Fire Bringer

by David Clement-Davies

  ‘Hello,’ Rannoch called. ‘I was looking for you.’

  The twins greeted him warmly and Rannoch explained about the meeting and some of his fears.

  ‘I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,’ he said as cheerfully as he could. ‘Let’s walk up here though, where we can talk properly.’

  The three of them were wandering away from the fallow deer when Rannoch stopped dead. He began to blink and look around him.

  ‘What is it, Rannoch?’ said Willow.

  ‘Danger,’ answered Rannoch immediately. He had smelt something strange on the air.

  The twins glanced round nervously but the fallow deer seemed unmoved and the stags appeared to have scented nothing. Rannoch turned and looked towards the trees. The three fawns froze. The trees rustled and suddenly a fox poked his head through the leaves. It was only about a tree’s length from where the fallow deer were sitting.

  The fawns’ first instinct was to bolt, but the fox was quite a way from where they were standing. Instead they stood mesmerized as the animal emerged into the snowy daylight. It was a large vixen, long and sleek, with a great bushy tail.

  ‘They’ll see it in a minute,’ whispered Rannoch.

  The fox trotted forward across the snow and looked about unafraid.

  ‘There,’ whispered Willow. ‘The stags, they’ve seen it.’ The two stags had indeed seen the fox and turned their antlers towards it. But then, to the fawns’ horror, they simply turned away again. The fox was approaching the fallow hinds and their fawns.

  ‘Why don’t they do anything?’ said Peppa desperately.

  ‘I don’t know,’ whispered Rannoch.

  The fox was now only a branch’s length away and it stopped and sniffed the air. Then, making up its mind, it swung right, towards a hind and a very young fawn who were standing a little off from the main group. Although some of the hinds were now looking towards the fox, they seemed completely unmoved.

  ‘Do something,’ cried Willow.

  ‘Look out!’ shouted Rannoch, beginning to stamp the ground.

  Some of the hinds turned their heads towards Rannoch but they still didn’t stir and the three fawns began to shout frantically. But the fox trotted forward quite calmly, licking its lips. The horrified fawns watched as it approached the mother and her little one.

  ‘At last,’ shouted Rannoch, for now some of the hinds had got up.

  But rather than bolting, they simply walked calmly away.

  ‘The mother must do something,’ gasped Willow.

  ‘Yes,’ shouted Peppa. ’Look.’

  The hind had seen the fox. She began to stir fearfully and to bleat, but rather than run over to her fawn, who was still unaware of the vixen’s approach, she turned her back on the fox and started to kick at the ground with her back hoofs. The fox stopped again, its body quivering. Suddenly it sprang forwards, leaping through the snow. The fawn had seen it and, seized with terror, she bolted towards her mother. But the fox was now between the fawn and the hind and the little creature froze. The fox was on her in an instant. Its jaws caught the fawn straight in the throat and the vixen bit deep, pulling her to the ground and shaking her little head to and fro. It was over.

  Very slowly the fox started to pull the fawn’s body back towards the trees. The fawn’s mother stood blinking in bewilderment and then she simply turned away and trotted back to the other deer, who had already begun to settle down again. There was a rustling by the trees and the fox was gone.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Peppa, her voice trembling with shock. ‘They didn’t do anything. They didn’t even run.’

  ‘No. Nor do I,’ whispered Rannoch. ‘But I know one thing. We must get away from here.’

  At Larn both the fawns and the hinds had gathered together. When Rannoch told Bracken what they had seen she immediately summoned the others. Bracken felt a new strength rising within her now as she nuzzled the calves into the centre of the group and quizzed them carefully about the vixen. Only Thistle was missing and when Alyth heard the fawn’s story she was frantic with worry for her calf. But all the hinds soon agreed that something was wrong in the herd and, now they thought of it, each had a story of some strange incident among the fallow deer.

