Fire Bringer

by David Clement-Davies

  Bird and animal had fallen into its clutches too. Sheep and ram were sealed in its winter tomb; a vixen that had strayed foolishly from her set lay hardening in the white, and even cattle had strayed too far into the foothills, never to return to their winter pasture. They lay trapped in the glistening powders, a mute testament to life and death.

  All night the blizzard raged and the red deer slept fitfully in the cave. They heard the wind die in the middle of the next morning. Tain was the first to venture outside. The cave mouth was now completely blocked with snow and he was forced to carve through the snow wall with his antlers and push clear with his head. But when at last he had made an opening, the sunshine streamed through gloriously. The others began to help him and soon they were all outside on the crisp ground, enjoying the winter sunshine and the fresh air and thanking Herne they were still alive.

  With Crak flapping above them, the deer began to thread their way slowly back along the path towards the spot where they had descended the night before. Some way beyond it the ground opened again and they found that the way was easier.

  It was a strange sight. High on the side of the Great Mountain, moving in single file, seven red deer rising up and up through the winter white. Like the mountaineers in days far ahead who rope themselves together in moving lines, the deer followed carefully in one another’s slots, leaping now and then to free their thin legs from the deep powder. As they went, Tain could hardly contain his excitement.

  ‘Just think of it,’ he kept saying. ‘The Great Mountain. Only Starbuck crossed it in winter and now I’m doing it. Oh, what a story this will make. I wonder what we’ll really find on the top.’

  This made the others look at each other nervously. The morning and the bright sunshine had done something to dispel their night terrors, but now the thought of Herne made the mountain suddenly seem terrible and threatening once more.

  Willow frowned at Rannoch.

  ‘Do you think He’s up there?’ she whispered.

  Rannoch lifted his antlers. The sky was as blue as a crocus. The snow flashed and sparked in the sunshine and crunched pleasantly under the deer’s feet. Now and then gentle gusts of wind would lift its surface around them and whirl the snow into the icy air.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said quietly.

  It was close to afternoon when the deer neared the summit and found they had to traverse one last steep ridge. But when they finally reached the top, the mountain opened broad and flat in front of them. A southerly wind was blowing and, out of excitement and relief, the deer started to race through the snow. Rannoch looked up to see Crak circling above his head.

  ‘Goodbye. Goodbye,’ called the bird. ‘You’ve done it. You’ve climbed the Great Mountain in winter. That’s something to tell them. You’ve come to the highest place in the Great Land. Sgorr can’t touch you now. Perhaps deer really can fly. Crak, Crak.’

  ‘Thank you, my friend,’ called Rannoch. ‘We couldn’t have done it without you.’

  But as the bird rose into the air something extraordinary happened. Tain, who was below him, realized that he could understand what the bird was saying too.

  ‘Good luck. You’re really in the High Land now,’ called Crak.

  ‘But, Crak. Won’t you stay a while?’ cried Rannoch after him.

  ‘No. No. Crak, Crak. I must get back to my own. But I’ll see you again, Rannoch. Farewell. Farewell.’

  The raven circled higher and higher until he became a tiny black speck etched against the blue. Then he was gone.

  Rannoch ran on, his heart suddenly expectant. The others were ahead of him now and when he came to a halt next to Willow, the deer were silent. Rannoch’s heart began to race as he followed their gaze. They could see right across the mountain top. But if they had expected to find Herne they were disappointed. There was no one there at all.

  Instead the land of Scotia lay glittering before them, mountains and valleys, swathed in white, floating below like mighty clouds. They could see for miles across the deep blue sky. But what they saw made them question. None of the deer had really known what to expect but after Tain’s story each had associated the High Land with Herne and the forest. But now, as they looked north, they did not see mighty forests at all but bleak, treeless hills, rising and falling, and bare moors cut by huge lochs and rivers.

  Thistle was the first to speak.

  ‘Well, Tain, Herne’s Wood, eh? A place where the deer may be safe? It looks more dangerous than any country I have ever seen. Look how exposed we shall be.’

