The Golden Stag

by Mark Baggett

It was simply too far to the end of the gulley.

  Suddenly, with thundering hooves shaking the very ground, the great stag raced into the collapsing confines of the deathtrap. Spearing Dmitri with its massive rack it drove the youngster the length of the gulley in an instant. Yet not quite quickly enough.

  The rolling logs - an earthquake of destruction - drove down into the gulley smothering everything in their path. Great plumes of dust and debris filled the air. Birds from all about shrieked and took flight in droves. Every animal near took refuge from the terrible roar of oncoming death.

  In time, with the dust settled and the frenzied rush of noise long since dissipated, Dmitri, coughing and squinting, awoke to the stunned silence of his once familiar wood. He was cradled safely amid the stag’s antlers with nary a scratch from their blade sharp edges upon him.

  Patting himself down he was thoroughly amazed. How marvelous! Other than his badly hurt ankle he was unscathed. It left him giddy with excitement.

  Leaping thoughtlessly out of the antlers he quickly was reminded of this new injury and toppled to his knees. But he would heal. He was young and healthy. Soon he would be back to normal.

  Turning he sought to thank the mysterious creature whom he had held in such low contempt. It had saved his life. He was alive purely because of its aid. No one had ever helped him before.

  It was then that he noticed that the stag had not escaped from the gulley. Only the head extended beyond the crush of heavy logs. The eyes were heavy-lidded, unfocused. The beast was dying.

  “Oh no,” cried the boy. This was his fault. If he had not tricked the animal into following him toward town…

  “Hold on,” he barked frantically as he rushed to the animal’s aid. “I will free you. Just hold on.”

  The stag gave a slight chuckle that ended as a weak wheeze. Dmitri’s heart was being rent open further by each tortured sound it uttered.

  “It matters not, stripling.” The Golden Stag told him in a slow whisper. “The scale – of which I did unbalance by killing your brother – has now been balanced.”

  Holding his breath Dmitri watched as the creature shuddered mightily, its eyes rolling in pain.

  “You can’t die – can you?” he cried out with a trembling voice. “Aren’t you Fate itself? You told me you were. You said you were Fate!”

  “I am indeed,” the beast rasped weakly. “Today I am your fate. The balance is…”

  The animal never finished speaking. What life it had now fled like a shooting star in the twilight.

  Crying out in aguish Dmitri fell to his knees and pounded the ground in anger. Why did all near him fall? Why? Was he always to be so cursed? What had he ever done to deserve this fate?

  Rising to his feet he kicked out at the fertile soil of the gulley and was again brought down by his broken ankle. Screaming in pain he huddled near the fallen beast and began to cry. It would be ages before he allowed himself this simple luxury again.

  After collecting himself Dmitri struggled to escape the gulley with his bad ankle. The walls were slippery with snow and climbing was arduous for the boy. But he had already shut himself off from the world and hardly noticed. He was cursed, or so he thought determinedly, and was to always be alone.

  A final quick glance at the fallen stag as he crested the deadly trap and Dmitri’s shoulders dropped a bit lower. There was nothing more here for him now.

  In time he wound up on the outskirts of his village. He wasn’t far from his own home but he refused to even consider going there. Somehow his father had been involved in the building of that nefarious trap, he just knew, though he had no proof whatsoever. Better that he sleep in the cold than go near that treacherous man again.

  Finding a quiet corner of a hayloft nearby Dmitri hunkered down to ward off the cold and to sleep – if possible. His ankle throbbed relentlessly and bruises covered his body. But not a single scratch from the stag’s antlers marked him. That fact alone amazed him.

  The animal had sacrificed itself to save him. Him, a useless, homeless mutt of a boy. Why?

  He was still contemplating this question as he drifted off from the world he had grown to despise.

  Hours later he was woken by voices carried by the wind. At first he had been concerned that someone was here, in the loft, and perhaps searching for him. But upon hearing the voices a second time he realized that it was simply men passing close to the barn.

  Prying himself from his resting spot amid the bales Dmitri hobbled to a door and peered out. There was a line of locals, most of which seemed to be men, traipsing down the muddied lane leading to the village.

