came from a mountainous land far to the south. The country you call Vinland is vast, and men of your nature can be found in all parts of it."

Ulf nodded, and the Heron Spirit spoke again.

"Can you see it, my brother?"

The dreamscape altered in a moment and once more Ulf stood with the godling and gazed across the Great River. Another river, as wide and as long as the first joined it and Ulf seemed to follow it in some inexplicable manner to its source, a place where three rivers met and became one. He followed the westernmost of the trio to its source, over a great divide and down another river.

At the point where it joined another large river, Ulf seemed to strike out overland, westward across a range of rugged hills, bristling with fir and spruce, before coming to a roughly circular valley. He saw hot springs and plentiful game in that isolated, grassy vale. And he saw what the Heron Spirit had meant him to see.

On the western side of the inviting valley rose a ridge of foothills, the precursors of a high range of mountains whose slopes were tinted blue by the pines that grew so thickly there. The foothills were slashed by canyons, and in one of them was hidden the city Ulf had seen in his earlier medicine dream. But now he saw more. The people of that city honored men like the Elxa, and many of their braves lived in happily mated pairs.

But these people were in trouble. For a long time, drought had gripped their land, slowly drying up all their sources of water. Ulf knew they would be driven from their city and scattered if nothing could be done to help them. He looked questioningly at the Heron Spirit. Without taking its blazing eyes off the distant scene, the majestic godling murmured in its oddly musical voice.

"Defeat Black Cloud, my brother, and you can save them as well."

"How... "

"Tell what you have seen to Aya'qa. He will know what to do," the Heron Spirit instructed Ulf as the medicine dream ended. The Viking was at once drawn back into the restful blackness of ordinary sleep...

+* * *

Ages seemed to pass. Ulf was not sure if he was dreaming again or not as he became aware of a rhythmic sound droning in his ears. He eventually recognized the pounding of native drums, becoming louder as he paid more heed to it. Then he felt the warmth.

Without knowing how, he was sure Issapoma was beside him. Ulf began to stretch and rub himself against the body of the man next to him. Issapoma's voice was as welcome as it was gentle.

"Are you awake, my brother?"

"I don't know, or care... " Ulf murmured.

The men cuddled and reached for each other's hard cocks. They kissed while manipulating their manhoods until they gasped and allowed their hot nutjuices to spatter each other's bodies. Then they took turns cleaning one another with their tongues, gratefully lapping up every drop of the thick, savory man-essence.

"What are the drums for?" asked Ulf when they finished.

"They are calling the tribe to the feast. Are you hungry?"

"As a bear!" he grinned.

"We will feed you well, Red Bear."

"Like just now?"

"Though the heron men believe that manseed will make you strong, it is not wise to try and survive on only one type of food," Issapoma chuckled as he got up and donned his breechclout.

"We Norse believe the same thing. The seed of a strong man will strengthen a weak man. But I do need to eat something more substantial."

"Before I lay with you, I saw that our hunters had returned from the forest with several deer. They will make a fine feast."

"Is this your lodge?" asked Ulf as he arose and pulled on his worn leather trousers.

"Yes."

"But how did Tuco know I'd want to be put in here?"

Issapoma smile was gentle.

"It is very difficult to keep secrets among the Elxa, my friend. What happened between us in the medicine lodge is now commonly known, and many of my heron brothers have commented on how happy I seem, since I met you."

"I'm happy too, Issapoma... I... "

Issapoma kissed Ulf, silencing him. Ulf relaxed into the intimate touch as he held the native, trying to let him know how he felt without words. Breaking the kiss at last, they finished dressing and went to join the feast.

"Hoop-ne-yah!" someone called out excitedly as the pair pushed aside the skin flap and exited the longhouse.

"Hoop-ne-yah! Hoop-ne-yah!!" other voices called out boisterously as Ulf found himself and Issapoma abruptly pummelled by a shower of wildflowers, thrown by a waiting group of heron men.

"What's going on?" Ulf asked as Issapoma laughed and traded words with his fellow tribesmen.

"They are joking with us, Red Bear. When two men pledge themselves to each other, their friends throw flowers at them, the more the better. Each flower is a wish for happiness."

"Do they think we... ?"

"As I said, it is only a joke on us, because it is known we have become friends so quickly."

The idea of Issapoma and Ulf becoming more than friends was not at all unpleasant to the Viking, but instead of saying so, he asked, "What does 'hoop-ne-yah' mean?"

"You might think it crude, my friend," the native demurred.

"I'm a sailor, Issapoma. I can curse in several languages, if I need to, and turn the air blue in the process! I doubt 'hoop-ne-yah' will shock me!"

"Well, it is a wish for us, to have... um... " Issapoma paused as he chose the simplest words he could think of, to get the message across to Ulf, "'much-happy-fucking' together."

Ulf smiled, "I can't think of anything better to wish for, with a man like you, Issapoma."

The others laughed and nodded approvingly. Seeing that, Ulf felt emboldened to pick up one of the flowers and put it behind Issapoma's ear. Issapoma repeated the act, kissed Ulf, and ordered the onlookers to lead them to the feast.

"How do you expect us to have hoop-ne-yah if we are not well fed?" he demanded.

The group roared with laughter and formed an impromptu honor guard to conduct the pair to the village fane. Ulf saw a clearing and Issapoma explained that it was set aside for tribal rituals and feasts. Several fires were burning in its midst with deer carcasses roasting over them. Ulf smiled when he spotted his crewmate Ingi helping turn one of the deer with the help of the Elxa brave Ulf had seen him with earlier that day.

"Who is that with Ingi?" he asked, pointing.

"That is Qoocom," answered Issapoma. He smiled wryly and went on. "You are not the only man amongst your crew who finds our braves attractive."

Ulf turned to Issapoma and looked into the heron man's dark eyes.

"I find you more than just attractive, Issapoma, much more... I hope we can continue to be friends, so we can see where our friendship leads... "

"Red Bear," Issapoma breathed, his eyes intense, "your words make my heart soar... "

The brave seemed to want to go on in that vein. But with a visible effort, he stopped himself. He gestured to the circle of men that was forming around the Elxa's sacred fane before speaking again.

"Sit beside me and let us eat, my brother. You need food to make you whole, after all you have been through."

Ulf did as he was asked, wondering. Did Issapoma feel as Ulf did? If so, why did he not say so?

As the vaguely troubling questions hung in his mind, Ulf looked around for a distraction and spotted Gunnar and Orwin. Sitting next to them were a pair of young natives. The story his shipmates had told Ulf earlier came back to him. He nudged Issapoma.

"Who are they?"

"Little Wolf and High Water. It is odd you should ask, for they were the ones who found you unconscious in the river."

"They were? I must thank them," Ulf said, moving to rise.

"Do not be surprised if they ask to lie with you, for they too are fascinated with your comrades."

Ulf hesitated. "You wouldn't be jealous?"

