‘Willow.’
‘Rannoch, I have come to say—’
‘I know,’ interrupted Rannoch, getting to his feet. ‘I wish I could say something to—’
‘You can’t, Rannoch. I have decided. My duty lies with my friends and. . . with Thistle.’
Rannoch smiled almost bitterly.
‘He’s a fine stag,’ he said.
‘He’s brave,’ said Willow coldly, looking intently at
Rannoch, ‘and he has a good heart.’ Rannoch nodded.
‘But you have a good heart too, Rannoch,’ said Willow suddenly, ‘and you were brave. Once. I would have stood with you. If. . . if only you. . .’
Rannoch winced, but he didn’t answer the hind.
‘Why don’t you come with us, Rannoch? We’ll fight Sgorr together.’
‘You can’t fight Sgorr like that,’ answered Rannoch, ‘and I’m tired of fighting.’
‘But they need your help,’ said Willow.
‘The Lera need my help too.’
‘The Lera. Are they more important to you than the Herla? And what of the Prophecy?’
‘The Prophecy is a lie, Willow. I’ve told you.’
‘I know, you’re not a changeling. But can’t you see, Rannoch? So many of them believe it. They need to believe it. At least it gives them hope. With you leading us, perhaps we would have a chance.’
‘A chance to do what? To destroy our herd?’
‘Our herd,’ said Willow scornfully. ‘You call it a herd? When the best Herla in it refuses to lead? When at Anlach he won’t even. . .’
Willow caught back the words. Rannoch looked hard into the hind’s brave and beautiful eyes and in their glitter he caught a hardness that came close to contempt. But again he said nothing.
‘Then I was right,’ said Willow at last, shaking her head.
‘Right?’
‘To accept Thistle. At least he acts like a stag.’ Now it was Rannoch’s turn to grow angry.
‘Then he can die like a stag too.’
Willow stared back at Rannoch. Her eyes were flaming.
‘You’re a coward, Rannoch,’ she cried furiously, turning on her haunches, ‘a coward.’
‘Willow,’ whispered Rannoch. But the hind was gone.
As Willow, Thistle and the others left the herd that Larn, a sudden bellow shook the air and they paused and looked back at the hill. Rannoch was above them. The six tines on each of his antlers scything the air, the red deer threw his head back and let out another bellow that rose in the sky, bitter and lonely and so full of pain that even the stags around him, driven by the blinding needs of life, stopped to listen. Then suddenly Rannoch turned and ran, as fast as he could, away from the herd and into the rain that had begun to sheet through the evening.
Rannoch ran through the night and didn’t stop until morning came, bleak and grey and with little welcome. His thoughts had exhausted him and now he lay down and closed his eyes, desperately trying to shut out the guilt that was threatening to overwhelm him. When the dream came, Rannoch murmured painfully in his sleep.
He was standing on the seashore and looking out towards an island. He had never been here before but he recognized the place and as he looked the water suddenly began to glow and a voice was whispering in its currents.
‘Rannoch,’ it said, ‘Rannoch, you have nearly crossed over. But before you can fulfil the Prophecy, you must know. Know the secret. Then you will be certain.’
Rannoch woke and shuddered. The morning had hardly advanced but the troubled deer got to his feet and ran on. It was Larn five suns later when Rannoch finally got back to the herd and saw that only a few stags now patrolled the hills. He paced restlessly towards the hinds. He was looking for Bracken.
He found his mother at the bottom of the valley, sitting on her own in the sodden grass. She looked older than he remembered and Rannoch suddenly felt desperately sorry for the poor hind. He had neglected her in the past two years, while he spent so much time with the Lera and the sick, and he realized that he had not visited her in nearly a season.
‘Mother,’ he said quietly as he padded up.
‘Rannoch,’ said Bracken, ‘Rannoch, is that you?’
‘Yes, Mother, how are you?’
‘Well enough,’ whispered the hind uncertainly, ‘and you, Rannoch?’
‘Well enough too,’ said Rannoch sadly, ‘though Thistle has won Willow. They have gone south to fight Sgorr. I fear for them, Mother.’
Bracken stirred. She recognized the names but in her confused thoughts she could hardly recall who Thistle and Willow were.