  Fern told how she had seen the hinds ignore a young fawn who was caught in a thicket and Alyth said she had overheard Scarp and Dearg talking strangely about the fawns, saying how good it was to have some new males in the herd. She had also noticed that whenever the hinds took their fawns to feed, the males would be allowed to eat first and if a doe tried to help herself the hinds would kick her and bash her with their muzzles. Only poor Morar was reluctant to listen, for her nerves were shattered and she feared for Quaich if the hinds decided to leave. The hinds were engaged in their discussion when they saw a group of the fallow stags running towards them. Scarp and Dearg were with them and they bowed to the hinds as they approached.

  ‘Dear, dear,’ said Scarp immediately. ‘The hinds tell me you are not happy. Is there anything we can do?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Bracken angrily, surprised at her own courage.

  ‘You can tell us why a fawn was taken by a fox today and the stags did nothing.’

  ‘Yes, I heard about that.’ Scarp nodded seriously. ‘Most unpleasant. But such things happen, I’m afraid.’

  ‘But one of you could have stopped it,’ cried Bracken. Scarp and Dearg looked at each other quizzically.

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Dearg, ‘but the stags didn’t see why it was necessary. After all, it was only a young doe.’

  ‘Only a young doe!’ shouted Bracken. The stags looked back at her blankly.

  ‘Yes. There are plenty of does in the herd. The fox had to eat and, well, the fawn was there. Now if it had been Rannoch here, or even Bankfoot, then of course it would have been different, I assure you. I really don’t see why you’re getting so upset.’

  Rannoch glared up at Scarp.

  ‘In Herne’s name, what are you saying?’ Bracken cried, stamping the ground. ‘Don’t you even care about the fawn?’

  ‘Now, now, my dear,’ said Dearg softly. ‘Of course we care. But the stags didn’t see the point of risking an injury for a doe, that’s all. You shouldn’t trouble yourselves about it, really. It’s sad, but then a Herla’s life is full of sadness. That’s Herne’s way.’

  ‘Well, I think it’s horrid,’ said Alyth.

  ‘It is horrid,’ said Scarp, ‘but you’ll have forgotten about it in the morning, I promise you. Why don’t you all go up to the feeding place and have an extra graze.’

  ‘That’s another thing,’ said Bracken. ‘There’s always food at the feeding places, yet I’ve never seen a deer taking it there. And where do you keep it?’

  Scarp gave Dearg a sharp look.

  ‘I’ve told you,’ he said. ‘We collect it in the autumn. The stags store it in the woods and put it out at night, when you’re sleeping.’

  ‘No! It isn’t true!’

  The voice came from beyond the group.

  ‘Thistle,’ cried Alyth delightedly, rushing up to her calf. She tried to lick him.

  ‘No, Mamma. I must say something,’ said Thistle, nudging her away.’Rannoch was right. I was walking up by a feeding place when I saw them. Putting out the dry feed.’ Thistle lowered his voice to a whisper and a hush fell on the listeners as he spoke.

  ‘Men,’ he said.

  The hinds looked aghast.

  ‘They add those herbs to the grass,’ Thistle went on.

  ‘That’s why we couldn’t smell them.’

  ‘That’s it,’ cried Rannoch.’That’s what I scented.’ Dearg suddenly nodded to Scarp.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said calmly, ‘there’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’ cried Bracken furiously.

  ‘We would have done, all in good time. But we didn’t want to frighten you, before you came to understand.’

  ‘Understand what?’

  ‘Abou
t the feed. Some Herla are naturally nervous, aren’t they?’

  ‘We must get out of here,’ said Bracken suddenly. ‘If there are men about, we’re all in danger.’

  ‘No, no,’ soothed Scarp. ‘They won’t come into the park, not at this time of year. It’s unheard of, really. Besides, a hind has little to worry about.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Dearg calmly. ‘And your bucks are hardly old enough, are they now? I mean, not an antler among them.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ stammered Bracken.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to be rude,’ said Dearg, ‘and I’m sure one day they’ll all grow up to serve the herd proudly in the Hunt—’

  ‘The Hunt?’ gasped Bracken.

  The hinds stared at the stags in disbelief but the full horror of understanding was beginning to dawn on them.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Dearg mournfully, ‘I’ve said too much, haven’t I? But they’ll get used to the idea. We all do. Whitefoot did. I mean, what else is a stag for but to die bravely in the Hunt?’