"Jealous?" repeated Issapoma. "No."

"Even if we were... pledged to each other?"

"To the Elxa, love is something to be shared freely with all our brothers, Red Bear. If we were pledged, it would not mean that I owned you, or you I. That would not be love, but slavery."

Ulf nodded slowly. He was thinking of the strong love he knew existed between Gunnar and Orwin. Yet both of them shared their bodies freely with their comrades. And Orwin had more than once arranged for Ulf to join the pair in their bunk, allowing himself to be taken by both men, as if he wished for a permanent triad with Gunnar and Ulf.

Ulf got up and began to walk around the outer side of the circle that was forming. The heron men and the crew of the Raven seemed to be mixing freely. This boded well for the proposed alliance against Black Cloud, but Ulf's thoughts were elsewhere.

The Viking had never been committed to another man, the way he was beginning to think he might want to be with Issapoma. In an abstract way, he expected that he and his imagined partner would sometimes find other men to play with. But with the possibility now at last before him, feeling as he did about Issapoma, feeling the reality of love, Ulf just did not know if he could do it, share Issapoma with the other heron men, without being jealous.

"Ulf!" Orwin greeted him, snapping the man out of his reverie. "I want you to meet Little Wolf and High Water."

"I came to thank them," began Ulf, shaking off his troubled thoughts. "I understand they rescued me."

"We just found out the same thing from them," Gunnar beamed at the young men.

"Are you feeling better, Red Bear?" one of the young braves asked politely.

"Of course he is, High Water," Little Wolf joked. "Don't you remember Aya'qa teaching us that no sick man can fall in love?"

"Everyone knows he meant sick in the head!"

"And everyone knows also that Red Bear and Issapoma are doing it with abandon like the horned people in their autumn time of rut... Ooooff!!"

Little Wolf was interrupted by a gentle kick in the ribs from behind. The youth spun around and saw Aya'qa, dressed in his shamanic finery and looking quite intimidating. When Ulf saw him, he was reminded of the medicine dream he had experienced in Issapoma's lodge and that he had to tell Aya'qa of it. The shaman frowned fiercely at Little Wolf.

"The littlest warriors always possess the most unruly tongues, it seems!"

"I didn't mean anything... " Little Wolf stopped speaking when Aya'qa shook his crooked medicine staff at the young brave. All the fetishes and sacred objects attached to it rattled noisily.

"Your words insult our guest and Issapoma! Be silent, or else I shall send you to join the warriors who guard our camp while their brothers feast! Their selflessness would be a good quality for you to learn!"

"Who are 'the horned people'?" asked Orwin.

"It is our way to speak of animals as we would other tribes, as equals," Aya'qa explained. "What we call the horned people, you would call deer."

Gunnar snickered, but stopped the instant he saw Ulf glaring at him.

"I am feeling fine, thank you, High Water," Ulf began, turning back to the pair of young braves. Little Wolf looked chastened, so the Viking went on gently. "You are very lucky to have a man as wise as Aya'qa to guide you. Listen to him."

As the youths nodded solemnly, the shaman stepped closer to Ulf and whispered. As he spoke, the Viking looked at Issapoma. The native was watching Ulf intently from his place in the still-forming circle. When Aya'qa finished, Ulf agreed and waved his friend over.

"What is it?" Issapoma asked when he came to Ulf.

"Aya'qa wants me to sit beside him, to help make an announcement," Ulf explained as he took the brave's hand. They began to follow the shaman to his place of honor beside Two Eagles. "And I want you to sit beside me."

"I will gladly stay beside you as long as you wish, my brother."

Something unexpected touched Ulf inside, and he spoke.

A whole day has yet to pass since we met but already I look forward to all the days that are to come because I know you will fill them all so sweetly...

"Red Bear!" blinked Issapoma, "You sang to me!"

"When you said you would stay with me, I felt... " Ulf shook his head, groping for words. "I don't know what made me speak, but it felt good and right. And I meant every word I said, Issapoma."

"It is a blessing on you both, and for those who heard it," Aya'qa announced, distracting the Viking.

Ulf looked and saw the closest men, Ingi and Qoocom, sitting together. The couple had passed their culinary duties on to another pair and had taken a place in the circle. The native whispered an explanation in Ingi's ear and the Norseman nodded before looking at Ulf with grateful eyes as he caressed Qoocom's broad back.

"I think," the shaman went on, thoughtfully, "that we must talk privately after the feast, Red Bear."

Ulf was about to ask why, when Two Eagles interrupted by greeting the men and inviting them to sit. Issapoma introduced Ulf to the chief's partner, a grave-looking warrior named Aticut. The man's black hair hung loose, except for a single small braid that hung down across his heart, weighted by a shiny bead of copper. Two blue heron feathers were also stuck into the braid.

When at last the circle was filled, Two Eagles rose and, signalling for the drummers to cease, addressed the group. Those Vikings who understood him translated for their comrades who did not. His oration was brief, welcoming the Norsemen and predicting the combination of his tribe with them would overcome the dangers common to both. Then he invited Aya'qa to speak.

"My brothers," the shaman began once he had risen, "the spirits who favor the Elxa have guided powerful allies to us, strong men who share our nature, but one is special."

At Aya'qa's beckoning, Ulf arose, knowing what the shaman wanted. With a deliberate flourish, he drew Bluefang from its sheath and held it up, exhibiting it to the crowd. Those who had not seen the unique sword before muttered in awe as the weapon glinted and flashed azure sparks in the firelight.

"The Heron Spirit himself has said this weapon, forged of metal that fell from the sky long ago, can defeat the power of Black Cloud. If we are united, we can win and end the reign of terror this evil sorcerer has brought to the tribes living all along the length of the Great River!"

A cheer went up at that, from the throats of Vikings and Elxa alike. As Aya'qa and Ulf resumed their seats, the feast began. The food and drink were plentiful and after some of the men finished, they organized native games in the fane. Ulf was watching an unusual sport of dexterity, that involved one brave trying to take a spinning hoop from another with a spear, when Aya'qa turned to him.

"If you are done eating, Red Bear, let us go and talk."

"Alright," the Viking agreed. He turned to give Issapoma a warm hug and muttered what Aya'qa wanted. "I will return to you, Issapoma. I want to sleep with you again tonight," he finished.

"As do I," the native affirmed, kissing Ulf.

Ulf felt his cock plumping up again at the thought of being with Issapoma and smiled to himself. It was as if the organ had a mind of its own and was as eager to prove itself again in the heron man's bed as Ulf was. But the Viking attempted to concentrate instead on what he knew he had to tell Aya'qa as he arose and followed the shaman from the brightly firelit circle of happily feasting and chatting men.

Ulf followed Aya'qa as they went to the mystery lodge. As they entered, the shaman turned aside. Ulf saw Aya'qa beginning to gather some small pieces of firewood from a supply stacked just inside the doorflap.

