Master
Apprentice  Archive
D'shinn Calling
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//The gentle touch of the warm wind on my bare skin. That's him.
That's him with long strands of deep gold in his hair, mirroring the rich silver, fanning out on the breeze like a trailing crown, like rays of the sun radiating from his face. Eyes the colour of the summer sky, golden lips framed by a line-thin silver beard. He opens his hands, and the wind emanates from every pore of his skin, from his outstretched palms, his heaving chest and his mouth, blowing gently. Blowing kisses to my heated skin as I sit on the beach soaking up the breeze.
His hair is all he wears, and it reaches down to his deep bronze nipples, so perfect I want to kiss and suckle them until I reach the end of my short mortal life span and die, to be one with him in the Elysian Fields. To be wrapped up in the warm light embrace of these strong arms and press my skin against his, so smooth and gilded with the sunlight. To let my incredulous hands trail down his stomach to the nest of cloud-white hairs and caress the generous sky-blue hardness that has lured me ever since I first felt his touch on my skin. Would we unleash a storm?
Or would he just sweep me up in his arms and buoy me up and bear me away, soaring through the sun-kissed sky, and me wrapped in the sensuous warm embrace of his arms and the myriad fingers of the wind stroking me all over, heating with the rush of our flight and rubbing me wild until I beg for more? Would he then enter me, burying himself deep in me and blowing me apart with the sheer pleasure of the joining? Would he kiss my breath away and replace it with his, slow warm wind going in and out until I am a part of him, a part of D'shinn, my god of wind and wantonness?
Would that he did. Sighing deeply, I raise my eyes to the sky and... fly.//
"Iwan! Oi, Eeeeeee-wan! Fish-boy! Dumb fish-boy, wakey-wakey! Forgotten all about the flood again, have we?"
The sharp tug on the little tail of red hair at the back of his head jerked him out of his dreams just enough for the slap to hit him while fully conscious. It stung. Stung even more than the mocking words of the younger boys, dancing around him in the shallow water, sending up spray and taunting him.
"Lost your clothes again, Iwan? Waiting to grow scales, dumb fish? One of these days the sea will just drown you, and good-riddance too! Now, you'd better go find your gear and get your ass home before we tell Ashut." General yells and whoops of applause. "He won't be happy, you know? No dessert for you, braid-boy... c'mon guys, let's go get some before it gets cold. See ya later, Iwan!"
Laughing and mocking, they were off again as quickly as they had come.
He shivered, suddenly cold with the wind dancing over his wet skin. When would they ever give up and just stay away? When would they ever learn his full name was Ob'iwan? Surely all it would take was Ashut to put his foot down once and for all. And yet he did no such thing, and hadn't for years. These boys had grown up to consider Ob'iwan their toy, their dumb fish-boy, and probably didn't even see anything wrong with that. And maybe there wasn't. Maybe it was just his strange visions telling him that there was beauty and happiness and gorgeous warmth there for him, and maybe these visions were mocking him too. Still, he was the only one who had them, and they were all he had.
Defiant, he drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, a pale pink rock in the surf. There were traces of D'shinn's divine beauty and strength even here, where the boys' feet had just hopped around him in their mocking dance. He fixed his gaze on the glassy swirls of water around a rocky outcrop, polished smooth over the millennia. The icy greenish water formed a perfect film over the hunched back of the rock, renewed to sheer translucent smooth perfection with every wave, rising above the bustling foam at the base like a wall. The hardest wall possible. In vain, the eager little bubbles rushed against the sheer plane, only to be crushed under or bounced back out into the rabble, bobbing up and down in an angry little dance that was as determined as it was futile. There was no breaking the calm of that vertical plane.
Ob'iwan wished he was that rock, wished he was that water.
Instead, all he was was a boy with the face of a teenager and the eyes of an old man, grey and distant. He had never had a voice as far back as he could remember, and that was a long way. Sometimes it felt to him as if his creator had attempted to make up for his muteness by giving him an extraordinary memory, and senses that stretched beyond what the other people of Geb were prepared to accept as normal.
