by Brandon Fox
“You know the answer,” Ander said, giving his partner a squeeze. A pleasurable throb shot from his cock and ran the length of his body. As Thane brought their lips together in a kiss, the gong sounded again, followed by the sound of drums beating in the distance. Thane cocked his head to the side.
“What is it?” Ander asked.
Thane rolled off and went to the window. Bars of sunlight poured through the slats and painted his body with golden stripes. In a moment Ander joined him. The pyramid’s golden cap towered above the city and caught the sun’s rays, gleaming like a torch. At first he didn’t see what had distracted Thane. Then he felt a trembling sensation deep in his body. The internal vibration grew stronger, resonating with the distant drumming.
“Remember what we felt in the desert?” Thane asked. “We’re closer. I don’t know what it is, but something’s making echoes in the kei.”
Ander’s stomach clenched. “Sorcerers? Does it feel like blood magic?”
Thane’s eyes closed, and his breathing slowed. A few seconds later, he opened his eyes and shook his head. “There’s no hint of blood magic. Or the art.” His excitement was palpable. “This is something new! At least to us.”
Ander rolled his eyes. “I know that look. Love will have to wait.”
Thane was already retrieving his dusty brown leathers from the pile in the corner. “We have to explore this. Maybe we’ll learn something we can use against the zamindar.” He reached over and patted the hard mound of Skorri’s rump. “What about you two goats? Want to go with us?”
“Maybe… later,” Skorri said in a husky voice. He arched his back and slid his oily cock into Erik again, a blissful expression on his face. “We haven’t fucked in a real bed for days. It’d be a shame to rush.” The ecstatic young hunter grunted in agreement, his erection oozing clear fluid and slicking the brown skin under his glans.
Thane and Ander dressed and left the inn. Dusk was settling over Skarn, and the afternoon heat was already fading. Deciding how to investigate the mystery was not a problem. Pulsing drums echoed from the direction of the pyramid. The air seemed to crackle with energy as they emerged from the city’s western gate and entered the palm forest surrounding the structure. A small stream wandered through the grove, bordered by a flagstone trail. The insistent drums were louder outside the walls. Ander felt as if his blood surged in time with the complex rhythms.
Forest soon gave way to a clearing. The stream they had been following fell over the lip of a circular depression two hundred feet across and ten feet deep. A complex sandstone mosaic, curved like a shallow bowl, filled the depression. Water flowed around the bowl’s circumference and was siphoned off by carved channels that zigzagged down the bowl’s sides before disappearing beneath a round stone at the bottom. Three men in bright red robes on the far side of the depression beat with red mallets on drums shaped like huge barrels. The pyramid towered behind the scene like a ramp to the heavens.
Ander barely noticed the exotic setting. Ten men wearing black loincloths, spaced around the shallow bowl’s perimeter, were slowly moving through a series of poses. They ranged in age from adolescence to about thirty. All were extremely fit and possessed amazing balance. They twisted and bent, often with an arm or leg extended, pausing to hold positions that looked impossible. Sweat streaked their lean torsos, revealing the strength behind the illusion of dreamlike effortlessness.
“Nicolai would be impressed,” Ander said. “Though it seems more a dance of some kind than acrobatics.”
Thane nodded, his gaze never leaving the figures. “Feel the kei. Something is happening.”
Even as he spoke, they started moving more rapidly. The transition between poses changed from leisurely grace to swift precision. The drummers beat a faster rhythm, accented with sudden syncopation.
Ander felt tightness in his chest. It was as if lightning flashed in the clouds, building in power, preparing to hurl bolts to the ground. But the coiled energy lay in the kei, not the sky.
As the orange ball of the sun touched the pyramid’s golden apex, the ritual’s true nature was revealed. The men moved from their stations and converged on the center of the depression, avoiding the broad bands of water that zigzagged in their channels down the bowl’s sides. Soon they stood in a circle fifty feet across. The drumming stopped. The men bowed once, then raised their fists.