"Aya'qa," began Ulf, "I have had another medicine dream and the Heron Spirit instructed me to tell you about it."

"Did it have anything to do with Black Cloud?" the Elxa shaman asked as he began to stack the sticks in a small firepit.

"I don't think so... it seemed to be something to do after we defeat him. I saw that strange city again... "

"In a canyon far from here?"

"Yes! How did you know?"

"I too have seen this lost city, Red Bear. Tell me what you dreamed."

Ulf repeated all that he had seen. As he did, Aya'qa continued to build his fire. The shaman nodded when Ulf finished.

"As I thought, the Heron Spirit wishes to lead us to this city, but we can speak of this some other time. For now," the shaman said, standing up, "there is a ritual I wish to conduct with you, Red Bear, if you will allow it."

"What kind of ritual?"

"Your heart is Elxa. Many have felt that besides myself. Two Eagles has asked me to induct you into our tribe, so that you may fight beside us as an Elxa warrior."

"I... I would be honored!" managed Ulf.

"No, Red Bear, it is our tribe you would honor, and myself most of all."

"Howso?"

"The ritual will make you my spirit-son."

Ulf smiled.

"I would be proud to call you my father, Aya'qa."

"Then sit here, across from the firepit from me."

As the Viking sat, Aya'qa began to softly chant in a singsong manner. He lit the small fire, then loaded his curious pipe while continuing to croon to his guardian spirits. When his invocation was complete, having called the four directions, the earth and the sky to witness and protect the ritual, he lit his pipe and took a couple of puffs before offering it to Ulf.

Ulf took the pipe and drew on it. The heavy, fragrant smoke flowed smoothly into his lungs and spread warmth throughout his chest and limbs. The two men shared the pipe, handing it back and forth, until Ulf found himself having trouble focusing his eyes.

"Do you love him, Red Bear?"

Aya'qa's voice floated softly through the semidarkness of the mystery lodge. Ulf was startled at first by the question, knowing well who Aya'qa was referring to. After a few moments of hesitation he answered, somewhat haltingly.

"I... I desire Issapoma strongly, but... I am not sure if what I feel is the same as love."

"Desire is often the precursor of love."

"But how can I love him and share him with the other heron men without feeling jealous?"

"A heart full of love has no room for anything else to dwell in it, Red Bear. And anyone you profess to love deserves nothing less than your heart, filled to bursting with love for them."

"I wish I knew for certain... "

"...about the nature of love?" Aya'qa finished.

"Yes." Ulf said, looking into Aya'qa's eyes, "Could I ask you something personal?"

"Of course."

"Have you been in love?"

"Oh, yes, my son. Many moons ago I met a brave who stirred my heart, as the north wind stirs the leaves of the forest." Aya'qa said in a whispered sigh that seemed to come from his soul. "With Tewoma I always felt complete, whole, at peace inside. From the start he gave my spirit what it needed to be truly alive and I did the same for him."

"Love at first sight?"

"Yes, you could describe it like that. And I perceive something similar has happened between you and Issapoma."

"Where is Tewoma?" asked Ulf, choosing not to comment on Aya'qa's speculations.

"He has passed beyond this life, and now works with the forces who aid the Heron Spirit."

"Oh," Ulf managed, thinking he had put his foot in it. "I'm sorry... You must miss him... "

"He is still with me, here," said Aya'qa, touching his heart, "and in my medicine dreams. In those dreams Tewoma returns to me from the place he lives in now, the spirit realm, a place beyond time and death. He comes to me and we talk and touch and love as we did in years past. I can tell from your expression that you do not believe me, Red Bear. But no matter. You shall believe."

"What do you mean?"

"Be still, Red Bear. The spirits are close."

The small fire flickering between them seemed to blossom abruptly into a great, bright inferno. Ulf thought they would both be burned, but had no power to save himself or Aya'qa, as his limbs seemed numbed or palsied. He felt as if he were slipping into a state like sleep but it was definitely different, for he was still fully aware. Then, suddenly, the flames died down and Ulf blinked at his companion.

A strange pall of unreality seemed to infuse the atmosphere as Aya'qa stood up. His clothing fell away from him and vanished as if by magic. The years also dropped away from the elder as well. Ulf was left to gasp at the imposing figure who came to stand beside him, to tower over him, lit uncertainly by the low, flickering flames in the firepit.

Aya'qa's long hair was as black and glossy as a raven's wing, his body was lithe and muscular. In short, he seemed to be only a little older than the Viking who gaped at the native's miraculous transformation. Looking at the shaman, thinking if this was how Aya'qa had appeared in his young manhood, Ulf had no doubt Aya'qa had been a superb warrior and a formidable sight to enemy eyes.

Aya'qa looked down at where Ulf sat. Ulf could see the look of longing, of want, burning icily in the man's black eyes. Ulf could also see a vague shape moving in the half-shadows between the man's muscular thighs, lengthening, swinging outward...

Ulf responded to the unspoken plea. He rose to his knees and grasped Aya'qa's cock and the low-hanging balls at their base, kissing the hooded tip of the man's penis. A shudder wracked Aya'qa's body and the rose-colored glans swelled, emerging from its darker foreskin.

As he took the cock into his mouth, breathed in the heady male musk that clung to Aya'qa's pubic hair, Ulf was vaguely aware that his surroundings had changed. His own clothing had vanished and they were both now out in the open air, near the edge of the Great River. It was dark, very dark. There was no moon, no firelight. Only a faint silvery starshine from the sky above lit the scene.

In the distance, Ulf could hear drums pounding and managed to glance towards the sound, without releasing the shaman's cock. He saw his Norse comrades performing the war ritual in the Elxa's sacred fane, and some of the heron men had joined them. The warriors, both Norse and Elxa, shared their seed, what they believed to be the distilled essence of their strength, fucking and sucking one another off, taking each other's vital fluids to fortify themselves for the battle to come.

"Yes!" roared Gunnar as he shot his load into a comrade's mouth, "I am a mighty warrior! Take my seed, and share my strength!"

"Be strong like me!" Ingi cried as Qoocom sucked the sperm from his spewing cock. Soon they had changed positions and the heron man was encouraging an enthusiastic Ingi to do his best, which hardly seemed necessary.

"My warclub is potent!" Qoocom panted. "Take its sap, and share in my manhood!"

Olaf was on his hands and knees before one of his tall sons, urging his boy to release his juices. The other son was behind the carpenter, busily working towards filling his father from the other end. As Ulf watched, Tuco stepped behind the fucking son and stroked his pink, hairy Norse buns. The young man gasped agreement and Tuco called out to a comrade, who tossed him a small sack. The Elxa brave promptly scooped out a fulvous mass and lubed the paleskinned ass well before slipping his dark, ready cock in, sandwiching his partner against Olaf.

