by Laura DeLuca
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Eartha stood in line with six men. They were all that was left of what had originally been fifteen competitors. Each of the tribes had sent their strongest warriors to vie for a chance at the throne. As Eartha studied each combatant in turn, she realized Balen was right. These were not the boys she remembered playing with on the Tor. They were all large and brawny, some with full-grown beards and all with thick, muscled arms. Her brother seemed a scrawny adolescent in comparison to these war-hardened soldiers. Even with his years of training, Balen would have had a difficult battle on his hands. Eartha wondered how her brother had dared to enter the challenge. Of course, those thoughts made her realize it was even more foolhardy for her to have taken his place, but it was too late to turn back. Thankfully, her disguise had worked. Not even her parents, who were among the throngs of curious onlookers, had guessed it was their daughter and not their son who waited to challenge the great king of the forest.
Of course, Eartha always knew that fooling the crowd wouldn’t be her greatest challenge. Most of them barely spared a glance at the poor farmer’s son. However, the virgin priestesses of Avalon were already passing among them, offering their blessings for a safe return. They wouldn’t be so easy to trick. One of the women took a step closer to Eartha, and she felt her heart begin to hammer. She kept her eyes diverted as the priestess handed her one of the sacred daggers—a handcrafted weapon carved from the very bones of the King Stags who had been brought down in centuries past. The priestess paid little heed to most of the warriors, but she paused when she reached Eartha. Eartha kept her eyes downcast as custom decreed, but she saw the blue robes and sandaled feet pause in front of her. She trembled when the priestess reached out a slender hand and tilted her chin up, forcing Eartha to meet her stern but gentle scrutiny.
Eartha’s breath caught at the power she saw seeping through those electric-blue eyes. She was certain she had been discovered. The maidens of Avalon were said to possess strong magic—the type that allowed them to look into the very souls of men…and women. At the moment, as their gazes locked, it certainly seemed as if the priestess possessed that knowledge and more.
Eartha was terrified. She almost expected to be struck down for her impudence. However, the priestess didn’t speak or curse her for her deception. White veils covered most of her features, but beneath the light material, Eartha was certain she saw the hint of a smile. She even appeared to nod in approval before moving down the line to the next warrior.
Then it was Galiene’s turn to wish the warriors luck. She was supposed to remain unbiased, to rely on the gods to deliver her champion and her husband. But when she passed Eartha, she secretly pressed a small token into her hand. Eartha could feel the young queen’s desperation radiating from her in that simple touch. Had Galiene not been so overwrought, she may have noticed the hands she touched were slender and smooth, not hard and calloused like Balen's. Only when Galiene had moved on did Eartha dare to look at the gift meant for her brother. It made her eyes tear to see the yellow ribbon, identical to the one the young queen had given Balen the day of their race on the Tor. Eartha tied the token around her belt. It somehow strengthened her resolve. She knew she was doing the right thing for everyone she loved.
Despite her personal fears, Galiene retained her regal composure when she stepped forward to address the people. Both nobility and commoners had gathered on the outskirts of the woods where they would frolic as they awaited the return of the victor and celebrated the festival of Beltane. It was a day to honor the fertility of the land, which made it the perfect time for the stag hunt, when a suitor would be chosen to continue the fertility of the royal line. Bonfires burned and lovers leapt across the flames hand in hand. Children danced around maypoles. Bards strummed their lutes while drummers tapped along to the gentle rhythm. Even the dark-skinned lake people, who were believed to be direct descendants of the fae, made an appearance and silently watched the fanfare from the shadows of the woods. The stag hunt was a tradition even the indigenous people acknowledged with honor. Galiene stood before this diverse group of warriors, farmers, nobles, and natives without so much as a quiver to her voice.
“Each of these brave warriors shall venture into the forest, but only one will return victorious,” Galiene began. “The stag is the physical embodiment of the god, and he will not allow himself to succumb to any man unless he is worthy of the title of king. Whoever returns wearing the antlers of the great stag shall hence force be my champion and the defender of all Britannia. The victor shall also be my lord and husband. Today, the land shall feast on the blood of the king so that it might grow stronger. This is a sacrifice that the god has made for time immortal. Yet, be warned,” Galiene turned a hard stare on each of the men, “the stag will not fall to just any warrior. If you are not worthy, it may well be your blood that feeds the earth.”
Galiene’s voice trembled almost as much as Eartha’s hands as she finished her speech. Again, Eartha wondered what she had gotten herself into. Was she mad to challenge a god when she was only a mere woman? Around her some of the male warriors seemed to take the queen’s words to heart as well, but they all knew it was too late to bow out gracefully. To step back now would be a disgrace to their tribes. So they all stood, ready, waiting for the signal from the queen.