Combat exploded with unexpected fury. Punches and kicks were blurs as the men leaped from one dry place to another while trading blows. Ander winced at the sharp impacts, but the combatants absorbed the punishment without pausing. Their endurance was as amazing as their strength.
Every so often a hand or foot would touch water, and one by one, fighters would retire to sit near the drums. The sun dropped lower, and the pyramid’s shadow cut a black wedge into the circle. Ander’s heart pounded as the power in the kei coiled tighter and tighter.
Soon there were only two fighters still standing. One seemed to be the oldest of the group, tall and sturdily built. He had used brute force to eliminate his opponents, wrestling them into the water while ignoring the punishing blows that pummeled him.
The other was about Ander’s age, with a lean and broad-shouldered body that glistened with sweat. He was blindingly quick and had endured by avoiding blows and unbalancing others at the exact moment their weight shifted from one foot to another. His opponents seemed to defy the earth’s grip as their redirected momentum sent them sailing through the air.
They circled each other warily. The older man waited patiently for the other to get within reach. Both were well muscled, but there must have been thirty pounds’ difference in their weight. It would be a one-sided wrestling match.
Suddenly the younger man leaped at his opponent. The move looked suicidal, like a deer leaping into a lion’s jaws. The older man braced to catch his prey. A second before impact, the attacker curled his body into a tight ball. The grab that had been aimed for his outstretched arm closed on empty air, and the two collided. Both fell, but the youth rolled and sprang to his feet while his opponent still scrambled to regain his footing. A spinning kick sent the older man back to the ground, and an outstretched hand touched one of the water channels. The two instantly ceased their contest. They faced each other, both panting, and bowed. Despite the sudden calm, Ander still felt the kei straining like a guitar string pulled too tight.
The fighters gathered at the northern edge of the arena where a trail entered the forest. Each took a simple black robe from a pile and slipped it on before vanishing among the palms.
Thane leaned close to Ander. “Let’s follow. You feel the kei?”
“Yes, and I don’t like it. My teeth ache.”
“Still, they touched the kei somehow. We have to learn how they did it.” They waited until the last fighter entered the forest, then followed. The trail soon turned toward Skarn. The group was relaxed now, joking and talking about their plans for the evening.
Blue shadow had settled over the city. Sand drifted in the streets, and shooting stars streaked across the sky with razor sharpness. The fighters wove through narrow lanes, passing brothels and taverns without slowing. Ander and Thane followed at a discreet distance.
Shortly they arrived at a bathhouse. A courtyard containing a garden and fountain separated two structures, one with a sign for men and another for women. Thick earthen walls, painted white, supported domed roofs riddled with large round openings. Steam from warm pools beneath the domes swirled through the openings and wafted away on the evening’s cool breeze.
A few minutes later, Thane and Ander followed them into the bathhouse. They undressed in an antechamber and left their clothes with an attendant, then entered a circular room beneath the dome.
Though small by the standards of Izmir’s cities, Skarn’s bathhouse possessed an intimate charm. The pool was large enough to hold fifty without crowding. Blue tiles in shades from palest aquamarine to deep violet covered the room’s walls, and the domed ceiling was inlaid with tiny glas
s mosaics that gleamed with gold. Oil lamps filled the space with wavering light, and a boy wearing a brown robe sat in an alcove playing a shepherd’s tune on a flute. The fighters were at the far end of the pool and were using long sponges to scrape dust and sweat from their bodies. A dozen other bathers lounged in the water.
A hush fell as Ander and Thane stepped out of shadow and walked to the pool’s edge. Even the boy playing the flute stopped to look. Ander’s shyness surged, and he blushed crimson, an old habit he had been unable to break. Even with eyes downcast, he could feel the scrutiny he and Thane were receiving. He knew how startling Thane’s body and features could be and felt sure everyone must be enraptured by his beauty.
A sudden jolt, felt through the kei, made him look up. His gaze was drawn irresistibly across the pool to the young man who had bested the others. He was watching them as if spellbound. The others had resumed talking and seemed indifferent to their presence.
Thane put a hand on Ander’s back, nudging him toward the pool. “Their champion seems to have an eye for men,” he whispered. “I wonder which of us he wants.”