Inspired by these sights, Ulf slurped and pleasured Aya'qa's rod with orgiastic abandon. Soon the shaman stopped Ulf reluctantly, laid the Norseman out on his back in the tall, fragrant grass, and maneuvered himself between Ulf's legs, which encircled Aya'qa's waist. Ulf relaxed, waiting for the first thrust, hungering to feel Aya'qa take him, be inside him, fill him with his strength. make them one with the manly act... The spit-slickened cockhead grazed teasingly across Ulf's asshole before finding the mark and beginning to squeeze its way in, slowly, gently...

Ulf looked up in awe at the magnificently naked man curled over him, muscles tensed and standing out, warping the dark skin that covered them. He reached up and ran his hands over the hard, smooth flesh, across Aya'qa's back and along his powerful arms, and felt a thrill of pride. Pride that this strong and beautiful man had chosen to give his love to Ulf.

Despite his ecstasy, Ulf was aware of an increasing sharpness of mind, a heightened consciousness he had never experienced before. It was this new awareness that revealed a fresh wonder. He saw a sight like nothing he had ever seen before.

Brighter than the starshine in that place, shimmering like the strands of a spider's web in moonlight, Ulf saw something he could only describe as dozens of filaments or streamers of light, weaving together as it were into a sort of fine mesh. Ulf soon realized these were all growing out of Aya'qa's back, sprouting in two parallel lines down the length of his spine. Altogether, they presented the appearance of gossamer wings, wrought from spun crystal.

Ulf wondered at the sight, transfixed by its delicate beauty. The heron shaman's wings wrapped themselves deftly around Ulf and the Norseman felt a peculiar warmth growing, tingling through his own spine, sinking in and sprouting outward at the same time. Before he could see them Ulf knew he too was producing many strands of this odd, fibrous energy, a shining pair of aethereal wings of his own.

As Aya'qa's wings drew back, Ulf's came forth, as delicately beautiful as those the heron shaman sported. Then the edges of the two luminous pairs of wings touched and bonded, forming a shining sphere of spirit light around the two conjoined men. As the last glowing tendrils joined, a new energy, unknown to Ulf, coursed jubilantly through his body and Aya'qa's. It was somehow as if this vital force had feelings, a sentience of its own, and was exceedingly glad to have found a new conduit for itself to flow through, a new way in which to manifest itself in the universe, through Ulf himself.

New sensations, new knowledge, flowed into Ulf. He and Aya'qa were now connected and enclosed within a cocoon of glowing fibers, a sort of dainty web or subtle mesh of light. Though the aethereal envelope barely seemed substantial, Ulf's senses told him it was very real.

Reaching down, Aya'qa gathered Ulf up in his arms and lifted, pressing the younger man's chest against his own dark skinned torso, kissing passionately as they gradually pivoted until the shaman was below Ulf. Aya'qa's arms relaxed their grip by degrees, so that the Viking's own weight served to impale him fully on Aya'qa's cock, a slow delicious sliding of its entire length deep into the center of Ulf's being. Just as Ulf thought it could not get any better, Aya'qa began to move.

The slow, rolling, sensuous, upward thrusts soon had Ulf's manhood standing rigid once more. Ulf looked down at the tensed muscles of his partner's hard belly as he pushed into the Norseman. Ulf lowered himself to kiss Aya'qa, both feeling their passion rising, approaching the point of no return.

Again, they shifted positions. The men rolled slowly over until Aya'qa was again mounted atop the Viking, fucking him with forceful strokes. Aya'qa moaned in raw passion before he whispered hoarsely to his partner.

"This is only one secret of the Way of the Heron, my new son. The spirit wings that men of our nature can make when they are shown how, the visceral connections these subtle pinions can create between us, joining us soul to soul, enhances our lovemaking, but it can do more: it can generate an energy of healing. When two men who understand this make love, their physical union sends waves of spiritual healing out into the world, propelled by their orgasms.

"This knowledge is older than the Elxa, older than the Atlanteans who vanished long ago. It was revealed to men like ourselves in an unimaginable, icy past, by the totems who guide us. Those men learned of the healing energy men like us can make, and how beneficial that wondrous energy can be for all life on Earth. The knowledge of this power is their legacy to us and to all that follow us, one generation of man-loving men teaching the next, down through the numberless centuries. And the closer the couple who practice this sacred mystery is emotionally, the more energy they can produce.

"Your beauty enthralls me, Ulf. I cannot help but love you, as I have from the time your unconscious body was brought to me for healing. These feelings generate a great deal of power within me. But when you experience this act with a man you love, who loves you in return with equal force, a man like Issapoma, the energy generated will be so much greater... "

The thought of Issapoma was enough to push Ulf over the edge. As his cock erupted wetly, soaking his and Aya'qa's bellies with his seed, the Viking could feel Aya'qa answering him, pumping a glowing warmth deep into his vitals. At the same time, the shining, connected pair of spirit wings forming a sort of cocoon around the two men threw off a shining pulse of eldritch light. The uncanny power raced away into the world, seeking after other men of their nature, ones who needed healing, physical or spiritual.

Ulf forced his gasping lips against Aya'qa's. Without breaking the kiss or allowing Aya'qa's still stiff rod to leave Ulf's ass, they rolled themselves over, to lie in the sweet-smelling grass, side by side, touching at all possible points. Soon, Ulf felt the rubbery bulk of Aya'qa's penis slip from between his asscheeks and nestle wetly next to his own, before the stars ceased to shine...

...all but one, that is, and Ulf focused on its solitary, oddly large and garish glow. An indeterminate time passed before he realized that what he was gazing at was not a star at all, but the flames burning in the small firepit of the mystery lodge. The shock of recognition made him shake his head suddenly.

Ulf saw at once that he apparently had not moved. He was still in the same spot he had sat in at Aya'qa's request, and he was still clothed. Despite the clear memories of the ecstasy he had experienced with the Elxa shaman, Ulf doubted he had ever left the mystery lodge, at least in body.

Aya'qa was still seated opposite the Viking, before the small fire, smiling as if at some secret pleasure of his own. He turned and picked up something lying on the floor beside him. Ulf saw it was a glyphstone, strung on a rawhide cord.

Aya'qa moved to slip it over the Norseman's head. The heron shaman pulled his new brother's bright crimson beard through the loop so the pendant could lie against Ulf's chest. Ulf had not moved while Aya'qa did that, still somewhat stunned by the things he had just experienced. Aya'qa sat back in his original spot.

"Welcome to the Elxa, my son," he murmured.

Ulf started to speak, but was unable to find words, somehow knowing that there was nothing he could say. Instead, he shifted to sit next to Aya'qa, and kissed him gently. The older man responded, sighing in pleasure, and Ulf drew the elder's body close, his hands beginning to explore Aya'qa's body. His desire to make love to the heron shaman then was a palpable, burning, ungovernable thing.

"My father... " Ulf sighed between kisses.