‘Mother,’ Rannoch went on suddenly, ‘will you tell me about my father? About Brechin? You’ve never really talked about him.’
The hind blinked back nervously at Rannoch.
‘I want to know about him,’ said Rannoch, ‘all about him. He was an Outrider, wasn’t he? I wish I’d met him, Mother. I wish he was here now. There are so many things I’d ask him. About being an Outrider, about the Herla.’
Rannoch had wandered a little away from Bracken now and his back was turned as he spoke. His voice broke into her thoughts, but suddenly the hind wasn’t listening any more. Her dim senses had been roused by something stirring nearby in the trees, twenty branches away. In the corner of her eye she saw a young stag and he was watching Rannoch intently.
‘I’m sure he could have advised me,’ Rannoch went on as Bracken got to her feet, ‘told me whether I should follow them. I can’t let them face Sgorr alone.’
But Bracken couldn’t hear Rannoch any more. The stag by the trees had dropped his antlers and, without a sound, he was running straight towards Rannoch. The old hind wanted to stamp, to cry out, but she found herself choked, paralysed with fear.
Suddenly Rannoch heard a strangulated bark. He turned just in time as he felt his mother’s flanks bump against his own. Beyond her was a stag and Rannoch gasped as he saw its head lowered, its antlers burying themselves in Bracken’s side where the hind had put her own body between him and his assailant.
‘Mother!’ cried Rannoch desperately.
The stag twisted and disengaged its head and Bracken fell forwards. Now there was nothing between the two of them and the stag lunged again. But the element of surprise was gone and in an instant Rannoch dropped his head and met the stag’s antlers with his own. They locked and both their bodies shook like trees in a wind.
They disengaged again and Rannoch scythed his head left and right, but his antlers met nothing but thin air. On the ground beside him Bracken was beginning to kick.
‘Mother!’ gasped Rannoch, and suddenly a fury awoke in him.
He lunged towards the stag. Again they met and now their antlers were caught, the tendons in their legs straining for dominion, their muscles beading with sweat. For ages they pushed backwards and forwards, their heads lifting and falling, until at last Rannoch managed to disengage again and lash out with his tines. This time his trez tines connected and his assailant bellowed at the pain that had opened viciously in his throat. And suddenly the stag was running, running as fast as he could. For he was trained to attack and kill in stealth and was not used to fighting a deer of Rannoch’s size except on his own terms. His mission had failed. But he would never make it back to his master beyond the Great Mountain, for Rannoch’s wound had been fatal.
‘Mother,’ cried Rannoch, running up to the hind who was lying in the grass now, ‘Mother, what happened?’
‘I don’t know,’ whispered Bracken, her breath pained and rasping. ‘He came from the trees. He must have been sent to harm you.’
‘To harm me?’ said Rannoch. ‘But who?’
‘Sgorr,’ whispered Bracken. ’Sgorr sent him.’
‘Why now?’
‘Rannoch, listen to me,’ said Bracken suddenly, flexing in pain. ‘There is little time and there is something I must tell you.’
Bracken’s eyes were suddenly bright as though the shock of the attack had swept years of darkness from her clouded mind.
‘I am dying, Rannoch. I can feel it. That stag’s antler has pierced my heart.’
‘No, Mother,’ cried Rannoch, ‘I will heal you.’
‘No, Rannoch, not even you could do that.’
‘But Mother. . .’
‘I am not your mother, Rannoch.’
Rannoch stopped. He stared at Bracken in blank amazement.
‘Not my moth—’
‘No,’ whispered Bracken, and as he listened it seemed she was telling him something he had known all along. ‘You were changed, Rannoch, at birth.’
‘Then who?’ gasped Rannoch.
‘Eloin. Eloin is your mother. The hind who said goodbye to you all those years ago. She was one of Captain Brechin’s hinds. But that night when Drail and Sgorr killed your father on the hill—’
‘Killed my father?’
‘Yes, Rannoch, and destroyed the Outriders.’
‘Sgorr,’ whispered Rannoch, his voice trembling. ‘And my dreams.’
‘Yes. Sgorr was coming to kill you. And when Blindweed saw that mark he was afraid for you. So we switched you with my fawn who died. Changed you round.’
