Fire Bringer

by David Clement-Davies

  It was several months since Rannoch had been rescued from the pit and the little pedicles on his head had grown. The deer could now clearly remember much of what had happened to him, though not his own name and nothing of the Prophecy. He had spent his time in the fenced field, eating and regaining his strength as his leg healed fully. Every day the boy would come down to see him and Rannoch had grown used to his call and would run up to him and even, at times, let him stroke his muzzle or touch the bumps on his head. He felt grateful to the boy and, though he could not understand his words, when they were together the deer sometimes imagined he could tell what the boy was thinking.

  There was something else that drew him strangely to the human fawn, for he would often see Liam riding back to his dwelling on a horse, like the creatures he had seen in the gully. The horse never showed any interest in the deer, but where before it had only struck horror in him, as Rannoch got used to the sight, it filled him with wonder that an animal like himself should, so calmly, allow the boy to mount its back and come when he called. Rannoch began to think that the humans must have a very strange power indeed.

  But now something happened that caused a deep stirring in Rannoch. He felt it first as an itching in his head. Then, one morning, two antler spikes broke through his pedicles. As the suns passed, they rose straight up above his head; twin tines, furred in velvet. They grew at extraordinary speed and soon Rannoch had his first head. But somehow this made him more and more restless. His frustration at not being able to remember who he was brought the anguish of longing to his heart too. He would run around the field, tossing his head to and fro and stamping the earth. Liam was fascinated by this and every day he came down to watch the deer. In turn, this began to irritate Rannoch and the boy’s interest would send him running angrily to the far side of the field. More suns and moons passed and, as summer ripened, Rannoch began to rub his antlers against the fence, pulling off the soft fur that covered them as he did so, so that the tines stood out like birch branches.

  ‘Why can’t I remember who I am?’ Rannoch would say desperately to himself as he scraped and buffeted with his antlers. There was some memory he was reaching for in particular, that he knew was close at hand, but which frightened him terribly.

  Rannoch stayed in the field near the humans’ dwelling, wrestling with his thoughts and his troubled memories as summer turned to autumn and the leaves began to fall. Autumn grew and Rannoch felt another unfamiliar sensation overwhelm him. He became more and more restive and he kept thinking of the Herla out there in the wild. Strangely, he could hardly stand to be with the boy now and whenever Liam came down to give him extra feed, Rannoch would ignore his calls.

  Rannoch suddenly felt angry at the boy and desperately confused in himself. A deep longing was growing inside him. The deer would stand in the field and bellow and bark and the shaking anger that welled up inside him made him want to hit out. Sometimes, Liam would come and stand watching this for ages on end, and when Rannoch looked into his eyes he recognized something in them; a strange kind of violence that made him even more nervous. Rannoch would run away again but now he thought he must be sick, for he did not understand that the spirit of Anlach was burning in his blood.

  Anlach passed and with it Rannoch’s restlessness. Winter settled round him; the snows fell thick and fast, and in the neighbouring hills the Lera sought desperately for food and shelter. But in the field the boy brought Rannoch dry straw, bark that tasted of wood smoke, and delicious ferns and conkers that he had gathered from the forest. In the bitter cold, Rannoch took this gratefully and after a while the scent that came with it no longer made him sick.

  So at last spring came again and then something else happened that made Rannoch question. It was a rainy spring day and Rannoch had been buffeting at the fence with his head when his right antler suddenly snapped off. Though Rannoch knew that this must be natural, he looked down with surprise at the antler lying there in the grass. Liam was even more startled when he saw it there that evening. The boy bent down and picked it up and his young eyes opened in wonder as he began to examine the strange object. He turned it in his hands, and ran his fingers across the roughish, wood-like surface.

  ‘It’s like a branch, Herne,’ whispered Liam wonderingly. Rannoch watched him from a distance and though he didn’t understand Liam’s words, he noticed that the sound of the boy’s voice was changing, the water becoming deeper.

