Shadow of the Woe Tree

The older man stroked his long white beard and adjusted the sash that held his white linen robe in place. Then, his hand descended to the sickle that rested on his hip – he withdrew the tool and cut a piece of mistletoe from a neighboring tree and tossed the fruit at the foot of the ancient willow that he was appointed to guard till the chosen of Samhain and Morrigan were anointed. He spit as the piece of mistletoe slowly sunk beneath the ground, a small token to the tree.

Behind him, a young woman stood, her robes flapping in the wind – her red hair flowed around her head and her pale skin glimmered in the diminishing daylight. She wore a strip of burlap across her eyes and a swath of freckles ran from it and down across her face, neck, and shoulders, stopping at her swelling cleavage.

"The time is soon, Celhern," the woman said, her voice lite like a fading rainbow. "The night is nigh and the march of the One God is coming."

'You know I can't make the decision, brandui," the older man named Celhern muttered, his voice ravaged by too much mead. "The Old Gods talk through you and I act. That's how it must be."

"The times are changing and the Old Gods remain silent," the brandui hissed. "If the bonfires aren't lit and the tree replenished by the end of Samhain, the Morrigan will fail to halt the march of the One God."

"Perhaps the fates have deemed it so and the gods merely do as expected of them."

The brandui grabbed Celhern's wrist and swung him around with a strength belaying her smallish frame and said, "Now is not to time for heresy!"

Celhern placed a hand on the young woman's cheek. "You so very much like your mother when you're cross with me."

"Stop being my father and I won't be angry," she said. "I just don't want to be the one remembered as the usher to the fall of all we are."

"I would never allow that to happen, Féainn," Celhern said and he hugged his daughter, silently cursing the fate that befell them.

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Once the moon had arisen on the last night before the feast of Samhain, the druid Celhern returned to his village and sat before the door to his dwelling – there had been few calls for a magistrate today so he had spent most of the afternoon with the willow his family had been tasked to caretake. It was a holy tree, with branches that stretched to the heavens and roots to the underworld – it was the perfect spot for the closing ceremony of the feast of Samhain and his blind daughter, Féainn, a powerful brandui, had been the ideal choice to lead the ceremony of the final feastof the harvest season.

But that was before the march of the One God had to come to their land.

Many had turned away from the ways of the Oak forest and towards the salvation the One God promised in exchange of obedience – but the old gods could be as lenient as they could be rigid in their laws, whereas the One God allowed only one path and his followers were often merciless to those who questioned it.

So Féainn had had a vision – a warrior would be conceived on the night of the final feast of Samhain as an anointed chosen for the harvest mated with the chosen of the Morrigan, the Goddess in three. But five harvests have passed since the vision and the march of the One God would soon be unstoppable.

"You seem deep in thought, druid," a voice said as it cut through Celhern's pondering. Momentarily startled, the druid had reached for his sickle until he realized he was facing Daimhin Mhic Ulder in the firelight, widow of the late blacksmith Blèak Mac Ulder. He had passed in a storm some years ago and Celhern had tried to save the blacksmith despite his burns from lightning, as a debt owed to Daimhin's family. The druid noticed she carried a jug of wine.

"It would seem the world is ending and for all my knowledge, I can't stop it," Celhern said as he accepted the offer of wine and the cup. Daimhin often came to see the old druid for counsel or to offer it. A widow at the age of 22, Daimhin Mhic Ulder was a bright woman with sparkling green eyes and long blond hair she always kept in a tight braid. She was taller than the average woman in the village and often stood out at council meetings for her grace and eloquence.

When she brought wine, it was usually to offer the druid either admonishment ... or comfort. Tonight, he felt he needed both.

"Féainn is of the thought you can," Daimhin said as she sat on the step next to the druid and poured wine into their cups. They tapped them and drank.

"Did she send you here?" Celhern asked, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed.

"Even the gods would know better than to try to move me as a pawn, old man," Daimhin said as she kissed his grizzled cheek.

Celhern felt passion rush to his manhood at the widow's touch – he relished how her eyes captured the torchlight that burned above his dwelling's door and the mysterious shadows the flame cast upon her oval face.

"Daimhin ... "

"Take me inside now, oh druid," Daimhin Mhic Ulder ordered the druid as she grabbed his beard and pulled him towards inside his hut.

