Fire Bringer

by David Clement-Davies

  ‘And you say he spoke to this grouse?’ said Sgorr, glancing at Narl.

  ‘Yes, my Lord, though I couldn’t understand what he was saying.’

  Sgorr’s face was suddenly thoughtful.

  ‘Go on,’ he said.

  The stag continued, telling all they had seen of Herne’s Herd and the Standing Stones. The tale took a good time, as the stag dared leave nothing out.

  ‘So,’ said Sgorr when it was over, shaking his head, ‘the fools fled? Herne’s Herd – who have ruled in the High Land for longer than the Herla can remember.’

  The spy nodded nervously and looked to his companions. They all wondered why Sgorr seemed to know about Herne’s Herd already. Sgorr looked back at him, his eye pinning the deer to the curtain of night. Then suddenly Sgorr began to shake. His legs shook. His shoulders shook. Even the stumps of bone on his head shook. He was laughing. He threw his head back and let out a great bellow of laughter. The Sgorrla stared at each other in amazement. They had never heard Sgorr laugh before, nor had they heard anything quite so unnerving in all their lives.

  ‘It’s really too good,’ said Sgorr, as the laughter subsided.

  ‘This Rannoch, I think I should like to meet him, Narl. Yes, I think I should like to meet him very much. But just before you left,’ Sgorr went on, turning back to the spy, ‘you heard him say he wasn’t Herne?’

  Again the deer nodded.

  ‘You’re certain?’

  ‘It was the last thing I heard him say before we left, my lord.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ muttered Sgorr to himself. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘But my lord,’ said the spy Sgorrla suddenly, ‘can it be the Prophecy?’

  The deer regretted the question immediately. Sgorr’s mouth opened and his teeth were suddenly buried in the stag’s throat. The spy barked furiously and when Sgorr finally let go, blood was gushing from his neck.

  ‘You know it is death to talk of the Prophecy,’ cried Sgorr. He suddenly turned and addressed all the watching Sgorrla.

  ‘All of you,’ he cried, ‘listen carefully to me. Not a word of what you have heard tonight must pass your lips. Do you understand me? Not one single word. As far as you’re concerned, the fawn with the oak mark died all those years ago by the loch. It will go hard with you if I find that any of it has leaked out to the herds. Do you understand?’

  The spies and the assembled Sgorrla nodded.

  ‘Very well then,’ he said, his tone becoming soft and conciliating as he turned back to the spies. ‘You. You’ve done very well and I am pleased. You will find an honoured place in the inner ranks of the Sgorrla. For tonight, get them to take you to the feeding grounds and give you some extra bark and berries. Come, Narl, I want to get back to the harem.’

  Sgorr swung round and, much to the relief of the deer, disappeared again into the darkness.

  But as he ran his eye was burning brightly.

  ‘Narl,’ said Sgorr quietly when they were some distance away.’I want them disposed of.’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘Get rid of them, Narl. It’s the only way to be sure.’

  ‘The spies, my lord?’ said Narl.

  ‘No, Narl, you idiot, not just the spies – all of them. All the stags that were there tonight. But try to do it subtly, Narl. Arrange some accidents. Pick them off one by one.’

  Narl was silent now as the two of them ran. Normally he would have had no compunction in carrying out his master’s orders but Narl was deeply troubled. One of the deer in the Sgorrla guard was his own brother, Rack. As the two deer neared the thicket where Sgorr had his harem, Narl ventured a question. He knew he was the only deer in the herds who could have got away with it.

  ‘My lord,’ he said softly.

  ‘What is it, Narl?’

  ‘The Prophecy,’

  ‘What about it?’ said Sgorr irritably, but he seemed strangely distracted.

  ‘Can it be coming true? You heard what the spies said. He can speak to the Lera and is in the High Land now. And do you remember that line of verse? Then he breaks an ancient power.’

  ‘It is a surprise, I admit,’ said Sgorr coldly, ‘to hear he has survived. Nothing more. Think, Narl, what this prophecy says. The skies turning black. A Herla commanding man. It is impossible, Narl. And you heard what he said – that he is not Herne. Of course he is not Herne because Herne does not exist.’

  ‘But he has spent time with man.’