  His second antler fell on its own and Rannoch walked bareheaded once more, as he had done as a fawn. As the hot sun came, Rannoch’s antlers began to grow again and this time, as well as the spikes, two brow tines sprouted forwards. Although Rannoch couldn’t see them and there was no feeling in the antlers except at the base, he sensed that they were growing stronger, and when he scraped the velvet across the fence he found that by twisting his head he could score a line in the wood. It gave him great pleasure to catch the beam of the fence between the tines of his antlers, push against the wood and feel it bend under his weight.

  Then one day in high summer, when the sun was blazing down and Rannoch had shed his velvet and was standing at the far end of the fenced field looking out thoughtfully towards the hills, the deer suddenly heard a strange sound. It was just below him. As he looked down Rannoch was amazed to see the grass move, then the earth seemed to swell and bubble up and a head popped up through the ground.

  Rannoch eyed the mole coolly. He hadn’t forgotten how the creature had deserted him.

  ‘At last. At last I’ve found you,’ cried the mole breathlessly.

  ‘What do you want?’ said Rannoch coldly.

  ‘I wanted to see if you were all right,’ answered the mole, pulling his whole body through the ground and shaking off the earth.

  Rannoch looked down with little interest.

  ‘You know I’ve felt terrible ever since I left you,’ said the mole. ‘But really, there was nothing I could do. Then I heard from the moles around here that there was a deer living near the humans and I wondered if it was you. When they told me you had a white mark on your forehead, I knew.’

  ‘White mark?’ said Rannoch suddenly.

  ‘Yes,’ said the mole, ‘that looks like a leaf.’ Rannoch felt a violent jolt to his stomach.

  ‘Say that again,’ he whispered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘About the mark.’

  ‘You’ve got a birthmark that looks like a leaf.’

  Rannoch suddenly turned and, to the mole’s amazement, he ran straight towards the edge of the field. He stopped at the fence and stood pawing the ground and staring out at the hills.

  ‘On his brow a leaf of oaken,’ whispered Rannoch fearfully.

  In his mind Rannoch was grasping towards something and it was as though a voice had begun in his head. A voice from the past that was telling him things from his dreams. A part of Rannoch didn’t want to listen, while a part of him yearned to know everything.

  Over the next three suns Rannoch’s memories grew in strength. First he remembered the flight from the herd, then why he had had to flee. Next came the journey and Bhreac’s death. The Prophecy came back slowest of all, for the deer’s subconscious had suppressed what he most feared. But it was linked with those deer he had seen in his dreams, who he knew were close to him and who he longed to recall. As their names came back to him – Willow and Bankfoot, Thistle and Tain, Peppa, and his own mother, Bracken – all the associated memories returned too. Rannoch shuddered as those other names returned to haunt him: Blindweed, Drail and Sgorr.

  When Rannoch met the mole again, at the far side of the field, he looked very grave.

  ‘I remember now,’ said Rannoch, ‘what my name is.’

  ‘Well?’ said the mole.

  ‘My name is Rannoch.’

  ‘Rannoch.’ The mole nodded.

  ‘Yes, and it was because of this mark that we had to flee the home herd.’

  ‘The home herd?’

  ‘That’s right. From Drail and Sgorr. It’s all because
of the Prophecy.’

  ‘Prophecy!’ said the astounded mole.

  ‘Yes. There’s a prophecy about Herne and the deer.’

  The poor mole was so confused by this that he just shook his little head. Rannoch lay down and began to chew the cud thoughtfully. The mole shuffled closer.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said quietly, looking up at his twin pointed antlers.

  ‘Tain taught it to me before I left the loch.’

  ‘Go on,’ said the mole.

  Rannoch looked warily at the mole. But then he began to recite the verses that old Blindweed had recited to the young fawns on the hill.

  ‘When the Lore is bruised and broken,

  Shattered like a blasted tree,

  Then shall Herne be justly woken,

  Born to set the Herla free.

  On his brow a leaf of oaken,

  Changeling child shall be his fate.

  Understanding words strange spoken,

  Chased by anger, fear and hate.

  He shall flee o’er hill and heather,

  And shall go where no deer can,

  Knowing secrets dark to Lera,

  Till his need shall summon man.