"I know what you are thinking," responded Aya'qa in a whisper, "and I too long for our joining, here, in the physical world, to feel the power of your youthful strength, your strong, beautiful desire for me, driving deep into my being, possessing and filling me entirely, but we must wait. There will be other nights for us."

"Why not now?"

"Your brother is waiting for you."

"My brother?"

"You should know that Issapoma underwent this same initiation with me. He is also my spirit-son, so you and he are now brothers."

"Would that mean... I mean, would there be a tribal taboo against us... being together?"

Aya'qa smiled.

"No, my son," the shaman began gently. "You and Issapoma would still be free to pledge yourselves to one another and be lovers if you so desire."

"I do... I love him, Aya'qa. I can't deny what I feel for him any longer," Ulf finally admitted. "I think I understand now what you said earlier, about a heart full of love. If I want his happiness, I can't be jealous if he finds it with another man, and I want Issapoma to be happy, even when we are not together... "

"You should be telling this to Issapoma, my son."

"Yes, you're right." Ulf got up, determined to find the heron man and bare his heart to him. Then he paused and looked at Aya'qa. "Thank you... my father."

"Love Issapoma with all your heart, Red Bear, and that will be more than enough thanks for me."

"I will, but I will love you too, I think, Aya'qa." Ulf paused as tender thoughts of Orwin also made themselves felt in his mind, and asked: "Father, is it possible to love more than one person at the same time, all with equal desire?"

"The answer to your question is yes," affirmed Aya'qa. "But you will learn why only after you have lived among the Elxa for a time. I have much to teach you, Red Bear, if you care to learn from me."

"I do, my father."

Ulf kissed Aya'qa one more time and left the mystery lodge. The Elxa shaman turned his eyes back to the small fire burning before him and allowed himself to lapse back into the state of medicine dreaming. Soon, Aya'qa stood in spirit again on the benighted banks of the Great River, but he was not alone there for long.

A man appeared on the further shore of the wide river. He came towards the heron shaman, unhurriedly, striding across the muddy waters which held him up as easily as the grassy ground beneath Aya'qa's feet. He saluted the Elxa shaman as he approached.

"Aya'qa, my love... "

"Tewoma... "

The men's arms reached and hugged one another. Aya'qa embraced his departed lover against all logic, feeling all the old familiar, sweet sensations, and it was the same for Tewoma. The easy embrace gave way to serious talk.

"Have the spirits suggested a way we can obscure Black Cloud's occult sight, so that the attack on him can be a surprise?" asked Aya'qa.

"Yes," Tewoma smiled, before whispering in the Elxa shaman's ear. Aya'qa smiled broadly.

"Come, my love. Let us do it," he agreed.

Hand in hand, the pair walked along the banks of the Great River. Far sooner than they might have in the world of the flesh, they came to the village of Black Cloud. It was built beside the violated mound meant to cover the accursed temple of Wakon forever.

Vigilant braves, their bodies painted with multicolored images of serpents that marked them as Wakon's acolytes, guarded all approaches to the sorcerer's stronghold. But the snake warriors could not see or impede the progress of the spirits of the Elxa lovers who strolled easily past them. Tewoma and Aya'qa made their way to the ancient stone shrine, climbed up onto its flat roof, and commenced to make love to one another.

As he had with Ulf, Aya'qa's allowed his spirit wings to mesh with those of Tewoma, and the pair channeled the power of their strong emotional bond to counteract and dampen the dark energies emanating from the eldritch structure. Black Cloud drew upon that force to nourish his magicks. By denying the evil sorcerer access to this power, they hoped to disrupt his abilities, especially his occult sight.

They did not have to labor alone. The pair drew not only on their own love, but also on the erotic power being raised by their Elxa brothers as they shared their bodies with the Norsemen, all engaged together in the overtly sexual Viking war ritual. And, as Aya'qa noted with satisfaction as he glanced in the direction of his tribe's encampment, he could see his spirit-sons, Issapoma and Ulf, joyously generating their own sphere of aethereal light in their new bond as pledged lovers, their spirit wings joined as they made love, unknowingly helping their spirit-father cast his spell.

Tewoma climaxed first, then Aya'qa. A brilliant explosion of spirit light pulsed outward from their straining bodies, then rebounded in a singular way to cling to the exterior of the serpent temple, surrounding the eldritch structure with a veil of love-energy that muted its hateful emanations. The spell was cast. The pair had done all that could be done on the spirit plane and the rest would be up to the physical might of the Elxa and their Viking allies.

+* * *

Black Cloud scowled in disconcertion as a pair of his minions passed him, bearing a bloody and broken body out of Wakon's temple. He had done his duty to his god, had sacrificed to the great serpent as his dark spirit helpers demanded. But the sorcerer had received no revelations, held no intimate communion with Wakon or his satellites as he usually did once the ancient altar was wet and reeking with fresh human blood.

The sorcerer pondered the problem as he stood before the crimson stone structure, clad in his bright copper regalia, leaning upon the Sky-Spear like a staff. He watched as his latest victim's body was born to a fuming firepit and dumped unceremoniously in, joining the others who had died on Wakon's foul altar. A gout of black, nauseating smoke arose and Black Cloud's grip on the Sky-Spear tightened.

He did not know why his contacts with his dark spirit helpers had been vague and formless that day. It was almost as if something were preventing them from speaking directly to him. It was clear to the evil shaman that something unusual was happening, possibly a portent of some sort of danger threatening him. And for that reason, Black Cloud had sent out extra patrols and ordered all his followers to be extra vigilant. His troubled thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of one of his warriors. He raised his crowned head and frowned as the brave hurriedly approached.

"Great one!" a snake-painted brave cried as he ran up and knelt before his chief. "I carry a message from Running Bear!"

"Speak!"

"Running Bear went to check on the southern defenses, as you commanded, but the men who were supposed to be stationed there were gone... "

"What do you mean?"

"Gone, great one. There was no trace of them, save a trail leading further south. Running Bear led his party to follow the track, and sent me back to report... "

"Fool! Witless fool!" the sorcerer exclaimed in sudden anger. At the same time, he brandished the glittering Sky-Spear, causing the brave before him to quail in fear. All knew that Black Cloud made sacrifices to Wakon of those who displeased him. "Go quickly!" he ordered, "Gather the warriors! Prepare for an attack!"

"But... what of Running Bear?" dared the shaken brave.

"He and his men are probably dead already! I see it now, the enemy has lured him with a false trail, right into a trap! We must not hesitate, for our foes may already be close!"

The evil shaman's words were scarcely spoken when a number of arrows flew into the clearing before Wakon's temple. The sorcerer ought to have been struck, but those shafts that came close to Black Cloud himself were daunted and turned aside in some strange manner. Unfortunately, that odd protection did not extend to the sorcerer's followers. The unlucky messenger caught an arrow in his shoulder and cried out in pain. More voices sounded at once: the snake warriors calling to their fellows, cries of alarm as noncombatants fled for safety and the fierce ululations of the attacking forces. Black Cloud's voice managed to rise above the sudden cacophony as he bellowed to his startled minions.