  Sgorr was silent now, for somewhere in his own black heart fear was fluttering. Man. Rannoch had knowledge of man. And he had met Herne’s Herd. Tricked the darkest of the Herla. Sgorr was truly amazed and with his astonishment came a nagging doubt. Had Rannoch already found out? Found out the reason he had sealed the High Land from the Herla until he was ready to destroy Herne’s Herd and take revenge? Found out the one thing the herds must never know – his own dark secret?

  ‘No,’ cried Sgorr, his spirit suddenly rallying, ‘all we have to fear from Rannoch is the superstition and stupidity of the Herla. That’s why the stags who heard tonight must be silenced. I do not believe, Narl, but I know that belief is a very powerful force, whether the object of that belief is true or not. But there’s something else that can only work in our favour. The spies said Rannoch was travelling with his mother, which can only mean that he himself does not know that he is Brechin’s and Eloin’s fawn. Which gives us plenty of time to go to work. To have Rannoch. . . removed.’

  As Sgorr’s mind began to race, he felt a power returning to him and a growing confidence that quickly dispelled the spectre that had suddenly risen in the north.

  ‘Besides, Narl, my dear friend,’ said Sgorr with satisfaction, ‘if it is true about Herne’s Herd, then, without knowing it, this Rannoch is working for my own purposes.’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘He has removed the last true obstacle to my own ambition, barring that fool Colquhar. Now there will be nothing to stop us when we take the Great Herd into the High Land.’

  ‘Into the High Land?’ said Narl. ’But you sealed it.’

  ‘I sealed it until I was ready to confront the power that has kept the Herla enslaved, ready to conquer all the herds across the Great Land.’

  ‘So you did have knowledge of Herne’s Herd?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ answered Sgorr gravely, his eye narrowing.

  He was thinking back to all those years ago when, as hardly more than a fawn himself, they had driven him out of the High Land. For daring— Sgorr stopped himself. Even he feared to remember what he had done that day on the island.

  Morning broke like shattered stone around the wintering deer. The icy sky was as white and bleak as loss itself and even the grass seemed to have been drained of colour. Sgorr’s breath hung like a wraith around his lips as he lay there, dreaming fitfully. He trembled and opened his eye.

  The dream had already gone but as Sgorr struggled to remember the images that had visited him in his sleep, he shuddered and looked out into the day.

  Around him sat his harem, guarded as they always were by an outer ring of Sgorrla to make sure they couldn’t escape and to allow Sgorr the freedom – normally unknown to any stag once he has made his stand in the mating season – to roam at will through the herd. A stag will stay on constant guard of his hinds, bellowing at short intervals to warn off rivals, but Sgorr had no interest in such undignified behaviour and besides, he had far too much to do in the herd.

  Another year had passed since the spies had first brought news of Rannoch from the north and Sgorr had bided his time, plotting and planning and watching with satisfaction as he brought more and more of the Herla under his sway. At the far edge of the hinds sat Eloin. She was old now, like Sgorr, but his heart stirred at how beautiful she still looked. Since the day of Drail’s death Sgorr had kept her by his side, hoping against hope that perhaps, one day, she might grow to love him. She would never mate with him, he knew that, but since he had failed to sire calves himself, that no longer mattered to Sgorr. She w
as a prize that he would never let go of. Brechin’s hind, the boldest and most beautiful of all the does.

  He realized of course that it was only his threat of doing harm to Shira and Canisp that held her. For after the news he had given her at the ravine, Eloin hardly cared whether she lived or died and it was only the thought of protecting them that kept her from doing herself some fatal harm.

  If only you knew that Rannoch is alive, thought Sgorr now as he looked at her. That might bring back the spark to your eyes. But, Eloin, my dear, you must never know.

  He looked out across the plain and as the light came his heart swelled at the sight that met his eye. The awesome lines of Sgorrla ranged across the plain, sitting in neat lines, their sharpened antlers bristling in the morning. Now that the herds were coming together, here in a meeting place nearly fifty miles north of the home valley, their ranks had swollen and swollen. Every sun more were coming in to add to Sgorr’s might. There were the hinds too and the Sgorrling, also ranged in rows, quiet, submissive, perfectly obedient to his will. Then, to the east and west, the foreign Herla were gathering. The fallow and roe deer. It had been Sgorr’s greatest challenge to get them to submit. But here they were too, also ordered, also obedient, serving the greater size and strength of the red deer.