  Air and water, earth and fire,

  All shall ease his bitter pain,

  Till the elements conspire

  To restore the Island Chain.

  First the High Land grass shall flower,

  As he quests through wind and snow,

  Then he breaks an ancient power,

  And returns to face his woe.

  Whenthe lord of lies upbraids him,

  Then his wrath shall cloak the sun,

  Andthe Herla’s foe shall aid him

  To confront the evil one.

  Sacrifice shall be his meaning,

  He the darkest secret learn,

  Truths of beast and man revealing,

  Touching on the heart of Herne.

  Fawn of moonlight ever after,

  So shall all the Herla sing.

  For his days shall herald laughter,

  Born a healer and a king.’

  When Rannoch finished the mole shrugged.

  ‘So, it’s you this Prophecy is talking about?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rannoch.’I mean, no. I mean, parts of it seem to be about me. The fawn mark, anyway. But I’ve been thinking and thinking about it and it can’t be me. It’s simple. I’m not a changeling. Bracken is my mother. Besides, there’s so much of it that I don’t understand. . . that seems impossible. . . about Herne and the Island Chain. No, it’s just a story, like the stories about Starbuck.’

  ‘But if it is true. . .’ said the mole, looking wide-eyed at Rannoch.

  ‘It isn’t,’ said Rannoch, almost angrily. ‘I’m just a deer. Like my friends.’

  Rannoch looked wistfully towards the distant hills.

  ‘I wonder how Willow is,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Born a healer and a king,’ muttered the mole, nodding his head gravely.

  ‘Stop it,’ said Rannoch.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said the mole, ‘but it seems to me there is more to you than meets the eye. Even my eyes.’

  Rannoch was silent and sullen now. Although he wouldn’t admit it to the mole, he suddenly felt frightened and very alone.

  But as summer grew fatter the mole and the deer spent many hours together when the boy wasn’t around, discussing the Prophecy and talking of the Great Land. The mole wondered why Rannoch showed no sign of escaping from the field and returning to his friends, for although Rannoch was growing quickly and could easily have jumped the fence, the mole would find him still there, sun after sun.

  ‘Rannoch,’ he said one day in early autumn as they sat together in the grass, ‘why do you stay here with the humans? Why don’t you return to your herd?’

  Rannoch shook his head.

  ‘Because I don’t know how to find them,’ he said sadly, ‘and besides. . .’

  ‘Besides?’

  ‘When I was with them I caused them nothing but problems. Perhaps they’re better off without me.’

  ‘But you can’t stay here. Look, I was talking with my cousin the other day and I explained about this prophecy of yours. He said, why don’t you go and ask the seals, on the western shores? My cousin says seals are wise and knowledgeable creatures and know everything about everything. You at least can talk to them.’

  ‘Seals?’ said Rannoch.

  ‘Yes,’ said the mole. ‘They live by the sea.’

  ‘What’s the sea?’ asked Rannoch.

  ‘Well, I don’t really know,’ answered the mole. ‘But it lies beyond the land and . . . well . . . it’s where the seals live.’

  Rannoch was quiet again and thoughtful. In truth, he wasn’t sure he really wanted to learn anything about the Prophecy at all.

  ‘I must be on my way again,’ he said to himself half- heartedly now, ‘but perhaps it’s better to wait until the spring comes to travel. Then we’ll see.’

  Anlach came round and Rannoch’s blood rose in him once more, turning the four-pointer’s feelings to anger and his thoughts to Willow and his friends. Again Rannoch found the boy’s company distressing, only less so than the year before. He ran back and forth through the grass and bucked and kicked or rose up to box with the air.

  Then suddenly something happened that threw the young stag into utter confusion as he wondered about Herne and the Prophecy. It was nearly the end of Anlach and Rannoch was feeding restlessly, when he suddenly saw the mole coming towards him. The little creature dipped his head as he shuffled up to Rannoch and greeted him warmly. But as Rannoch stood there, listening to the mole, the deer was suddenly appalled. He couldn’t understand what the creature was saying to him. Not a word.