"We are under attack!"

Within a minute, the element of surprise was lost as the combined force of Elxa and Norsemen found themselves facing a skirmish line of Black Cloud's snake warriors. The sorcerer smiled wickedly as he raised the occult Sky-Spear. Within seconds, storm clouds gathered overhead, the atmosphere grew dark and thunder began to mutter ominously.

"A few bolts of lightning will destroy you all... " the dark shaman smirked

"Black Cloud!"

The sorcerer spun to confront his challenger and spied a lone Viking warrior advancing on him. The red haired man seemed familiar somehow, but Black Cloud did not dwell upon it. Instead, he pointed the Sky-Spear at the man.

"Die!"

A bolt of lightning fell from the lurid clouds that had been summoned by the Sky-Spear's power. The Norseman responded by thrusting his sword upwards at the threat. The flash of lightning went straight for the man's weapon.

But when it struck Bluefang, the bolt seemed to shatter like glass. The brilliant explosion was oddly muted, hardly producing any sound at all. But it compensated by sending livid sparks and startling streamers and flashing shards of electrical energy out in all directions, lighting up the area and glinting off Black Cloud's copper panoply. The evil shaman was nonplussed by the unexpected occurrence until he spotted the blade in the Viking's hand, hard to miss now that it had begun to glow a rich, vibrant blue.

"No!" Black Cloud protested uselessly, belatedly recognizing the man whom his dark spirit helpers had warned him against. "I killed you!"

"You failed the first time you tried," Ulf began grimly, as he began to advance on the discomforted sorcerer once more. "And now you have another chance. But this will be your last, he-witch, because I swear by the fiery horns of the demon-god Surtur, only one of us is going to survive this meeting!"

Meanwhile, on the skirmish line, a snake warrior rose unexpectedly and fired an arrow at Gunnar. The Viking captain bellowed with pain as the missile struck his upper left arm, transfixing it. The native called out in triumph.

"Got you, Dawn Man!"

With another bellow, this time of rage, Gunnar hefted his battleaxe with his good arm. His muscles bulged with the effort as he threw it. The massive war weapon spun swiftly through the air and buried one of its keen edges in the snake warrior's chest, smashing and slicing its way through bones and organs. The brave died instantly amid a nasty welter of blood.

"Got you, you damned bastard!" Gunnar roared in return.

The Viking captain then turned to take care of himself. He reached to break the point off the arrow and pull the shaft out of his arm. Orwin was suddenly beside his lover, covering him with his shield as Gunnar stuffed some wool he carried for that purpose into the holes in his arm to stop the bleeding. It was a trick he had learned from elder warriors.

"There," he grunted, as another arrow struck Orwin's shield, "now if I can get my axe back... "

An ungodly battle cry went up, half scream, half yell. Both Vikings looked to see another one of the snake warriors leap to wrench Gunnar's great battleaxe from the ruined body of his dead comrade. Then he ululated again and charged with it directly at Gunnar.

"Here it comes!" Orwin grimaced, readying his shield for the coming impact.

A rock unexpectedly flew in and struck the axe-wielding native in the neck. The attacker faltered, but did not fall. The Norse lovers both looked and saw High Water hurriedly reloading his sling as Little Wolf spun his in a wide circle before sending another rock at the attacking snake warrior.

When the second rock collided with the side of his head, the brave fell. Gunnar scrambled to reclaim his battleaxe, avoiding one or two ill aimed arrows. He and Orwin both waved and grinned their thanks at the young braves.

"I guess they want to keep us around," Orwin observed wryly, "for more sex!"

"I'll let them use my body any way they like, if we survive this!" exclaimed Gunnar as he ducked another arrow.

With a particularly bloodcurdling cry, one of Black Cloud's braves broke from his protected position and rushed in, intending to kill Ulf with a copper tomahawk. But the unnaturally quiet bursts of lightning fragments playing around the Viking and the evil shaman as they neared each other proved to be deadly. The foolhardy brave was struck by such a shard of power and was killed instantly. The impact sent his charred, smoking corpse flying. It landed a dozen or so yards away, directly in the midst of the struggle between Black Cloud's snake warriors and the alliance of Vikings and Elxa.

The sudden appearance of this mangled horror caused Black Cloud's forces to momentarily lose their nerve and waver. Gunnar was not the only one who witnessed his enemies' discomfiture and the opportunity it presented. As Two Eagles saw and shouted fresh encouragement to his braves, the Viking captain bellowed to his comrades.

"Strike, men! By Thor's mighty hammer and Odin's magic spear, strike! Strike now!!"

Within moments, the supporters of Black Cloud had broken and were fleeing. Half the allied forces chased after the fleeing snake warriors, to prevent them from regrouping. The other half remained to surround the duelists, but there was little they could do to support Ulf except cheer him on from a safe distance.

Step by step, Ulf neared the sorcerer, his bright hair whipped by the wild wind that accompanied the unnaturally quiet rain of lightning. The interplay of the strokes of electricity coaxed from the ragged ebon clouds by the Sky-Spear against Bluefang caused havoc. The bolts shattered and flew wildly in all directions, their violence contrasting starkly with the muffled, vague noises that accompanied each spectacular detonation. One such burst knocked Black Cloud's copper crown off.

These fragments of brilliant energy scorched the ground and set fire to nearby trees. Some burst like fireworks, lighting the sky above the dueling pair. The crystal tip of Black Cloud's Sky-Spear was glowing like a small star and Bluefang too was giving off a livid, electric blue light.

This eerie illumination intensified as Ulf brought Bluefang nearer and nearer to the Sky-Spear. Chanting desperately in his own tongue, calling for more and more power, Black Cloud grasped the Sky-Spear in both hands. He held the shaft horizontally before the implacably advancing Viking as if to bar Ulf's path. It was a futile gesture.

Grinning grimly in triumph, Ulf slashed downward with Bluefang. The shining sword sliced cleanly through the wooden shaft of the Sky-Spear. The blade's sharp tip also left a long gash in Black Cloud, opening the sorcerer from breastbone to belly. The evil shaman's chants turned to screams of agony as he collapsed, his guts spilling out of him in a ghastly manner.

The lightning stopped falling and the pyrotechnic display around the duellers faded away. But Bluefang still glowed like an avenging blade of blue light as Ulf lifted it and struck again, not intending to give Black Cloud any chance to recover. The sorcerer's head flew from his shoulders, rolling in a last exercise in irony to stop at Aya'qa's feet.

The Elxa shaman was quick to claim the shortened Sky-Spear. With a few muttered words, Aya'qa caused the crystal at its tip to cease its multicolored sparkling. The power Black Cloud had called forth from the Atlantean device faded until the archaic object appeared to be an ordinary shard of colorless glass. At the same time, Bluefang also ceased to glow and slowly reverted to its ordinary, but still impressive, appearance.