“Let the hunt begin!” Galiene proclaimed.
In eerie synchronization, the chosen warriors leapt from their places in the line and ran toward the thick underbrush of the waiting forest. Eartha was foremost among them. She heard the crunch of leaves under her feet even over the thunderous cheers of the crowd they were swiftly leaving behind in the distance. Her heart seemed to pound along with the drums that still thumped in the distance. But soon the voices and even the music faded, and the other hunters were lost in the maze of trees that surrounded her.
Realizing she was alone, Eartha came to a sudden halt. She understood that tramping through the woods would only startle the wildlife of the forest. So she silently tiptoed through the undergrowth until she came upon a small open clearing, surrounded by a circle of ancient oak trees. There Eartha slunk down behind a thick patch of bushes and waited for her prey.
Eartha was well practiced in the hunt. She had learned to be still and silent. She had mastered patience. It was one of the things that solidified her bond with the land. She spent many hours under the canopy of the trees, blanketed by the shade of their leaves. Eartha loved the scent of the soil that wafted to her nostrils when she rested her head in her hands. She didn’t even mind that it was damp from the spring rains. It was like being cradled in the womb of the earth, and it was a feeling she reveled in. Eartha became one with the land, until she heard each birdsong and insect hum—until her heartbeat thrummed in rhythm with nature itself.
Time seemed to stand still as Eartha crouched in mud and leaves. The woods were ripe with the new life of spring, and that bounty was the only lure she needed. Before long, a young buck snuck into the quiet clearing to nibble on the newly sprouted grass. Eartha lifted her bone dagger, prepared to pounce. But she stopped herself before she made an impulsive error. The deer was no more than an adolescent, with perhaps four jagged points atop his small rack. This was no king. He was hardly a prince. Eartha knew she had to wait for the right stag—the true patriarch.
The animal’s youth did not stop another hunter lurking nearby from initiating his own attack. He saw the young stag, slipped from his hiding spot, and made a mad dash across the clearing only inches from Eartha. The deer’s ears flicked once and its brown eyes widened before it leapt back into the cover of the deep woods. Eartha watched her impulsive competitor give chase and snickered to herself. Even if the fool was able to slay the young animal, it would earn him no rewards. Only the warrior who captured the king stag would be named the champion of the hunt.
Eartha knew she had to bide her time. Eventually the right animal would appear. She waited, secure in her spot in the underbrush, watching the lush grass that would be an enticing me
al to any hungry buck. She was silent but determined. She ignored the men who thundered past her, some in pursuit of their animal prey, while others took advantage of the hunt to end old feuds once and for all. Only Eartha observed with a calm patience that few men could uphold or even comprehend.
The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, turning the sky a dazzling combination of red, orange, and purple, when she was finally rewarded for that patience.
Eartha saw the buck step into the clearing, and she had to hold back a gasp. He was glorious. His torso was thick with rippling muscles and his pelt a shiny brown. There was even a bushy mane around his neck. Upon his head sat a magnificent crown. Eartha was certain she counted at least fourteen points. Surely, this was the king of the forest. This splendid beast captured the essence of divinity and was the very embodiment of the god.
Eartha inched up slowly from her hiding place. Despite the fact she moved without sound, the deer lifted his majestic head. His eyes met hers without blinking. He didn’t flee or show one ounce of fear, but studied her with a curious calm. Eartha didn’t feel nearly so tranquil. The stag was not only beautiful but threatening. She wasn’t fooled by the seemingly docile brown eyes. She knew the deer was not the meek creature some imagined. The points of those antlers were as deadly as any sword. Many hunters before her had been impaled for their impudence in thinking the stag was no challenge.
Eartha’s hands trembled. They were so slippery she was afraid she might lose her grip on her bone dagger if she attacked. Still, she knew she had no choice. This was her only chance to give her brother and Galiene the happy ending they so rightfully deserved. Eartha took another tentative step toward her prey.
The attack came so suddenly she didn’t even have a moment to react. Something heavy crashed into her back, and Eartha fell hard to the ground. Her knee slammed against a rock and even through her leggings, she could see blood start to well. Shocked and gasping for breath, she turned to face her attacker. She was not surprised to greet the snarling face of Arn. He had never been one to fight fair, not even when they were children.
“I see you learned nothing from our last meeting, Balen,” Arn spat.
Eartha only had a moment to be glad that the darkening sky helped her maintain her disguise. But relief turned to panic when Arn lifted his bone dagger to her throat. For a moment, Eartha found herself as paralyzed with fear as the young buck had been. Luckily, a loud snort and a shuffling hoof diverted Arn’s attention for a fraction of a second. That was the only reprieve Eartha needed to steal back the advantage. She thrust her knee against the viper’s genitalia. With a grunt, he fell to the side, and Eartha was able to roll free of his grasp.