  ‘That was just a story,’ said Tain coldly, but in his heart he was deeply worried too.

  ‘W-w-well, we can’t stay here,’ said Bankfoot.

  He was looking towards the west and the others immediately realized what he meant. Great, heavy snow clouds were billowing before them. The weather was changing again.

  ‘We should get down the other side as quickly as possible,’ said Tain.

  He looked over to Rannoch and the deer nodded. So, with Tain leading, the stags began to descend. Only Rannoch lingered, with Willow at his side.

  ‘Come on, Rannoch, we should be going,’ she said.

  ‘You go, Willow. I want to be alone up here a while. Maybe He’ll come if I’m alone. Don’t worry, I’ll join you soon.’

  Willow nodded and set off after the others. There, on the top of the Great Mountain, Rannoch stood alone, and he felt bitterly disappointed. He suddenly let out a bellow.

  ‘Herne,’ he cried. ‘Where are you, Herne? I’d thought to find you here. Do you really exist except in dreams?’

  But nothing returned to the deer except the aching silence of the world.

  Rannoch began to move forward and then to run. But as Rannoch ran something overcame him. His eyes were open and yet he didn’t see the snow beneath his feet. It was as though he could suddenly see miles ahead of him, out onto the moors across the High Land. He could see herds of wild deer moving freely across them. Then images came to him from his dreams, and though he knew he wasn’t asleep, they were as clear as the day.

  ‘The forest. The forest is always with you,’ he heard himself crying, and there was triumph in that cry.

  As Rannoch ran on in his waking dream his eyes began to mist over and when they cleared he saw a sight that made his head swim.

  In front of him, in the snow, stood a mighty deer.

  Its body was larger than a full-grown stag, with antlers that arced high above its strange head. But they were not like any antlers of this world. Two tines bore out straight ahead and above the strange palmed bez tines long hoops of bone flowered into brave coronets. The creature’s face was covered almost completely in fur, below its muzzle there billowed a mighty white mane, and its hoofs were black. Rannoch stopped and blinked and then his breath failed him as he realized that this was no vision at all, but as real as the mountain and the snow and the cold, cold air.

  ‘Herne,’ he gasped.’Herne. You’ve come at last.’

  16 Birrmagnur

  ‘And now the leaves suddenly lose strength’. Philip Larkin

  As Rannoch approached the deer god nervously it dropped its great, shaggy head and let out a low bellow that seemed to make the whole mountain shake. Rannoch froze.

  ‘Herne,’ he whispered again.

  But at this the strange apparition pushed forward his muzzle and seemed to chew the air. His thick, wide lips began to quiver and, to his horror and then amazement, Rannoch realized that the god was laughing.

  ‘Why do you call me Hoern?’ the creature said suddenly in an extraordinary, singing voice.

  Rannoch stared back in utter bewilderment.

  ‘Because I thought . . . I thought you. . .’

  ‘I see what you thought I was,’ chuckled the animal, still munching the air. ‘Most gratifying. But you are wrong. My name is Birrmagnur. I am flesh and blood, like you, I think.’

  ‘Yes. I can see that now,’ said Rannoch, feeling deeply embarrassed. ‘But what are you? I mean, I don’t wan
t to be rude, you look like a deer but. . . but if I may say so, a very strange deer indeed.’

  ‘I could say the same for you,’ answered the animal slowly, chewing the air again as though ruminating on his thoughts. His expression was still very amused.

  ‘I am rangifer,’ he answered quietly. ‘A reindeer.’

  ‘A reindeer?’ exclaimed Rannoch, almost as amazed as if it had been Herne. Rannoch had heard tell of the reindeer in stories, but he had never actually seen one and he had always thought they only existed in fable.

  ‘That is right. Who are you?’

  ‘My name is Rannoch.’

  ‘Well, Rannoch, I am pleased to meet you,’ said the reindeer politely.

  ‘And I you. But tell me, what are you doing so high on the Great Mountain?’