A cheer went up from the allied forces. It intensified as Aya'qa lifted the Sky-Spear aloft with one hand and supported Ulf's weary swordarm with the other, exalting Bluefang as well. Issapoma ran to his lover's side.

"Red Bear! Are you injured?"

"No, my love, only tired," he smiled, embracing the brave. "It's nothing that a night in your arms won't mend!"

They kissed passionately amid the cheers of their comrades.

+* * *

In the days after Black Cloud's defeat, peace returned to the valley of the Great River. During that time, the unique red rock that composed the temple of Wakon fell before the iron tools of the Norsemen. The broken, ruddy rubble was scattered into the depths of the muddy river, removing the invidious influence of the great serpent's shrine from the land for all time. Then those tools were turned to other, more ordinary tasks.

Ulf had gone to the edge of the Elxa village, where the sounds of axes and saws filled the air. The carpenter of the Raven, Olaf, was in the process of building a new longship. In that task, he was assisted ably by his two sons, as well as several others. By then, the Norse were as comfortable as the Elxa in native garb, and their hairy hides thus bared to the sun were tanning nicely. As Ulf looked the scene of busily working, sweaty and barely clad men over, he unconsciously adjusted his swelling cock, nestled within a pouch of soft deerskin; the Elxa loincloth he wore had been a gift from Aya'qa. Then Ulf felt a familiar arm slip easily around his waist.

"So, your comrades mean to leave," observed Issapoma, as Ulf's arm echoed his lover's movement and rested on one dark hip.

"Some will," Ulf replied, turning his head to let Issapoma see his meaningful glance at Ingi and Qoocom, who were just then leaving the clearing, hand in hand, for the privacy of the surrounding woods. "But not all, I think."

"And you?"

"Aya'qa says I have much to learn from him." Ulf said as he turned and embraced Issapoma, "And you, as well."

"I love you, Red Bear."

"I love you also, Issapoma," They shared a lingering kiss. "I suppose," Ulf went on, sighing in exaggrated resignation, "that we must make a public declaration of it and endure another pelting with flowers, but I will not mind."

"There is a meadow not far from here, where wildflowers grow. I would like to see you lying naked among them, your red hair shining brighter than the wild poppies!"

"Take me there now, so I can do it to please you, as well as anything else you might have a mind to... just don't forget to bring along some of that special Elxa grease!"

+* * *

+EPILOGUE

+* * *

A young native finished his climb to the top of a gentle rise. He looked about himself, scanning the horizons, but paid special attention to the westward. His vantage point was no more than a swell in an ocean of tall grass, which waved in the wind like a green sea. The lush growth filled the isolated alpine valley his people had been led to by sacred dreams, inspired by the spirits who protected and guided them.

The youth's breath caught suddenly. In the distance he saw what he thought his tribe had been seeking for so long. A range of red hills, broken by black gashes. Behind them arose mighty mountains, their flanks tinted blue by the thick growth of pines upon them.

"What is it, A'gokwa?" asked a man who joined him atop the rise.

"I think it is what we are seeking, my father," the young brave answered, pointing as Issapoma's hand fell easily on the A'gokwa's shoulder.

"It is as many of our people have dreamed," Issapoma murmured, studying the somber colored, broken hills and comparing their appearance to what he himself had seen in his own medicine visions.

"Look!" hissed A'gokwa.

A group of men had appeared, seemingly as if by magic, at the foot of the red cliffs, emerging from one of the black gaps that scarred the vast rock formation. Issapoma observed the approaching men attentively until he was sure they carried no weapons. Then he turned and signalled to the heron men who followed him to come quickly.

"What is it?" asked Ulf, who was the first to join his fellow tribesmen on the knoll. He fell silent when he saw the hills, then muttered. "It's exactly what the Heron Spirit showed me."

"It appears our long trek is over, my sons," Aya'qa added as the Elxa elder reached the vantage point and looked at the men who were coming to meet them. "We will have new brothers, and a new home, just as the Heron Spirit promised us, a home that will safely shelter our tribe for a long time to come."

Ulf glanced over his shoulder, at the rest of his Elxa brothers who were coming to join them, who had traveled so far from the banks of the Great River, friends of many years. He saw Qoocom reaching out his hand to Ulf's old crewmate Ingi, to speed his lover along. Aticut was looking back for Two Eagles, who, as usual, was probably seeing to those at the rear of his tribe's march. High Water called out to Little Wolf, both now mature and mighty warriors.

Ulf raised his eyes then, as if hoping to look back along the long line of their trek. The heron men had planned their journey for a long time. Using the sailing skills of the Norsemen, who were masters of boatbuilding and river navigation, the tribesmen had many times probed a major offshoot of the Great River, following that tributary to its distant source.

Along the way, they learned about the lands through which that river flowed, making contacts along its course, finding more men like themselves among the many tribes who lived near its banks. And more Norsemen had come to join them as well. News of the Elxa spread back to the Viking colonies and filtered from there to Scandinavia, attracting those men like Ulf whose lives were constantly imperiled by inflexible Christian strictures and wished to live - and love - in freedom.

At last, after years of preparation, all had been made ready. The Elxa moved as a tribe into the vast western country, in obedience to their guiding spirits' instructions. The journey commenced when the snows melted and their small boats could ride high on the flood of water thus liberated into the rivers.

As they had journeyed, to the end of the tributary and over the mountains that lay to the west of that point, the heron men had left many carved stones in their wake, all marked with their graceful tribal symbol. Signs meant to guide those men like themselves who would surely follow after them. For there would always be gentle hearted men seeking the companionship of their own kind, searching for an understanding of the feelings that made them different from other men. And if those special men persevered in their search, they would be sure to find the physical and spiritual freedom offered to all man-loving men by the Way of the Heron.

+* * *

Time Flowing like a river Ceaseless Never stopping Onward it goes...

Bodies and names change The spirits within Never do...

We shall meet again We shall meet again...

"Red Bear?"

Ulf turned his eyes to the one who had spoken. Oosaba was a man in his late forties, more than twenty years younger than the elder with whom he kept company. But his eyes expressed a love that transcended the gap in their ages.

Oosaba had come to the heron men from a tribe that lived far to the south, beyond a vast chasm that seemed to split the very earth in two. Ulf himself had journeyed to see that wonder of nature, long ago. The memory of standing on the edge of that mind-numbing gulf of nothingness was burned into him permanently.

"Yes, Oosaba?"

"Will you tell me what your words mean?"

"Nothing, my love," he smiled, shaking his white head. "It is only an old man's musings."

Oosaba nevertheless memorized his chief's song to repeat to his heron brothers later as Ulf returned to contemplating the view from atop one of the flat roofed adobe structures in the city he had come to live in many years before. The prairie he had crossed so long ago to reach it was visible through a narrow gap in the canyon. The land beyond undulated away easily in waves of tall grass.