  Dearg’s eyes looked glassy, with a distant, desperate gleam.

  ‘We shouldn’t really be talking about this in front of the fawns,’ said Scarp. ‘They’re too young to understand such a difficult idea as the Hunt.’

  ‘Tell us,’ said Shira coldly.

  ‘Very well.’ Scarp nodded. ‘You had to know eventually. That is what we’re here for. The Hunt. Then a stag may serve the herd by running well and dying bravely. They come about fifteen or twenty times a year. That’s all. And never when the hinds are fawning or during the rut. In return they bring us the feed when the snows are very deep and sometimes even bracken from the hills. So you see, the herd always has enough to eat.’

  ‘They?’ whispered Bracken, feeling sick. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘The men,’ said Scarp blankly, ‘from the other side of the forest, to the east, where the great stone walls are. They bring the horses and the dogs and the stalk begins in the park. Then we must all run and every stag must do his duty.’

  ‘But it’s terrible,’ whispered Bracken, shaking furiously.

  ‘Terrible? It is life, that’s all. In the park it’s always been that way.’

  ‘But why don’t you do something?’ cried Alyth. Why don’t you run away?’

  Scarp and Dearg stared at her but they didn’t seem to understand what she was saying.

  ‘You could go into the mountains,’ said Alyth. ’Anywhere but here. You could come with us.’

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ said Scarp quietly. ‘Why should we want to? In the mountains some of us would be taken by wolves or dogs. The dangers in the wild are far greater than in the park. Here the herd is always stable. The men never take too many of us, although I can’t say we wouldn’t be happy to have your bucks for too many does were born in the herd this year. In return we have all we can to eat and we are happy.’

  ‘Happy!’ snorted Alyth. ’I’ve never seen such a bunch of soft-foots. You’re all mad.’

  ‘No, my dear,’ said Scarp quietly, his large eyes smiling back at her. ‘It’s better in the park.’

  ‘We’re getting out of here,’ cried Bracken, ‘and if any one of you tries to stop us, they’ll feel my hoof, stag or no stag.’

  ‘We wouldn’t dream of stopping you,’ said Dearg. ’We hate violence. We are just sad that you can’t see the truth.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Scarp. ‘Of course you’re free to go, if you must. It is a great pity though.’

  Scarp and Dearg turned without another word and, with a last sad look at the bucks, led the stags off into the darkness. The hinds stared at each other, stunned. Alyth was all for leaving there and then but Bracken persuaded them to wait until morning. She wasn’t frightened of the men any more and she was convinced that Dearg and Scarp would do nothing to stop them.

  So, as dawn came, stretching its blood-red fingers across the snowy park, the hinds and the fawns got ready. But just as they were setting off, Morar came up to Bracken and Alyth.

  ‘I’m sorry, but we’re not coming,’ she said guiltily.

  ‘What do you mean, not coming?’ cried Alyth. ’You’ve got to.’

  ‘I’ve made up my mind, Alyth. Quaich can’t travel any more.’

  ‘But Morar,’ said Bracken, ‘you heard what Scarp said.’

  ‘I know. And it’s clear that he won’t be in danger, not now anyway. When he grows up he can make his own choice about the park.’

  Morar looked back lovingly at the little deer who was standing further off in the snow.

  ‘He won’t survive the winter, Bracken,’ she whispered sadly, ‘not without this food to thicken my milk.’

  They did everything they could to dissuade Morar but she was adamant and so, reluctantly, the hinds and their fawns set off towards the trees. As they went Fern looked out across the fallow deer herd, to the single red stag grazing in the distance. Whitefoot lifted his head slightly and, as though he had heard some distant echo, he half looked round. But he never saw the hinds and his antlers dropped again towards the snow.

  Morar and Quaich watched the hinds quietly, side by side. But suddenly, when they were quite a long way off, Rannoch turned and ran back to his friend.

  ‘Goodbye, Quaich,’ he called.’I shall miss you.’

  The little fawn blinked back at him. He didn’t know why, but he felt a strange gratitude for the fawn with the white birth mark and he came forward and licked his muzzle.