Celhern pushed his young lover into the open space that orbited a deep fire pit and he closed the door behind him, omitting to lock it, safe in the notion that none would dare disrupt the village's druid's business. He pushed her against the table where he prepared his meals and lifter up onto its edge – Daimhin pulled the hem of her dress up to her waist and reached between her legs and spread open her pussy, feeling her digits moisten from her growing wetness. Celhern struggled to free his cock as her musky aroma touched his nostrils, strengthening his greed to possess this woman – he smashed his lips to hers as she pushed the edges of his robe aside, exposing his lean, muscular frame. Their tongues dueled while she traced the shape of his shoulders to his back, feeling the scars of past whippings he received for disobedience; he grabbed her long braid and pulled her head back and kissed and licked the sweat from the soft skin of her neck before he grabbed one of the cups of wine that had followed them and he poured it down her throat. She giggled and gurgled as she swallowed the wine and felt his stiff manhood bounce between her meaty thighs. She leaned forward, kissing the druid and spilling a mouthful of wine past his lips while she grabbed between her thighs and guided his cock into her moist pussy.

Celhern grunted his approval as he felt her sex part and take him in – Daimhin's late husband had given her a son and a daughter in the 2 years after her marriage when she was only 15 but now at 22, she was tight and strong in those muscles. He stayed there, immobile as she kissed him upon his gruff brow while enjoying the smoldering heat in her cunt.

"Like this," Daimhin whispered between kisses. "Let's stay like this forever."

Celhern nodded lightly and began to slowly rock his hips back and forth, his cock sloshing in Daimhin's juices, remembering the first time they had become lovers. He had been celibate in the years after his wife's death, mourning the way she would tease him in the morning and how her laugh would chase away his brooding demeanor. Daimhin had been widowed when she was nineteen and despite local laws, she had kept the smith operating with the help of skilled craftsmen and the druid's substantial influence in the village. She had wanted to thank him with a bottle of wine and mead and after their first night, they had been exclusive to each other. And now, as he pulled out of her and dived back in, enjoying how her nails dug into his shoulders, he relived that first stroke with each thrust of his hips. Soon she was was bucking in tune to his movements and the table rocked and creaked beneath the force of their passion.

Celhern gripped Daimhin's buttocks and lifted her off the rattling table and carried her until she was pressed up against a wall of his dwelling. She moaned loudly as he stabbed her with his stiff cock again and again – her juices dripped down her thighs while drops stuck to their mingling pubic hairs, slowly filling the druid's home with the pungent aroma of wild desire. The hovel seemed to tremble when she wrapped her legs around Celhern's waist and grabbed at the fabric of some curtains, angling her body so that more of his thrusting cock could deeply penetrate her. Celhern huffed and grunted as his body became covered in a sheen of sweat from their lovemaking, His legs pumped and his hips bucked while Daimhin rode his manhood with fury.

"Ohhhhh damn the Gods!" Daimhin cried as she was seized with wave upon waive of rollicking pleasure that sprang from her cunt and invaded her trembling limbs – she came in a gush of fluid that puddled at their feet.

Celhern breathed hard as he untangled himself from his young lover, enjoying the sudden look of loss that crossed her face as she slowly realized he was no longer in her.

"That was ... intense, old druid," Daimhin chided her lover, weak in the knees as she stood and her dress returned to a more proper position.

Celhern smiled and nodded absently while he sat on his cot that was opposite the door, on the other side of the fire pit. His hard manhood jutted from between his thighs like a vagrant root seeking the earth to take hold. Daimhin watched him intently, chewing on her lower lip and then deciding to undo her dress and reveal herself totally to the druid – in their year as lovers she had never been fully naked before him, although she had seen his nude form repeatdly.

"What are you doing?" Celhern asked as he reached out to her, unwilling to have her sacrifice her modesty out of a sense of obligation as his lover.

"It's all right," Daimhin whispered. "I've the pleasure of seeing you so many times – it's your turn."

Celhern watched with apprehension and excitement as Daimhin pushed her dress off her shoulders and past her waist till it fell to the dirt floor. Her hands rested at her sides as she walked towards his bed – Celhern admired her medium sized breasts and the slight sag that had developed because of her nursing and he appreciated her womanly hips and the slightest paunch of her belly.

"By Aine's breath," Celhern whispered. "You're absolutely beautiful."

Daimhin Mhic Ulder smiled and knelt before her lover and pushed his knees apart.

"What is this now?"