Such greenery was not a common sight outside of the valley the Elxa had claimed for themselves. While the great drought still gripped the vast western expanses of what Ulf still called Vinland, slowly killing everything that could not leave, this valley was an oasis. Thanks to the power of the Sky-Spear, rain could be summoned regularly, keeping the plantlife and the animals, on whom the heron men depended for their sustenance, alive.

Ulf had spent his life since then wandering that valley with his fellow heron men, getting to know every wooded copse and winding stream, every grassy knoll and hot spring, but he could only visit those spots in his memory now. The pain in his side that had bothered him only occasionally before had become a constant companion that never left him. Ulf knew from the way his brother tribesmen whispered and fussed over him that they thought his time of passing was quite near. Perhaps it was. In any event, it was not a matter of great importance to Ulf.

He did not miss his old friends or long to join them, for they had continued to be a vital part of his life, visiting him in medicine dreams, feasting, laughing, talking, loving. New brothers had come to join the Elxa and Ulf had helped guide them into the Way of the Heron, until, now, the precious knowledge of the special natures and unique powers of man-loving men was theirs to pass on. It would go on to men Ulf would never know, at least not on the physical plane...

"Ohh... " Ulf gasped, his thoughts interrupted by a sharper than usual pang in his side.

"The pain again?"

"Yes."

"Here, drink."

Oosaba offered Ulf a tea made from the bark of the willow tree. The elder sipped the bitter liquid and set the cup aside. Ulf did not resist when Oosaba gathered him into his strong arms, holding his chieftain to himself, stroking his long white hair and beard gently, telling Ulf how much he loved him without words.

"I love you too, Oosaba."

"Red Bear... " the brave responded, his lover's name catching in his throat.

Resting his head against Oosaba's chest, the elder relaxed and his pale gray eyes followed the distant, wavering line that separated green grass from blue sky. He saw a coppery figure slowly rise from that uncertain boundary and beckon. Though the naked man was familiar, Ulf puzzled at first over who this young person could be. Then, in a rush of images, he remembered.

Long ago, he had awoken in a darkened lodge. A man had come to him there, a handsome man, who had talked gently, shared his bed and his love. Not just for that night alone, but for numberless nights afterwards...

"Issapoma... " Ulf breathed.

"Red Bear?" asked Oosaba, hugging the elder closer to himself.

But Ulf was no longer there to hear Oosaba's anxious words. He had leapt to his feet upon recognizing the man who had been his first lover, moving with an agility he had not had for a long time. He waved back and jumped off the roof of the adobe structure, landing catlike on the floor of the canyon, far below.

Ulf did not notice the impossibility of his accomplishment, the absence of the pain in his side he had lived with for so long, nor the way his suddenly naked body had changed, becoming what it once had been, when he was in the full vigor of young manhood. As he rushed from the canyon and through the waving grass to the arms of his old friend he was only aware of an overwhelming joy and his heart was filled with unutterable love. The men's arms caught each other and they fell as one into green, fragrant softness.

"Issapoma... is it really you?"

"Yes... Red Bear... my love... " he crooned between kisses.

As Ulf ran his hands over the smooth, coppery body he desired above all others, he suddenly realized that there was a profound difference to everything around him. All his senses seemed expanded somehow. Wondering, he sat up and looked back the way he had come.

Though it was a long way off, he saw clearly a certain rooftop in the canyon city. Upon it were a crowd of heron men gathered around the body of a white haired man who lay in Oosaba's arms. Tears ran freely from their eyes as they chanted the death dirge for their beloved brother, old Chief Red Bear, whose exploits would be legendary among the Elxa forever as the wielder of Bluefang, a defier of dark magicks, the slayer of evil sorcerers and one of the leaders who had guided the Elxa across half a continent to a refuge of peace and safety.

"But they shouldn't be sad!" Ulf exclaimed, turning back to Issapoma.

"Those who are still in the flesh need rituals in order to make sense of physical happenings, my love. They will know soon enough that you are not really dead. Already," began Issapoma, looking back as Ulf had, "Oosaba plans to induce a medicine dream, so that he might see you again. His love for you is deep. I was glad to see it, to know you had someone who cares to look after you, after I passed into the spirit realm."

"In my heart, I loved Oosaba strongly, but my body was too weak to express my desires. I wish I could've made that sort of strong love to him... "

"Now you can. When Oosaba calls to you with an open heart, go to him. In the medicine dreaming, you can take him as you did me in our youth, with all the strength of manhood, and tender force."

Ulf nodded and then looked around himself.

"I didn't think it would be like this... " he muttered. Except for the odd, subtle shimmering of auras that appeared around everything Ulf could see, the world seemed the same.

"Come, my love," smiled Issapoma, "and I will show you wonders if that is what you expected to see after you passed. The spirit realm is an ideal reflection of the Earth, and even more, but you will see. The Heron Spirit waits to greet you, and our friends too. Orwin in particular longs to see you again, but Gunnar forced him to wait. We all agreed I should be the first to greet you when you crossed over. Then we will go to work... "

"Work?"

"We are still Elxa, my love, followers of the Heron Spirit. We will join those spirits who seek for and guide men like ourselves who live in the flesh, and if they are wise, those men will allow us to lead them into the joy of the Way of the Heron."

"Yes, that would indeed be good work to do," Ulf agreed, embracing Issapoma again, "but first... "

The Norseman whispered in the native's dark ear. Issapoma smiled. As he nodded in agreement, his gorgeous spirit wings unfurled. They spread at once to mesh and join with those Ulf promptly produced as Issapoma voiced his loving determination.

"We will stay here until you are completely satisfied, my strong, beautiful, Red Bear!"

With that the reunited lovers joyously sank back down into the scintillating, windblown grass together, cocooned in their own shimmering orb of spirit light, to do the things to one another that they lived and longed for. That all man-loving men lived and longed for. The caresses of a male lover for his man, gentle touches which evoked the matchless, amorous energies lying dormant in their masculine hearts and souls, raising and liberating this unguessed potential out into the universe.

As Ulf and Issapoma once again felt the miracle of their shared love, the spirit realm joyously received their offering. The wondrous power that the lovers' man-loving male hearts exuded as they beat together as one, nourishing and strengthening that subtle plane of existence and the entities who dwelt there. Those invisible beings reveled in the singular energy generated by the heron men's strong manlove. It was the very essence of the Way of the Heron.

+* * *

+THE END

+* * *

+of Ulf's Saga

+the first prequel to the series

+'The Way Of The Heron'

+by C. T. Creekmur

+Copyright (c) 2009 by Charles T. Creekmur

+"All Rights Reserved"

+comments or suggestions are welcome at tcreekmur@hotmail.com

+submitted to nifty.org 1/1/2009