‘Then it’s true,’ cried Rannoch, ‘I am a changeling.’
‘Yes, Rannoch, you are a changeling.’
‘Then the Prophecy. . .’
‘Oh Rannoch,’ gasped Bracken bitterly, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. But I wanted to protect you. There’s some danger in this prophecy. Do you remember when you used to play as a young fawn and so hated to have the berries smeared across your head? For a long time I thought it couldn’t be true but now. . . now. . .’
Bracken stopped talking. She could hardly talk any more. The fur on her flank was soaked in blood. Rannoch gazed at her in silence. He wanted the ground to swallow him up.
‘But moth— Bracken, you should have told me,’ said Rannoch bitterly.
‘I know, Rannoch,’ gasped the dying hind, ‘but I didn’t want anything to harm you. For I’ve loved you like a mother. . .’
Bracken winced again in agony.
Rannoch stepped forward and very gently he dipped his head towards the hind and licked her on the muzzle.
‘I know,’ he said tenderly, ‘and the most wonderful mother. . .’
‘Oh, Rannoch.’
Bracken’s back legs were beginning to shake. Rannoch threw back his antlers in agony.
‘So, Herne,’ he cried angrily, ‘you shall have your way. You don’t want me to heal at all. You want me to fight.’
‘Rannoch, what are you going to do?’ asked the hind weakly.
‘Do? I am going to follow Thistle and Willow and the Outriders into the Low Lands. I am going to save Eloin and the others, if I can. I am going to kill Sgorr and avenge my father.’
‘But Rannoch,’ said Bracken, ‘what you said about Sgorr and the Herla, it’s true. There are too many of them. What can you do?’
‘I don’t know. Raise the rest of the herd and send word through the High Land. They will come if I call, I’m sure of it. Then, who knows? Die well with the Outriders if need be. Isn’t that what it says? Sacrifice shall be his meaning. Well, if it comes to that. For what must be must be.’
‘Then you will follow them to your own death,’ said Bracken sadly.
‘Mother,’ said Rannoch, ‘don’t worry about me. Lie still. First of all I must cure you.’
Bracken was staring up at Rannoch. She was growing delirious and she no longer knew what Rannoch was saying.
‘Goodbye, Rannoch,’ she whispered, ‘goodbye. I hope you can forgive me.’
‘Bracken,’ cried Rannoch, ‘wait. Don’t leave me.’ But it was over. Bracken was dead.
‘Herne,’ cried Rannoch furiously, ‘what have you done? Why have you done this to me?’
Rannoch bellowed and bellowed again and swung his antlers to and fro. In that moment his heart was consumed with anger, and as he thought of Sgorr and his father and Willow, he felt the violence of Anlach rise and swell up inside him. But with the terrible anger that now burned in him came something he had never experienced before, a clarity. He suddenly realized that what he was feeling was different to the simple passions that stirred at Anlach or the violence that had been bred at the Stones. For at the thought of Sgorr and what he had done, his heart was filled by a desire not just for revenge, but for justice. Rannoch’s course was set.
‘Take them south, Haarg,’ said Rannoch as they stood on the hilltop, ‘as quickly as you can. I’ve sent word north too.’ Haarg nodded gravely. Around him stood nearly a hundred Outriders.
‘But where are you going, Rannoch?’ asked Haarg.
‘West, Haarg. There’s something I must find out before I meet Sgorr.’
‘What?’
‘It was something they told me when I was with Herne’s Herd,’ said Rannoch. ’I’ve never told any one else except Bankfoot. Something Sgorr did, long ago, for he came from that herd and they drove him out for it. Only the stag who witnessed it knew exactly what took place and the secret died with him. It’s something Sgorr fears the Herla knowing. It happened on an island out to sea, to the west where man has raised his stones. Kaal told me where it is.’
‘And you’re going to find out what happened?’
‘Yes. For if Sgorr so fears others knowing it, it is a grave weakness in him that can only help me when I finally. . . when I finally test this prophecy.’
Haarg looked keenly at Rannoch.
‘Then it’s true?’
‘Yes, Haarg, it’s true. But I still don’t know where it will lead. Now you must hurry, my friend, if we are to do any good. You must stop the others reaching Sgorr first.’