  ‘Goodbye, Rannoch,’ called Morar, as Rannoch ran back to the hinds again. ’Herne be with you.’

  The red deer wound up along the edge of the forest. A few of the fallow deer looked up as they went, but most of them hardly noticed their passing. To the north the forest swung east and, remembering what Scarp had said about the men and their stone walls, the hinds led their fawns away to the west and the bottom of a low hill. They looked back one more time as they began to climb out of the park but could see nothing of Morar and Quaich, so they turned away again. The deer and their fawns had begun their journey once more.

  7 Lord Above the Loch

  ‘The first of earthly blessings,independence.’ Edward Gibbon, ‘Autobiography’

  For seven suns the hinds led their fawns north-west. They crossed hills and small glens. They followed the path of a burn for a day until its course was lost among the tumbled rocks and they turned away through a forest dappled with winter sunlight where they saw the tracks of other Herla and hurried on. On the second sun another snowfall hit and what grass was showing was lost under its covering so that Bankfoot even began to dream of the dried grass they had been given by the fallow deer.

  That night they heard wolves from the north-east where the mountains were growing steadily in the distance. But again the wolves were far off and though the hinds and the calves sorely missed Bhreac, they managed to keep cheerful enough. Bracken had come into her own now, somehow released by the anger she had shown in the park, and she was often seen running on ahead with Rannoch at her side.

  Of man they saw and smelt nothing more and they were glad of it. Their spirits were rising now and the calves seemed to be coping well enough, although the winter that was settling in around them was a bitter one. Rannoch and Willow were striking up a strong friendship, for the little doe had come to trust the fawn. She thought him kind and handsome and she wondered about the fawn mark on his forehead. If she dared to mention it, though, Rannoch would grow shy and sullen, so she learnt not to talk of it.

  After several more suns they came to a patch of wide moorland that lay cold and white before them and crossed it in a biting westerly wind. The fawns shivered as it started to snow again for, though they all had thick winter coats, when the soft, white flakes had settled on their fur and melted through to the skin, the icy water chilled them to the bone and, with the cutting wind, they felt they had little real protection. They pressed on and once more the hinds began to ask themselves if their journey would ever end. The moor ran northerly and when the deer reached its ed
ge they stopped and gasped as they looked down.

  In front of them was a wide glen, vaster than any they had ever seen. It seemed to stretch on for ever, cutting deep into the hills to their right. Its near slopes were rocky and its far slopes were banked with tall trees that glistened and smoked under the powdery snow. But what made the fawns catch their breath was the great loch that stretched out before them in the bowl of the valley. Its waters seemed as smooth and cold as winter itself.

  Rannoch went first. He started to run suddenly, tossing his head and kicking out his back legs behind him. Tain followed. The fawns started to race and Bankfoot came too. He was stammering and stuttering for Rannoch to wait for him, but the fawns couldn’t hear him. Peppa and Willow soon picked up the chase and then Thistle, who looked on coldly at first but found the sight irresistible. Soon they were charging delightedly down the slope. Bankfoot slipped and his fat little body went rolling through the snow but he picked himself up, unhurt, and charged on.

  At the top of the valley, Fern looked at Bracken and smiled, and the hinds ran too, following their calves only a little more carefully down the slope. But as she ran and felt the wind on her face, Bracken also began to race. All that had happened in the home herd and since had somehow worked to age her, to make her forget the joy of being a deer. But as she saw the little ones running and knew that Rannoch was safe, she felt a weight lift from her heart, so that when she reached the bottom of the valley and came to a stop in front of the lake, it wasn’t just the wind that had brought tears to her eyes.

  At the bottom of the hill the fawns were already by the loch as the hinds ran up behind them. It had stopped snowing and Bankfoot was lapping at the waters while the others were beginning to graze, for the snow here had melted to reveal thin tufts of grass, scorched by the cold. Bracken ran up to Rannoch and began to groom him tenderly as the others milled around the lake, until Canisp, who had wandered further off round its western edge, suddenly called them over. She had found a great number of hoof marks in the mud.