  His eyes following the line forward he quickly caught sight of a group of men carrying something large upon their shoulders.

  “No,” Dmitri gasped as he realized what their prize was. They had found the stag.

  And his father was leading the proud troop.

  Racing as fast as he could muster on his ankle Dmitri scrambled through brambles and over fences alike to get ahead of the boisterous procession. They were headed for the center of the town and his father - curse the man - was at the forefront shouting and drinking.

  Locating a covered spot from which to watch the boy crouched, and grimaced, as his stiff ankle complained mightily.

  What could he do? What should he do?

  To his dismay the answer was nothing. He couldn’t do a single thing now. These were full grown, hardened men full of bravado and drink. He was helpless in the face of that.

  Chewing his lip furiously Dmitri felt the anger rising in his gut. The animal that lurked in the sons of all wolfen wanted out. And surprise was on his side! Even if one or two of the men were also wolfen he could strike many of them down before…

  Or the change could possibly kill him first. As it almost had once before.

  Stewing in silent impotence the boy watched in misery as the procession approached and passed him by. With him not lifting so much as a finger to ward them off. Coward.

  Burning with regret and indecision Dmitri glared as the last of the ragtag group moved by him. The air reeked with drink and many stumbled and nearly fell. If luck were with him he wished that the huge animal should collapse upon the lot of them.

  Not today it appeared, he thought wistfully.

  Useless coward, he railed silently. Why had he not intervened? Even his slight weight could have caused the sodden group to tumble. He would have gotten some solace from the melee that occurred.

  As the reproach burned in his heart Dmitri noticed the eyes of the beast. The stag was watching him!

  Rubbing his raw eyes Dmitri stumbled quickly from his hiding spot for a better view. The rowdy group was still tottering away, the stag’s head swinging in rhythm with their travels. Its large pink tongue lolled from the mouth. It certainly appeared dead.

  And he had witnessed first handed the crushing timbers that had taken its life. But there it was, staring right at him.

  Fool, he chided himself. Wishful thinking perhaps, but foolhardy. The stag was dead. As would he be if not for that final heroic act. Nothing could have survived that landslide of logs.

  And then the stag winked at him. Clear as day it had winked! Stumbling forth in a daze Dmitri followed. He had to be sure. Then it winked once more.

  The youngster froze. By the gods! What was he seeing? It simply could not be real. Dead was dead. There was no coming back. Was there?

  He was confused. How could this be? Had he finally lost his mind?

  Or…

  The bumbling procession moved along unfazed. Only he had witnessed this act. Amid the drunken praises to his father the stag was just a prize. The old drunkard had killed the impossible beast for all to see.

  As he lingered far behind Dmitri’s face twitched. He allowed an odd half smile.

  The stag was not dead.

  Unbelievable.

  As he turned back for the loft and its silence Dmitri wondered if he would ever understand what he had just witnessed. Was the stag real?
It had professed to be Fate itself. Yet he had never accepted that revelation. It had been preposterous.

  But so was a talking stag. And one that oddly enough seemed to read his thoughts at times. Perhaps he was insane. It was the only answer that fit this riddle perfectly.

  Then how to explain his injury? And the elaborate trap? He had very nearly suffered that fate himself only to be saved by… Fate?

  It was all so confusing to him.

  Finding a welcoming spot amid the hay bales Dmitri curled up tightly and closed his eyes. It was an effort to remember what had happened already. A very difficult task. He was tired, and he hurt all over. So much had been happening of late…

  The Golden Stag had once mentioned something about dying, about honor and courage, but for the life of him Dmitri could not remember the remark clearly. Despite straining his mind in a futile attempt he wound up no closer to the answer than when he had begun. Now everything was becoming dreamlike and melting away. Memories jelled only to fade into the mist.

  Then he slept.

  A week later he heard that his father had been killed. But this did not shock him. The man deserved to die. He was cruel and vile and Dmitri hated him. But what did surprise him was how not even the village wolfen could find his killer. Or even tell what sort of animal had done the deed.

  But Dmitri thought that he knew the answer. Fate itself.

  The scales had been balanced once more.