He could hear the gaggle of boys long after they'd faded into the background rush of the wind and the waves, and he could have followed the trail of their naked feet over the heath by scent if he'd chosen to do so. It made him an animal in their words, and he had none to protest with.
He remembered his mother fading into the damp furs of her deathbed when he was barely two years old, he remembered his sisters shying away from the quiet pale boy, and he remembered the troubled uneasy hugs of his father. Who had always tried to love him as best he could, feeding kind words and thoughts into the bottomless pit that was Ob'iwan, with his featureless grey eyes and his silent demeanour.
He remembered nineteen wet summers full of midges and the smell of sunlight on the muddy street that ran through the middle of the village, nineteen sweaty inebriated nights of revelling where the sun barely dipped beneath the horizon and the light felt so golden, so warm on his skin, like the touch of beloved hands.
He remembered nineteen winters of steely coldness, every living thing frozen into dim motionlessness under their blankets of fur or snow, nineteen mornings at mid-day when a cool blue light barely stronger than that of the moon slanted over the virgin plains of snow and ice and Ob'iwan had felt like nothing more than falling headfirst into the snow and yielding to its soft embrace.
He remembered his apprenticeship to Ashut the shaman at age ten, a transaction performed more out of helplessness than deep faith. They had simply not known what to do with him, and Ashut had grudgingly accepted him, muttering something to the effect of how he could do with someone quiet about the house. He remembered the first day Ashut had spoken to his face, not just sent him about some business like gathering water or grinding herbs. It had been an autumn evening after the hunts and harvest, and Ob'iwan had taken his time off and retreated to his little corner of the house.
Ashut had never until that day followed him there, always respecting Ob'iwan's right to a private space, even if it was just a corner in the gloom of the shaman's hut, holding not much more than a pallet, a pile of clothes, and a small dip in the floor that contained all of Ob'iwan's treasured possessions. And yet it was from these that he had drawn solace. And it was with these that he had drawn the images from his dreams, and drawn Ashut's attention.
At first, the shaman had been nothing more than intrigued at the intricate little drawings Ob'iwan had created, detailed little pieces of primal colours on carefully smoothed scraps of birch bark: charcoal, blueberry, grass, chalk, ochre, blood. Outlines, dots, swirls of fine darkness and light, merging with distance to form images of scintillating beauty. The head of a man crowned with long silvered hair and trailing sunlight. The same man, standing proud in armour that appeared to be woven out of living plants, wielding nothing but his hands, large strong hands. A regal man, beauty incarnate, and strength. The makings of a god.
Slowly and patiently, Ashut had managed to coax the answer out of Ob'iwan as to the nature of that man. Question by gentle question, looking for a 'yes' or a 'no', Ashut had homed in on the object of the young man's obsession, and Ob'iwan's heart leapt at finally hearing the familiar name spoken by his teacher. So happy was he that he did not notice how cold Ashut's voice had grown as it formed the word.
"D'shinn."
Beaming, Ob'iwan picked up his latest piece, an earth-toned depiction of D'shinn, the Goddess' Consort, crowned with stag's antlers and gloriously naked save for his trailing hair, and pressed it to his chest, relishing the warmth the picture exuded.
"Ob'iwan, he is not yours. Don't be silly. Actually it shames me quite a bit to see my apprentice giving in to childish fantasies of a man-like god... Ob'iwan, this is ridiculous. You've got a crush, and it does not do to have a crush on a god as if he were a man. D'shinn is nothing of the kind, and certainly nothing to be in love with, boy."
Ob'iwan caught himself in mid-wilt and pried one hand away from the picture he was still clutching to his chest. Grabbing the already-rising shaman's shoulder, he stared into the older man's face, holding him captive with that impassive grey gaze, then peeling the picture away for his chest and showing it to Ashut while gesturing to his eyes with his other hand, opening his mouth as if to speak, knowing full well no sound would come out.
