The Sacrifice


This is a continuation of my story. From here on this story was originally published on Kindle. It is adult erotica, man on man, NSFW. If you don't like that then don't read. You have been warned.

 

The giant black horse trudged through the belly high snow. It's shaggy, dark coat a stark contrast against the white winter-scape. The full moon gave a faint glow to the snow banks between harsh gusts of frost filled wind. High, craggy peaks could be seen piercing the dark sky through the momentary pauses of snowy blasts. Loch Maree came into view. It’s inky, black depths a chilling landmark that signalled to the men that they were close to their destination.

The wind battered against the two men on the horse’s back relentlessly. Pushing at them like the Roman legions of old. They huddled together on the horse’s back trying to keep whatever warmth they had between them contained. Both men were covered by bear skin cloaks and their clan tartan. But it did little to warm them as the arctic storm buffeted the trio.

Soon a glen of Caledonian pines came into view. The grey tree trunks standing like sentries at their posts. Guarding the ancient secrets held within the depths of the forest. The giant draft horse hesitated at the forest edge sensing the power within. When urged forward by his master the horse balked. A sharp kick did nothing to convince the horse to move into the ancient copse of dappled trees. Rearing to show it's reluctance, the horse gave a defiant snort and stamped its hooves nervously. Still refusing to move forward. The two men resigned themselves to walking the rest of the way.

The men pulled their bear skin cloaks closer around them trying to fend off the ever present cold as they dismounted. The trees provided some cover, but the howling wind could still be heard as it whined and whistled through the treetops. It sounded like a ghoul relenting its fate. The men shivered.

They came as instructed by the old woman. With no sword or dagger, no lance or shield. Their only protection was the wool of the Buchanan tartan and the skin of the bear each man had killed.

Trudging through the copse of trees, the wind came to a startling stop as the two Scottish warriors entered a small clearing that was ringed with black granite slabs standing tall. They hesitated at the circle’s edge. Unconsciously sensing the power within each man suddenly missed having a dirk at their side. Their instincts telling them danger but they had far more to lose if they turned back. Feeling eyes upon them, the two brothers nodded at each other in silent understanding that they must move forward.

The men took in their surroundings. The snowy pines muffled any sound lending an eerie quiet to the small clearing. A rounded glen covered only with a light dusting of snow. It was protected by the high reaching pines where only a small sliver of the sky could be seen above. The men’s steps barely made a sound on the carpet of snow and brown pine needles covering the forest floor. The strange stillness was unsettling, seeming to pause the passage of time.

The men looked for the tree the old hag had described. One pine, old and ancient, stood out. It’s trunk had to be ten ells around. A face growing from a large ancient tree. Fuzzy, green moss for eyebrows, kind, brown acorn eyes, golden leaves for a mustache and smooth wood lips. The men were startled from their examination of the tree as a stag leaped through the glen and disappeared into the snowy pines.

“What be yer want?”, a scratchy brogue asked them.

Both men started at the seemingly instant appearance of a bent old man. The druid was covered with a grey furred cloak, a hood of horns poked out from his shaggy grey hair, his gnarled hand held an age worn staff and his face was hidden by a scraggly beard. He might have looked ancient but his eyes were bright and sharp as he assessed the two men before him.

The eldest of the warriors spoke up, “We come with an offering. Guided by the priests and spirits of old. A sacrifice of the highest order.” 

The younger man stepped forward and said, ”I am ready to make the ultimate sacrifice if it will end this winter.”

The druid stared at them, piercing their souls with his intense gaze. Neither warrior looked away but both felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Humph, for who do you make this sacrifice?”, the old augurer finally asked.

The younger warrior released his breath and said, “My clan, my family, my brother, my...the future Laird."

The old druid just looked at the warrior. His face still as stone.

Not deterred the warrior continued, “If it gives him and my clan a chance; my life is forfeit.”

The old man interrupted the young warrior’s speech with a grunt.

“Huh, sacrifice of life. Do you know what that means, young lad?” the old man asked with barely hidden contempt.

“Y..yes,” the younger said. “If my blood….”

“Ha. Blood. If blood was all it took, the British invaders and the Romans before them would have been banished from our lands. You know nothing of sacrifice,” the craggy wizard said dismissively as he turned away.

The young warrior was speechless as what to say. But his older brother, a Laird for five years and used to stubborn old men who wouldn’t listen, stepped forward.

“Then teach us, tell us what sacrifice must be made. And we will make it happen. Anything to end this winter. The hidden priestess of the glen told us to give this to you,” the older brother implored.

The desperate Laird unwrapped a root. It was shaped like a stag’s horns and held it toward the priest.

The old wizard turned to look,”Ahhh, so the old she-devil still has her tricks. Still thinks I can be persuaded with the stag's root and a delectable emissary.”

“We only ask that you give us a chance,” the Laird implored.

“Please, I will do anything to end this winter,” the younger brother said trying to hide his desperation.

“Anything?”, the old wizard chimed with a glint in his steely eyes as he looked at the younger brother with hunger in his eyes. The warrior could only nod in answer as his breath was stolen by the devouring look the druid was giving him.

“If you could never see your clan, your brother, your family ever again? Your life forfeit to me? You offer this freely” the grizzled old man asked as he raised a gnarled finger to point at the younger warrior.

“Yes. If my sacrifice can end this winter and save my clan, then yes. I offer it,” the young warrior said.

"And your life, your…...deaths, are mine?" the wizard asked with a direct stare.

A little confused at the wizard’s wording the young warrior stated,"I swear it."

“Agreed!” cried the old man in a jubilant tone. He held out his hand for the stag's root.

The Laird bowed his head in acquiescence and handed the old man the root. 

The Laird hugged his brother and said, “Thank you. The clan owes you everything.”

“Brother,” was all the younger could say.

“Get on with it,” the old man grunted.

The older brother left. His figure soon lost in the snowy pines.

TBC

Copyright Savannah McTavish Publishing 

Do not copy to any other website.

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SparkyGreen
SparkyGreen

Love to write short stories about romance, erotica and sci-fi.


Celtic Winter, Kilty Pleasures NSFW M/M Erotica
Celtic Winter, Kilty Pleasures NSFW M/M Erotica

Continuation of my post Roots of the Past. Erotica Man on Man NSFW. Don't like? Then don't read.

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