  They were his children now and Sgorr gave a deep sigh of satisfaction as he got to his feet. At once the Sgorrla around the hinds got up too and bowed their antlers. Eloin stirred in the grass and looked bitterly at Sgorr.

  ‘Good morning, my dear.’ The hind ignored him.

  ‘There is much to do this sun, Eloin,’ said Sgorr, ‘and I think it would interest you to see it. I am preparing a special surprise for the foreign Herla. To give them a little taste of my power.’

  ‘Nothing you do could interest me, Sgorr,’ whispered

  Eloin coldly.

  ‘Come, come, Eloin, you must try to be more civil,’ said Sgorr. ’Otherwise perhaps I shall ask Shira or Canisp to join me instead.’

  Eloin got to her feet, wearily, obediently. She had heard the threat a hundred times and now she was simply too tired to resist. There was nothing left in the poor hind to resist with.

  ‘Very well, Sgorr,’ she said quietly, ‘show me your surprise.’

  ‘I am sure you will like it,’ said Sgorr.

  He led her along the brow of the hill to where Narl was waiting. Narl bowed to the lord as they approached.

  ‘Is everything ready?’ asked Sgorr.

  ‘Yes, my lord. The inner Sgorrla are prepared. They have been sharpening their antlers for seven suns.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Sgorr, ‘let us get on with it.’

  Narl nodded, turned and led them forward to the edge of the hill, where an earth mound gave them a perfect vantage across the plain and the best position from which to address the herds.

  Narl stepped forward. The Herla below them were already hushed for they had been told to expect an address and stags had been positioned at intervals along the lines to relay Sgorr’s words to the farthest edges of the massed deer.

  ‘Herla,’ cried Narl, his voice suddenly echoing across the plain, ‘you have been gathered here to listen to the words of the leader. So listen well.’

  Now Sgorr stepped forward and as he did so a great rumble went up. It started at the back and swept forward towards Sgorr like a wave rushing to meet the shore as the deer began to stamp and dip their heads.

  ‘SGORR!’ came the thunderous cry. ’SGORR!’

  The sound crashed over Sgorr and he felt himself swell in stature as the power of their voices moved through him like blood turned into pure energy. He paused, basking in the glory of it all, as the sea subsided and became a ripple of awed whispering.

  ‘Silence,’ cried Sgorr suddenly, and the stillness was immediate.

  ‘Herla, you are welcome,’ he began, ‘all of you. Our mission in the Low Lands is almost complete. The Great Herd is assembling. Since Sgorr’s Year began, when poor Drail was so cruelly taken from us by traitors, it has taken many years of blood and sweat to achieve. But now, at last, the herds are coming together in an unbroken forest of glory. Only one small insult remains in the Low Lands and soon that will be broken like a twig under our slots. When that is done we will march out to free the herds right across the Great Land. The Great Trek shall begin.’

  Again the shout went up.

  ‘SGORR!’ they thundered. ’SGORR!’

  Across the plain and in the surrounding hills the Lera looked up and trembled.

  ‘Herla,’ cried Sgorr again, and once more the silence echoed through the steely air. ‘Know now that you are free and nevermore will the name of Herne be spoken in the Great Land. The deer must use reason to confront his enemies.’ Now another shout went up and it made the very air shake.

  ‘HERNE IS DEAD! LONG LIVE SGORR! HERNE IS DEAD! LONG LIVE SGORR!’

  Sgorr smiled grimly.

  ‘Herla,’ he cried, ‘red deer, roe and fallow alike shall walk in triumph, guided by my will. But before we move north once more and sweep the land before us, you, the Clovar, must listen.’

  Something new had entered his voice.

  ‘Though you too are Herla and are honoured amongst us, remember also that your true honour is to know your place in the great hierarchy of the deer. For first among the Herla are the red deer and first among the red deer are the Sgorrla.’

  The fallow and roe hardly dared stir in the cold grass. The roe, as naturally independent creatures, felt the pain of what was happening most. But a group of fallow deer nearby began to huddle together nervously. In their midst was a single red stag who had come with them from their home in the park. His name was Quaich.