"Something that I heard the old Romans used to do," Daimhin said slyly before taking Celhern's shaft in her hand and pumping it gently before putting her lips on its tip for a gentle kiss. He held his breath as he felt her mouth envelop his cock and it disappeared into her mouth – Celhern had been an experienced man but this practice had been only alluded to in his journeys. He felt her tongue spiral down from the tip of his cock and down its veiny sides. He shuddered as her cheeks imploded and squeezed his manhood as her head bobbed. He moaned when she took his hairy sack in her hand and squeezed as she hummed and worked his sex with her other hand.

Daimhin met Celhern's gaze with a defiant stare of her own, proud of how she was making him wheeze and gasp with the power of her mouth on his cock. Again and again, her head bobbed and weaved and her hands worked his shaft and balls and Celhern shook and moaned and grunted with passion and pleasure. She even allowed him to take control by placing her hands behind her back when he stood and grabbed her hair and started to thrust his cock deep into her throat – his balls slapped against her chin as her spit dribbled down her chin and his rocking thighs.

With a sudden movement Celhern pulled from Daimhin's mouth and he yanked her off the floor and threw her onto the bed – he grabbed her waist and pulled her wiggling buttocks towards the edge of the bed; he spat into his hand and mixed the saliva with what dripped from his cock and he positioned himself at the opening of her cunt and he thrust into her with furious desire. She moaned as his manhood excited the inside of her moist pussy with the heat of a bliss fueled torch chasing away the darkness of reason.

The druid became more and more chaotic in his thrusts, fucking Daimhin Mhic Ulder with a bestial drive to leave something behind and not fade away like an echo in time. She felt this from him, felt the desperation in his movements and through the pleasure and bliss he provided her, but she was unable to comfort him beyond the guttural moans her mounting pleasure could provide.

Celhern's hips slapped against Daimhin's buttocks and he reached around and pinched her ripe nipple, making his young lover squirm and shiver as a wave of orgasm washed over her – the inside of her pussy heated like a blast furnace as it held the druid's cock. Celhern's knees faltered and he fell forward.

"Aaaaahhhhoohhh," he moaned as he came deep in Daimhin pussy, gushing what felt like a lifetime's worth of his seed – she felt his cock pulse inside her and his final release was a torrent of pleasure that flowed from his manhood and filled her with warmth and contentment.

Celhern collapsed onto the small bed and Daimhin, smiling broadly, nuzzled up next to him, pulling a blanket over their snuggling form.

"I think I love you." Daimhin Mhic Ulder said. Celhern had already fallen asleep.

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Féainn listened intently as she felt the first beams of the sunrise reach over the tops of the oak trees and touched her alabaster face – blind from birth, the brandui Féainn, daughter of Celhern O Cunnight and Siobhan Mic Derlicht, had been a powerfully intuitive child. Wise beyond her years and precocious in word and action, she had taken to the teachings of the druids like a fish to water – since they had no written teachings, the word of mouth ways of her mentors suited her particular condition. After her mother died of a fever, Féainn had taken her father's teachings the most to heart, turning intuitiveness into the understanding of the way and will of the gods, especially the Morrigan.

So it was with the utmost frustration that Féainn though of her father's lack of conviction in the gods' will – she had come to surmise that his lack of faith in the gods had silenced them to her senses. Which in turn, blinded her from finding the chosen for the feast of Samhain and the Morrigan.

"We came as asked, Oh Brandui," Féainn heard from behind her. She had been aware of their presence some 100 paces before they appeared. They were the Oglaigh – young, wild nobles who thieved and whorred and pillaged before returning to their clans and reclaim their rightful place.

"Thank you, taoiseacht," Féainn turned and faced the group of five men – they smelled of sweat and violence. She heard the clanking of their swords and the muted cracking of their leather armor.

"What would the brandui of clan Clennaugh want with us heathens?" one asked from behind the chieftain.

"Samhain ends tonight," Féainn said. "And with it, I fear, our connections to the gods. The Woe tree must be replenished and the chosen of the Samhain and the Morrigan must unite."

"We airen't what ye would call god farin' folk, lass," the chieftain said. His voice was husky and pot marked by age.

"I don't care whether you heed the gods or not," Féainn said as she stepped forward and poked the larger man in the chest. "What I need from you is to put the fear of the gods into the people of the village and my father so that they remember their duty."