Ashut shook his head. "You see him? You can't see him, Ob'iwan, believe me. That's just delusion, wishful thinking maybe. The adolescent fantasies of a young man, if I were to put it gently. If not: madness. Nothing of the God would ever be graspable by human senses, much less human paints. It's not as easy as that, Ob'iwan. What you see is at best folly and at worst heresy. At any rate it is not D'shinn you see, and he would come and tell you so himself if he would ever show himself to mere mortals like us. That's what we're here for, my apprentice. Shamans. To divine the will of the divine ones even though we can't see them either. To feel along the lines of a God, to impersonate one if necessary, to represent one. And," he got up off the floor with a groan and stalked away towards the hearth, looking back over his shoulder at a despondent Ob'iwan, "I don't see you going very far with images like _that_ in your head."
He had given up drawing that day, and had lost count of how many years it had been since then. Of course he had deliberately lost count, seeing as he was quite unable to forget any detail of his dull life in Geb. All he had had from that point on were the visions that would descend upon him at all times of day or night, all seasons, in all places without warning. He could be scrubbing himself in the pond behind the hill and would suddenly catch a glimpse of what it would be like to have D'shinn's hands sliding up his legs under the water. Or he could be out chopping firewood and feel himself taking a step back to watch himself, and it wasn't Ob'iwan any more, it was D'shinn hacking away at the wood, easing it into perfect pieces with his will alone.
Oh yes, he had woken up many times in winter, loose-limbed and warm, burrowing deeper into his furs and finding them damp with the evidence of his pleasure, and an indelible memory of what it had felt like to have the warm rough hands of his god upon him, all over him, blessing, caressing, squeezing. Smiling like a lover.
He would not go home quite yet. Not just because the boys would probably make good their threat and whip Ashut into a rage over his dumb apprentice again. He was hungry. Hungry not for Ashut's salty soup and the doubtless withdrawn dessert. Hungry for more wind, so incongruously warm at the threshold of spring, when the earth was still frozen under the thin layer of mud and vegetation but the sun tested its strength on his pale thirsty skin. Hungry for the earthy flavour of ebik roots, fat and white at this time of year, and the tangy aroma of the flowers. Hungry. Just hungry, for something he couldn't have expressed even if he had been able to speak.
Stretching, he stood up and picked up his clothes from where they had lain sheltered behind a rock. He rubbed his skin dry until he glowed pink, then decided it wasn't worth dressing, and set off across the heath, barefoot, naked, exposing himself to the silken warm wind. D'shinn's wind. D'shinn's breath, his feathery long hair trailing over his face. D'shinn's hands, all over him, gentle, too gentle. He craved more, and closed his eyes and gave in, with a deep shuddering sigh.
The wind god, descending from the sky. There he was, larger than life, and so full of it, from head to toe to raging sky-blue erection. Coming closer, the sound of his breath rushing in Ob'iwan's ears, the soft footfall barely ruffling the tough heather beneath his feet. The greedy low growl...
He had no time to react at all when the body descended upon him, throwing him to the ground in slow motion, the white wolf snarling hungrily, claws digging into Ob'iwan's unresisting weak flesh. Amber eyes reflected a pale face, eyes wide in shock, mouth open in a silent scream that would not come. The beast was ragged, starved at the end of winter, and went straight for the throat in mortal greed. Ob'iwan watched his own blood shoot from the wound and drench the shaggy white fur with glistening red... than all went black, and...
... lips retreated gently, a warm wet tongue lapping at the closing wound. Soft, moist lips. Human lips. Stained with Ob'iwan's blood, glistening red, delicious. Smiling. The curtain of brown and silver and gold hair was brushed aside, and the face that looked down into his was so beautiful Ob'iwan averted his gaze instinctively for fear of being blinded. He felt like falling, and felt himself caught, held tight by strong warm arms, hanging limply in the embrace of a large male body, enveloped in the blinding aura of...
"D'shinn," he croaked, and gasped at the sound of his own voice.
A warm hand cupped his cheek and turned his face towards the other man's. Held transfixed by the god's sky blue eyes, Ob'iwan could only stare as D'shinn's other hand stroked his other cheek, then pulled him in for a gentle kiss. Floating in the featureless otherworld, held up only by D'shinn's lips, Ob'iwan gave in to the tears the threatened to flood him from within, sobbing loudly into the gentle mouth, clinging to this image of perfection with arms and legs and tongue, wishing this moment could last forever.