Ander gulped, feeling butterflies in his stomach as they walked to the edge of the pool. He eased into the warm water and dunked his head while Thane fetched a scrubbing sponge and then joined him in the pool. He brushed wet hair back from Ander’s eyes, then started scrubbing his chest with the rough sponge.
“He’s still watching us,” Ander said, looking over Thane’s shoulder. “Though he’s trying to hide it.”
Thane turned and glanced. The man blushed and turned away, his body taut. Thane returned his attention to Ander and nodded. “Not hard to guess what’s on his mind. Luck is with us, for once. Let’s try talking to him.”
Ander nodded, feeling his heart beat faster. Strangers had always made him feel awkward. Even with Thane, whose earthy warmth could melt anyone’s reserve, the thought of flirting with a stranger left him tongue-tied. “What… what will we say?”
“Leave it to me.” Thane put his sponge on the pool’s edge and gestured for Ander to follow.
Their quarry started to look alarmed as they crossed the waist-deep pool. Ander was startled. He’s as nervous as I am. Empathy surged. Ever since adolescence, amorous overtures had made him feel bewildered and defensive. But even if their observer was a kindred spirit, there was no denying the desire in his eyes.
All ten fighters fell silent as Thane approached with Ander in his wake. They were an impressive group, but the one who had won the evening’s match stood out. Widely spaced hazel eyes highlighted features both masculine and sensual. Curly black hair sparkled with water droplets. His posture was poised yet somehow diffident. He reminded Ander of a colt, vibrant but skittish.
Thane raised a hand in greeting and gave the bathers a friendly smile. “Sorry to bother you,” he said. “My friend and I just arrived in Skarn. We’re hoping someone can tell us where musicians might find work. We need to earn some coin for supplies before continuing our journey.”
The oldest of the group glared at him. “Ask someone else. We’re not interested in trivial pleasures.”
Thane took a step back. “Apologies, sir. We didn’t mean to offend.” He lowered his hand. “Could you suggest someone—”
“No. Our concerns are elsewhere.”
The rebuff stung, and Ander blushed. He touched Thane’s arm and nodded toward the far side of the pool, indicating his desire to leave. Thane frowned and turned.
“Wait.” The softly spoken word came from the youth who had been watching them. “Try Fayed’s gaming den, on the street of potters.” He was breathing hard, and the yearning in his eyes was almost desperate.
“Thank you,” Ander said. “Which way is it—”
“Ask somebody else,” the group’s elder said sharply. “We don’t mix with your kind.”
The young man frowned at his companion. “They’re travelers. They don’t know—”
“Don’t argue, Dannel!” He looked exasperated. “Of all people, you should know it’s best to stay away from them.”
Ander blinked, wondering what they were talking about and hoping the argument didn’t escalate. Everyone in the bathhouse had turned to watch.
“Don’t lecture me, Zevon. There’s no rule that we be rude to strangers. I was only—”
“Don’t let your victory tonight go to your head. You’re a good fighter, but you’re still weak. Do you like making a fool of yourself?”
Dannel’s face flamed. He threw his sponge to the side, splattering water against the blue tile walls, then stepped toward Ander and inclined his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Don’t judge Skarn by oafs like Zevon. I’ll show you the way to Fayed’s place, if you’d like.”
“Dannel….” The note of threat in Zevon’s voice was unmistakable. The other fighters stirred restlessly, casting hostile glances at Thane and Ander.
Ander’s heart thudded. He could see how difficult it was for Dannel to defy his elder. “Thanks for your help,” he said. “May fortune reward your kindness.”
Without another word, Dannel went to the pool’s edge and hopped out in a graceful vault. Thane and Ander followed, leaving the muttering group of fighters behind. They retrieved their clothes from the attendant, then made introductions and dressed quickly, sharing an unspoken agreement to get away from the bathhouse before Zevon decided to continue the argument.
Leaving the bathhouse was like stepping from summer into autumn. Desert air cooled quickly at night, and the sky had become black velvet filled with a blazing glory of stars.