  Rannoch blinked down in amazement at the mole but, no matter how hard he tried, he could not make sense of the little Lera. As the mole went on talking Rannoch suddenly threw back his antlers and, with a desperate snort, he turned and ran across the field, leaving the startled mole on his own again.

  ‘Herne,’ cried Rannoch desperately, ‘what’s happening to me?’

  The incident with the mole deeply unsettled the deer but Rannoch grew even more confused when, at the end of Anlach, the mole came to visit him again and Rannoch found that once more he understood the Lera.

  It placed an even greater doubt in the deer’s mind about the truth of the Prophecy and his own powers. As winter settled over the human dwelling, it threw Rannoch in on himself, so when the snows fell on his dull brown coat, the deer became sullen and listless and was reluctant to talk to his friend. The mole would watch him and shake his head sadly, but though he made a point of visiting his friend whenever he could, he had his own loved ones to tend to in the threatening winter.

  Spring came a second time to the field and the mole was glad to see that with the sunlight and the new flowers, Rannoch was in better spirits. Their friendship blossomed again and he and Rannoch would tell each other stories and talk of the creatures and the forests. But the mole noticed that Rannoch began to talk less and less of Willow and his friends.

  Rannoch shed his antlers again and they grew once more. He had his third head. This time the brow tines were larger and the well curved beams forked in two at the tops, like crab’s claws. When the mole came to visit him one day, he nodded as he looked at the deer, for the fawn in the pit had now grown into a fine young stag.

  Yet as summer arrived, still Rannoch made no move to escape the fenced field or the boy. The mole would tremble as he watched Rannoch take food from Liam’s hand and stand letting the boy stroke his fawn mark. Then, one day, as he approached the deer, the mole’s expression was very grave, for he had come to talk seriously with his friend.

  ‘Rannoch,’ he said, as he shuffled up, ‘how are you?’ Rannoch smiled down at him.

  ‘Well, thank you,’ answered Rannoch cheerfully. ‘The human brought me some delicious berries yesterday.’

  The mole nodded.

  ‘Rannoch,’ he said quie
tly, ‘I’ve some news for you. It’s about the Herla. The Lera say there is great trouble.’

  Rannoch went on chewing the grass.

  ‘They say the Herla are suffering,’ the mole continued. Rannoch didn’t answer.

  ‘Aren’t you interested, Rannoch?’ said the mole quietly.

  ‘Yes,’ answered Rannoch, looking up now, ‘but I just bring more suffering.’

  ‘But don’t you want to know what’s happened to your friends? To Willow and Tain and your mother?’

  ‘Of course,’ answered Rannoch sadly. ‘I think about them all the time.’

  ‘And the Prophecy?’

  Rannoch looked at his friend guiltily.

  ‘Rannoch,’ said the mole, his voice growing severe, ‘can’t you see what’s happening to you?’

  Rannoch stared back at him.

  ‘You’ve grown tame, Rannoch,’ whispered the mole fearfully. ‘Tame.’

  Rannoch looked at the mole in silence and suddenly a light woke in his eyes. Tame. The word came like the warning call of the hind in winter. As a young fawn Rannoch had heard the hinds use it, though he never really knew what it meant. But it had always carried fear in its sound, a fear greater even than the howl of the wolf. Rannoch suddenly remembered his old friend Quaich and the terrible herd in the park.

  In the weeks that followed, Liam noticed that something had deeply affected Rannoch and when Anlach arrived he found it impossible to even approach him. Rannoch stamped the ground if he tried to get near and lowered his antlers angrily. The boy would shake his head sadly and call to him, but Rannoch never once answered.

  Until one day, at the end of Anlach, when the skies had grown chill with the promise of rain and Larn was close at hand, the boy did something that made Rannoch wonder. He came down to the field and, calling to Rannoch gently, he lifted the rope from the fence post and swung open the gate.

  Rannoch stared at him in amazement, not knowing what he meant, but the boy just stood gazing sadly back at him. If Rannoch had come closer he would have seen the tears in his piercing green eyes. Then, very quietly, the boy turned and walked back to his dwelling, without once looking round.