The chieftain took Féainn's hand in his and smelled her long, delicate fingers. "Ye want we crash the feast, then?"

"Yes," the brandui said. "Show them why the gods are not to be trifled with. We have few fighters, and they are old and weary."

"If'n we agree," the chieftain said, releasing Féainn's hand. "What's to be our compensation?"

Féainn felt the coarse breath of the chieftain fall on her face, and she noted a slight shift in his breathing – a faster intake of air as he assuredly ran his eyes over her robed form. When she undid the bindings and let the robe fall to the forest floor, her curvaceous body assuredly glistening with morning dew under the rising sun, she heard the other men gasp and shift their weight from leg to leg. The chieftain himself swallowed hard and breathed shallow breaths at the sight of her.

"You may possess me once," she whispered. "One of you ... or all of you."

Her words were heeded indeed as they move around her, leaves and gravel shifting beneath their gaits – she heard buckles become undone and armor and steel fall to the ground. Hands fell on her shoulder and Féainn was pushed to her knees. Rough hands found her breasts as the ground next to her shifted under the weight of kneeling men. The hand squeezed her generous breasts and pinched her nipples, making her tingle between her legs and she felt her skin flush. The tip of a cock touched her lips and she parted them, letting the musky smelling manhood enter her mouth. A grunt resounded from above her and she knew the chieftain was slamming his cock in the back of her throat while unnamed hands touched her belly while others squeezed her nipples roughly.

Féainn raised her hands and found two other cocks floating by her face – as she sucked one, her hands deftly stroked the other fleshy manhoods. The brandui released the cock in front of her and began to suck on the one to her left while she alternated between pumping the other 2 cocks now to her right. On her back she felt hands run down her spine and reach between her buttocks. The fingers slipped along the crease of her pussy and she shuddered while 2 cocks entered her mouth at the same time. While the cocks fought for position in her mouth, she felt a lock of her crimson hair be wrapped around another and its owner pumped his manhood violently, tugging her hair and making her bob on the cocks in her mouth.

Féainn shivered when a thick digit slipped up into her moistening pussy – it moved left to right and in circles as though it sought some mysterious object. She was pleasantly surprised that at least one of the Oglaigh knew how to use their hands on a woman. But before she could succumb to the spasm of a growing orgasm, she felt the cock in her hair throb and it leaked its gooey come into her long hair – the owner of the cock smeared his come all over her scalp and she heard a sudden ruckus and a loud thud and a grunt as the disrespectful reaver was shoved to the ground. But soon she was lead to rest on her hands and knees on a blanket and she felt calloused hands hold her waist and a cock entered her pussy with a gentle, prodding force. Meanwhile, water was poured on her head to rinse the come from her head and the tip of a cock brushed her lips – she instinctively opened her mouth and the warm cock slid into her throat. Her breathing became labored with passion as the friction of the cock in her pussy matched the motions of the one in her mouth and she felt a secret thrill as being double fucked in the manner, used as source of pleasure and joy.

While her hips rocked to the rhythm of who was fucking her, Féainn felt a twinge of discomfort and fear gripped her – a wet finger was pressing against her asshole. And for a moment, she felt nothing till a sudden jolt of a new cock entered her pussy, it was shorter but thicker than the previous one – it had moved to her front and was now in her mouth. Her lovers had exchanged places will another played with her asshole, pressing a finger in till its first knuckle. Féainn flinched at the intrusion but she could feel an odd, pleasant sensation beneath the discomfort. The pleasant sensation grew as a wave of orgasm exploded from between her thighs, washing her in bliss while the cock in her mouth and the one in her pussy moved in and out of her with renewed fury.

But the cocks suddenly withdrew, leaving Féainn with a temporary sense of emptiness till she was lifted up, allowing a man of the Oglaigh to slip beneath her – she was lowered and reached between her thighs, finding a familiar feeling cock and guiding it into her still tight pussy till she lay flat against the man's crotch. He thrust upwards, his cock filling her pussy and Féainn cried out from the pleasure when another familiar cock slipped into her mouth. She was happy to suck on it, enjoying the way it snaked in and out from her lips, her dripping saliva a warm pool for this snake to swim in. But again, Féainn was challenged as a digit touched her anus and began to nudge its way in. She sighed in relief and swallowed a cock while another pushed her pussy into a quiver of pleasure until the unwanted found her asshole again. Féainn cringed as this newcomer was much thicker than a finger.