Dannel didn’t seem to mind the cold, though he was dressed only in a loincloth and lightweight robe. He looked at Ander with an enigmatic expression. “Fayed’s place isn’t far,” he said. “He… he has good food, if you’re hungry.”
“Would you join us for a meal?” Thane asked as they started down the narrow street. “We’d like to hear about Skarn.”
Dannel smiled, shy but excited, and ducked his head in agreement. He was breathtaking.
As promised, the gaming den wasn’t far. Dannel stopped in front of a mud-brick building with a wooden sign shaped like dice above the door. When they entered, the smell of smoke and wine greeted them along with the shouts of gamblers.
“It’ll be quieter out back,” Dannel said. “It’s not often used at night.” He led them through a low-ceilinged room where men threw dice and wagered on cockfights. They passed a tiled hearth large enough to roast a whole boar on a spit, then passed through an archway to a courtyard. A wall enclosed a small orchard of olive and pomegranate trees, along with a few unoccupied tables. The mud-brick wall still held heat from the day’s sun and sheltered them from the breeze.
Dannel gestured toward a table, looking flustered. Ander ached in sympathy for his awkwardness. “It seems your friends didn’t like us,” Ander said. “It was good of you to help us anyway. We’re grateful.”
Dannel glanced at them nervously as they settled around the table. “You’re welcome… Ander.” He looked down, trying unsuccessfully to conceal desire, before again meeting Ander’s eye. “Zevon’s wrong to stay away from travelers, I think. He’s not interested in anything outside Skarn. I can’t understand it.”
“What about you?” Thane asked. “Have you traveled?”
Dannel’s face clouded, and he hunched his shoulders. “What do you want to eat? Fayed makes the best roasted peppers in Skarn, filled with rice and chestnuts and spices. That’s what I have when I come here. Though I don’t often eat away from…. I’ve only had it a few times.”
“That sounds good,” Thane said. “We’d be honored if you’d be our guest. It’s the least we can do to repay your kindness.”
Relief swept Dannel’s face, unhindered by any attempt at concealment. Ander almost wanted to laugh. At last, he had met someone with even less guile than himself. And apparently less money as well.
The proprietor arrived to take their order, bringing a pitcher of water and three mugs.
After he left, Ander raised his mug. “To new friends.” They drank to the toast, and Dannel seemed more at ease.
“You’re musicians?” Dannel asked. “Minstrels are always popular in Skarn.”
“I play the guitar,” Ander said. “And Thane is a better singer than most.” He paused, watching Dannel closely. “He knows many ballads. And love songs. They’re beautiful.”
Dannel gulped and put down his mug. The moon had risen, and it bathed him in silver light. Black curls tumbled over his forehead unnoticed. The idea of Thane singing love songs plainly captured his imagination. Thane smiled seductively, playing his part at enchanting their handsome guest.
Ander’s cock hardened as he felt the weak-kneed sensation of keenly anticipated pleasure. Though he and Thane had shared lovemaking with others many times, this was the first time they had seduced someone together.
Dannel’s body was taut with need. Is he too shy to ask us? It seemed doubtful that someone so attractive would be inexperienced at love, but Ander understood how difficult it could be to admit interest. Or maybe the custom in Skarn required the visitor to make the overture; he had heard tales of such places. Dannel’s reticence made him all the more appealing.
After taking a deep breath, Dannel nodded. “I’d like to hear your songs,” he told Thane. He gulped. “Do you… do you ever sing them for Ander?” His blush revealed what he was thinking.
Ander heard the longing in the halting question. He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “We’re lovers, yes. And you, Dannel? Do you have a special friend?”
Dannel appeared to be at a loss for words, fascinated and wary at the same time. Despite his awesome fighting skills, he seemed deeply vulnerable.
Wanting to soothe, Ander reached forward and touched his right hand. Dannel surged to his feet, knocking his chair over. He looked at Ander wildly, panting like a stag ready to bolt.
“I… I’m sorry,” Ander stammered. “We’re from the west. I’m ignorant of your ways. I thought you might like to share more than a meal with us. I apologize for giving offense.”