  ‘Before you came I was trying to graze’.

  ‘To graze? Up here? But what about the storm?’

  ‘It was bad, but I am used to such weather where I come from.’

  ‘Where you come from?’

  ‘I am from across the northern seas. The reindeer call it Druugroot, or the Land of the Northern Snows.’

  ‘From beyond the seas? But how?’ said Rannoch, in even more amazement.

  ‘It is a long story,’ answered the reindeer rather sadly, ‘but I came with men in their carved trees and now I try to go home.’

  ‘You’ve spent time with man?’ asked Rannoch with surprise.

  ‘Yes,’ said the reindeer casually.

  ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘Now I am. I was separated from the others long ago. Seven bulls and twenty females. It’s the females I miss the most, but I doubt I shall see their antlers again.’

  Rannoch took a step forward and tilted his head.

  ‘Their antlers?’

  The reindeer nodded mournfully.

  ‘You mean. . . you mean your hinds have antlers?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said the reindeer.

  ‘Well, it seems there is a lot I have to learn,’ said Rannoch to himself, shaking his head.

  But now Birrmagnur turned his own great head to the west and grunted. Across the snow Willow, Tain and the others were coming towards them. They came nervously through the snow, scenting all the time, their eyes as wide as pebbles.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ called Rannoch, ‘there’s nothing to be frightened of. His name’s Birrmagnur. He’s a reindeer.’

  Tain looked at Rannoch as though he had just stolen the magic antlers. One by one the others came up to the reindeer and eyed him up and down. They circled him slowly and scented him, then, as was natural, the young stags knocked antlers with him. All the while Birrmagnur tolerated this like an indulgent father and when it was over he chewed the air for a while as the others looked on, hardly knowing what to say.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Birrmagnur asked at last.

  ‘North, into the High Land,’ said Rannoch. ‘I’m looking for a herd that lives near here. Herne’s Herd.’

  ‘We’re looking for them,’ interjected Willow.

  Birrmagnur stopped chewing and eyed Rannoch with interest.

  ‘Why would you want to find them?’ he asked carefully.

  ‘That’s a long story too,’ answered Rannoch. ‘Do you know of them?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ The reindeer nodded seriously. ‘Any Herla that has travelled in the High Land knows them, for they rule the Herla here. They have always done so.’

  ‘Have you seen them?’ asked Rannoch.

  ‘Some of them. But not their home herd. And I don’t think I want to.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They are to be feared,’ answered Birrmagnur gravely, ‘for they have dark ways.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I only know what the others told me,’ said Birrmagnur, ‘when they dared to talk about them.’

  ‘The others?’

  ‘Yes, a herd near here, in a valley to the east by the red river. I stayed with them for a while when I first came to the High Land. They call themselves the Slave Herd.’

  The deer looked at Birrmagnur in astonishment.

  ‘They serve Herne’s Herd,’ Birrmagnur went on. ‘They collect berries for them and special fungi and in return Herne’s Herd permits them to stay by the red river. Every now and then stags from Herne’s Herd come and take away their fawns. They never see them again.’

  The friends’ astonishment was turning to horror.

  ‘What do they want their fawns for?’ asked Willow quietly.

  ‘Nobody knows, but there are rumours.’

  ‘But how does the Slave Herd continue if they are taking their fawns?’ asked Rannoch.

  ‘They don’t take many. Perhaps two or three a year. For there are other Slave Herds right across the High Land.’

  ‘But why don’t they fight?’ said Thistle suddenly.

  ‘I think they’ve forgotten how,’ answered Birrmagnur.

  ‘Herne’s Herd has held sway for so long, since the ancient times and beyond, that they don’t really know any other way.’

  Rannoch looked out from the Great Mountain. His heart was suddenly very heavy. Somewhere inside himself he had hoped that perhaps in the High Land the Herla might be free from the kind of evil that Sgorr was spreading everywhere. But now it seemed that an even greater darkness was gathering around him.