"It will, my Ob'iwan, it will. There is no time here... and there is certainly no time for tears." Gently but insistently, the god wiped the trails of salty moisture from Ob'iwan's cheeks, "and yes, I hear what you're about to say. I know they are tears of joy and relief, my one. But they blur the beautiful colour of your eyes, and mar your lovely cheeks..." Voice trailing off into a murmur, D'shinn slowly kissed the tears from Ob'iwan's face, finishing with a long luxuriant exploration of the young man's mouth that left both of them breathless and glowing. "You taste delicious," the god grinned, "I had nearly forgotten they still made humans like that... mind if I try some more?"
Ob'iwan had been mute all his life, and gladly reverted to awed silence only minutes after his death, surrendering blissfully as D'shinn languidly tasted him, licking and kissing him all over, bathing him in the soft moist golden fire of his divinity. He felt like screaming when D'shinn's beard scraped along the leaking tip of his hard cock, and he did scream seconds later when the god's mouth descended on his hardness and wrapped it in hot wet glory. Amazingly, his scream was not hoarse at all, an angelic voice that echoed through the Elysian void and set the wind swirling and his body moving, zooming upwards through thin wispy clouds that tickled his skin, legs wrapped tightly around D'shinn's shoulders as he dragged him along towards the stars, the god's smile exerting delicious pressure on Ob'iwan's overloading nerve endings, and he came like he had come millions of times before, floating on his back through a field of stars, screaming, breathless with the sheer pleasure of it. Except this time he was actually floating backwards through a field of stars, and had as little need for breath as the immortal clinging to him, one strong arm wrapped around his lower back, one elbow resting on Ob'iwan's hip, cupping his bearded chin in his hand, grinning. The sensation of D'shinn's hair floating around them in the breeze, brushing and tickling Ob'iwan's most sensitive spots, was enough to fill him with aching need again, and the sight of the god's smile as he watched the young man harden again would have been enough to make him come once more... if D'shinn hadn't suddenly let go and darted away across the starfield, inviting chase.
It all melted into a blur of sensation, here in this timeless place. The rush of the warm wind that was D'shinn's essence, caressing his skin as he gave chase, reaching out for the trailing hair, the gleaming skin, the warm solid body connecting with his, a strength that overpowered him effortlessly and filled him to bursting with sky-blue pleasure. The pounding joy threatening to tear him apart, the firm warm grip of those huge hands all over him, holding him down, holding him close while D'shinn's massive cock stretched and filled him, impaled him on heat and sheer mad desire. Possession, it was possession, he was taken by his god, chosen and made his own and flooded with a love no man was capable of, the swirls of golden shimmering love colliding deep inside him with the urgent spurt of hot thick seed, mingling, exploding in a starburst of light that would have killed Ob'iwan outright if he hadn't died already...
"Not dead, my one. Just out of this world. Immortal."
An incredulous stare. "Yours forever?"
"Mine forever, yours forever, young forever, Ob'iwan forever." A pause, then a chuckle. "And they should be drawing pictures of you now, my beautiful one."
"Coming, Ethop? What'ya waiting for, mate? Gotta go find fish-boy before he drowns himself, the silly bugger. Ethop? You comin'? What'ya doin' in the dark there? Ya know Ashut will give ya a good hiding if he finds ya here? Gee, show me. What's that you got there?"
Silently, the boy surrendered to the older one's nudge, and the fading light of the spring sun cast a pale beam on a piece of birch bark showing a silver-and-gold-haired man with a sky-blue erection, embracing a slight pale radiant boy with red hair and a braid. The face was incomplete, and paint dripped from Ethop's hesitant brush as he cowered, intimidated by his bully companion.
A grey drop fell in just the right place. "Ob'iwan? Man, this madness must be catching. C'mon, let's go find him before he catches his death..."
Ethop knew there was no point. And he longed to catch the kind of death Ob'iwan had caught.
--- The End ---