As Rannoch ran west towards the sea, Haarg and the Outriders set off from the herd towards the Great Mountain. But as a wind began to blow across the High Land something else was stirring in the heather. There were voices travelling through the undergrowth. A strange whispering in the briers and across the moorland grasses. A call carried through the sky. Rannoch had summoned the Lera.
Rannoch’s mind was filled with thoughts of Willow and his friends as he ran, for though he still had no real plan, he was desperate that he should be in time to help them. But something else clouded his mind. The threat of a sacrifice.
No matter, thought Rannoch now. If I must make a sacrifice then I shall and willingly. But first I must know what Sgorr’s secret is.
Rannoch looked up at the heavens.
‘Herne, you must guide me now,’ he cried into the night, ‘for I am doing your will, whatever that may be.’
The wind moaned around Rannoch’s head but suddenly and strangely he felt less alone. On he ran towards the west.
On the fourth sun Rannoch’s heart quickened as he scented the sea. The stones that Kaal had told him of reared in front of him, charred and blackened against the dull grey sky. But Rannoch paused fearfully, for everywhere he saw the signs of destruction. The men’s stones had been broken down, the earth was burnt and scarred, and everywhere Rannoch saw human bodies. Their fawns, their hinds and their bucks lay dead on the bleeding earth, their heads broken, the strange shining sticks that Rannoch had seen at the hunt lying useless at their sides. Again Rannoch was reminded of Herne’s Herd and the terrible mist in the fearful glen. He shuddered as he walked through the killing ground.
Rannoch walked on and suddenly the ground dropped steeply away, tumbling towards the sea that swept ahead of him. There it was, just as Kaal had described it to him. The island he had told him of lay in the far distance, swathed in cloud, but its three high, wooded peaks were unmistakable. Rannoch’s heart sank. It looked so far away and the wind was beginning to lash the water into a fury. Rannoch had little experience of swimming and he remembered Bhreac and her death in the river.
‘Sgorr did it,’ said Rannoch to himself, ‘and so shall I. With Herne’s help.’
The deer tipped down the mountainside.
When he came to t
he shore he paused fearfully again and looked out to the distant island. To swim that far seemed impossible, and the water was growing fiercer and fiercer. Rannoch bellowed and plunged into the sea.
The icy water closed around his fur and filled his muzzle with salt as his head and antlers went under. His eyes began to sting and the stag kicked furiously, scrabbling with his hoofs on the sliding current. Up he bobbed and slowly he began to move forward in the sea, his head just above the water, his antlers licked with spume and spray. From the sky above it started to rain and Rannoch’s ears were filled with the clamorous patter of rain on wave.
On he struggled and after a while he had left the land behind him. But the island seemed to grow no closer and further out Rannoch began to feel the tug of current and tide. His fur felt heavy too, like a great coat that dragged him down, for Rannoch had his winter pelt and the sea was making it heavier and heavier. The waves swelled, breaking over his face, and as he swallowed great gulps of salt water he gagged and spat and struggled to breathe.
With time, though, he realized that by waiting for the rise of the wave and swimming less the water would bear him up and lift his head and antlers above the surface. Yet this made him slower and still the island seemed an impossible distance. Rannoch could feel the strength in his legs beginning to ebb away.
It seemed as though he had been swimming for ever. He felt sick from all the salt water he had swallowed and his eyes were in terrible pain. Rannoch was close to exhaustion and he could hardly hold his head up any more.
‘Oh, Herne,’ he gasped, ‘Herne. Help me.’
Every movement was an agony and Rannoch’s head began to swim.
‘Herne, what do you really want of me?’ gasped the deer.
‘Is this the sacrifice foretold by the Prophecy? But if it is, what is it for? What is it all for?’
The deer’s head was suddenly engulfed by sea water as a wave broke over him. He kicked and spluttered but there was no strength left in him. Down he went again.
‘Herne,’ he cried as his head rose to the surface once more and through the salty gauze of water he spied the island still lost in the distance, ‘if you don’t help me, then what of my friends? What of the Herla? Have you abandoned us?’
Fire Bringer Page 38