  ‘Can you tell me where I can find this herd?’ he asked.

  ‘No, my friend,’ answered the reindeer. ‘I know they are not far. Beyond a high moor. But I couldn’t lead you there.’

  Rannoch looked disappointed.

  ‘But I could lead you back to the Slave Herd,’ said Birrmagnur. ’Then, when they come for the fawns, you could follow them. If you are really determined to find them.’

  ‘Would you do that for us?’ said Rannoch.

  Birrmagnur thought for a while and then he nodded slowly.

  ‘Yes. It will not take long and it would be good to have some company again. But I will only lead you to the edge of their valley, then I will be on my way. I must get to the coast again and I am tired of the Herla in your land. They are all mad.’

  So it was agreed and Rannoch and the others, with their new companion the reindeer, began to descend the Great Mountain. As they walked through the snow and the clouds on the mountain top behind them turned black and brooding, Rannoch began to question the reindeer.

  It seemed that Birrmagnur had travelled to the Great Land two summers before, inside one of the carved trees that Rurl had told him about. It had been a bitter voyage and several of his number had perished on the way. But when they had reached the land – somewhere towards the west, as far as Rannoch could make out – there had been twenty-seven of the reindeer left alive. They had been herded ashore and placed in a wide stockade where humans had come to stare at them and marvel at their strange antlers and great, shaggy coats. Then the Norsemen who had first captured Birrmagnur on the icy plains of his northern home, had filled their carved trees with human food and hollow stumps full of red water and had sailed away again.

  As Birrmagnur talked, Rannoch listened quietly and thought of his own time with the boy. But he also thought of what Rurl had said about the men from the north and their king; about bloodshed coming to the Great Land.

  Birrmagnur had been kept in the stockade for a summer and a winter and when Rannoch asked him how he felt and what he thought of the humans, the reindeer shrugged his shoulders and told Rannoch how in his land man and reindeer often lived together. Although Birrmagnur told Rannoch proudly that he had been born rangifer or free, there were many of his kind who lived in great herds that were looked after by men called Lapps, who drove them across the snows and relied completely on them to live. They took their milk, and wore their coats and used their antlers for tools. They even used them to pull wood across the ground which they would then ride on. As Birrmagnur spoke of this relationship with man it seemed more natural to Rannoch, though he recalled the deer park too and shuddered.

  Birrmagnur explaine
d how, one day, a storm had come and broken down part of the wooden fence that had held them in and the reindeer had escaped. Not all of them, for some had become too tame. But Birrmagnur had persuaded the others to join him and together they had set out towards the north. Soon after they had been attacked by wolves. Two of their number had been killed and Birrmagnur had been separated from his friends. He had wandered for several suns looking for them, but without success, and eventually had started to travel east, avoiding the signs of man as much as he could and thinking all the time of some way to get home. He had been alone for two moons before he had come to the Slave Herd and joined them.

  Rannoch soon realized he could learn much from the strange deer, for Birrmagnur knew many things. He knew about the sea and the mountains, the rivers and the waterfalls. He knew about winter and summer pastures and the spirit of the storm. But above all he knew about snow. He told Rannoch how in his land they had fifteen different names for snow. He told him how to recognize when it was coming and how long it would last. How to avoid the deep drifts and how best to forage for food. How, in the terrible blizzards that swept the northern lands, the reindeer could survive by scraping out shallow holes and lying down, huddled close together, until the storm passed.

  Rannoch was deeply impressed by the reindeer and his admiration turned to wonder when, just a sun after they came off the Great Mountain, one of Birrmagnur’s great antlers dropped from his head. The second followed only a sun later and the strange deer looked even more peculiar as he led them towards the Slave Herd. When Rannoch expressed surprise that he was shedding in winter, Birrmagnur just shrugged calmly and explained that reindeer always shed in winter and, indeed, that he was surprised his antlers had fallen so late. Apparently reindeer normally shed just after the rut, at the very beginning of winter, but with no females around the process had been delayed.