  ‘So this day I have called you here to give you a sign,’ cried Sgorr. ’Henceforth the Sgorrla shall be honoured highest among the Herla and they shall bear a mark as the badge of that honour. A mark in blood.’

  Sgorr’s voice rose to a fever pitch of excitement.

  ‘Sgorrla,’ he cried exultantly, ‘let the Branding begin.’

  Just as Sgorr had pre-arranged amongst the red deer, the members of the inner Sgorrla stamped and stepped out among the lines and lines of Sgorrla that criss-crossed the plain. They turned to face their comrades.

  The fallow and roe deer watched transfixed as the Sgorrla dropped their heads.

  ‘Sgorrla,’ cried the inner Sgorrla, ‘do you acknowledge the cult of death?’

  ‘We do,’ came the rehearsed response, ‘for Sgorr has made it so.’

  The inner Sgorrla moved forwards in unison. Suddenly, with their brow tines, two hundred antlers were jabbing at the Sgorrla’s foreheads; cutting through fur and flesh, twisting and tearing, gouging till their comrades’ brows were torn and bloody. Some of the Sgorrla cried out in agony and were silenced by their comrades as blood began to bead across the plain. Most suffered in silence, proud to show their cold indifference to the pain as true Sgorrla.

  Then the bloodied Sgorrla changed places with the inner Sgorrla and, using their antlers to mark their comrades, the process began again, until every single Sgorrla head was marked with a wound that would scab and heal to leave a vivid scar that would forever tell of his place in Sgorr’s kingdom.

  When it was finished the roe and fallow deer stood petrified and a fearful murmur went up among them. If any had come that day with thoughts of opposing Sgorr’s will – and there were still a few – those thoughts had evaporated. It was just as Sgorr had intended.

  ‘There, Rannoch,’ murmured Sgorr quietly to himself, ‘you threaten me with a fawn mark. Well, if you survive, I shall meet your puny leaf with a thousand glistening scars.’ But there was another reason why this particular branding had been determined. A secret reason that only Sgorr and Narl knew.

  The spies that had brought the news of Rannoch’s survival the year before had long been silenced, as had the guards that had witnessed it. All except Narl’s brother, Rack. Narl had protected him for as long as he thought it safe but Rack had grown care
less with his tongue. Now Rack too lay dead on the plain, silenced by the Sgorrla who was branding him. Just as Narl had instructed, the Sgorrla’s tine had slipped towards Rack’s right eye and pierced to the living brain behind.

  ‘So, my dear,’ said Sgorr with satisfaction, ‘did you enjoy the little surprise?’

  ‘You’re mad, Sgorr,’ whispered Eloin.

  ‘No, my dear, I am quite sane. For only sanity and reason could have seen the dawn of this brave day.’

  ‘I hate you, Sgorr. I will hate you till the stars grow cold.’ Sgorr felt a tightening in his gut. He wanted to hurt Eloin then. But he held the urge in check, for his knowledge that her beloved Rannoch was still alive without her even knowing it, without her ever knowing it, gave him a strange power over her.

  ‘Well, my dear,’ he said, almost indifferently, ‘then we shall have to come up with something even better to please you, won’t we?’

  Above the loch a single stag was gazing down from the forest at the shining spring waters. The Lord of the Herd was lost in thought and around him the stags stirred restlessly. The Outriders patrolled the edge of the trees constantly now, for they knew that Sgorr was on the move and that if it came to it, flight was probably the best hope they had. They could have left sooner but for some reason they could only guess at, their lord kept them where they were.

  The stag shook his head. Colquhar had grown into a strong and powerful stag. His eyes were unsettled, though. Strangely he was thinking of Tharn and what he had had to do to secure the lordship. Why hadn’t he just fought Tharn, he thought to himself bitterly? He could have beaten him in a fair fight. But Sgorr’s spies had come to him, whispering of certainty and promising alliances. Promising that the Outriders would be protected in the Low Lands.

  ‘That’s why I did it,’ Colquhar told himself now, ‘to preserve the Outriders.’ But he knew that it was only half true. Colquhar was only too aware of the heights, or the depths, of his own ambition.