Arn didn’t take as long to recover from the blow as she anticipated. He pulled himself to his feet, clutching his crotch, ready to pounce on her again. Luckily, he had a more important target. Like Eartha, Arn only had eyes for one creature. They both watched in awed silence as the king stag cocked his head in their direction. He gave them each one condescending stare before bounding into the forest.
Arn forgot about Eartha altogether as his primary target escaped. He darted after the deer, making sure to shove Eartha first for good measure. Eartha stumbled backward and swore under her breath when she banged her other knee on the same bloody rock. She glared at Arn’s retreating back as she pulled herself to her feet. If she had her crossbow, the arrogant pig wouldn’t think himself so superior.
Despite her hurt pride, Eartha couldn’t allow the king stag to escape or fall into the clutches of that vile Arn. The whole country would pay the price of her failure if a tyrant won the rack and thus the crown. Though she knew she stood no chance against Arn in hand-to-hand combat, she fought back her fear, rose to her feet, and gave chase. Eartha followed the trail of crushed leaves and broken twigs that marked the path the hunter had taken. She leapt over fallen logs and shoved low-hanging branches aside. The brambles that stuck to her newly shortened hair and the thorns that cut into her skin were ignored. She even pushed past the awful stitch in her side until Arn and the stag came into view.
When she found them, Eartha feared perhaps all was lost—that the gods had chosen Arn as their champion after all and were punishing Eartha for her deception. She stopped her mad dash and hid behind the trunk of an ancient oak. She watched as the warrior locked horns with his adversary.
Arn had one powerful arm wrapped around the bulk of the deer’s torso while the other forced the deadly rack away from his chest. His well-aimed thrust revealed the clump of white fur just under the buck’s throat—fur that might soon be stained with the stag’s own blood. Arn held the bone dagger in his teeth while he tried to force the animal into submission. Both man and stag fought with muscles taunt and teeth bared. With Arn’s fur vest pressed against the deer’s pelt and the tangling of limbs as they struggled, it was sometimes hard to tell man from beast. However, Arn seemed to have the advantage. The stag was trapped against the trunk of a large tree and though he spit and thrashed and his powerful hooves pawed at the ground, the buck seemed unable to overpower the hunter. Arn took the knife from his mouth and lifted it toward the animal’s throat.
Eartha gasped and shut her eyes before Arn could strike the fatal blow. She couldn’t bear the thought of watching the majestic beast succumb to such a hateful scoundrel. It made her feel as though the gods themselves had abandoned the land—that all was lost. Eartha was ready to back away and accept her failure.
Then she heard Arn scream.
It wasn’t the victory cry she had been anticipating. It was a shriek of pain laced with sheer terror. Eartha snapped open her eyes in time to see Arn’s innards fall to the forest floor. The very crown he coveted had become his death mantle. He’d been impaled and gutted by the mighty antlers of the stag. Blood bubbled from his mouth as the animal shook its head to free itself from the unwanted burden still attached to its antlers. A few mighty thrusts and Arn’s body slipped lifelessly to the ground, his eyes open but forever unseeing. His blood soaked the very earth he had hoped to rule over. His life was a sacrifice the land demanded for his villainy.
For a moment, the deer looked down at the body with disdain. He pawed the dirt and snorted his displeasure. Still frozen in her spot, Eartha expected him to flee into the woods now that he had alleviated the threat to his life. Instead, the regal stag turned and met her gaze for the second time. The once ivory points of the king’s majestic rack were stained red with blood, a cruel reminder of his reining power. He cocked his head and studied her with an almost-human intelligence. Though he could not speak, his deep brown eyes begged a question.
What makes you think you are worthy?
It was a question Eartha could not answer. She believed her motives were pure, but what good were her righteousness and bravery now? If Arn, a man twice her size and with ten times her strength, couldn’t overpower the stag, how could a mere woman?
The deer sniffed and turned his back to her, as though acknowledging her unspoken defeat with contempt. His white tail flicked and his back legs arched as he prepared to leap to freedom. In seconds, the deer would bound into the woods and be lost forever. Or worse yet, one of the other men still lurking in the forest—most of whom were no nobler than Arn—would claim him as his trophy. Eartha realized she couldn’t give up. She couldn’t walk away from the hunt. Like the great oaks that surrounded her, Eartha pulled strength from the very ground on which she stood—the mother earth that had always sustained her. As that power consumed her, Eartha began to undergo a metamorphosis. The trembling hand that held the bone blade steadied. With a war cry filled with animalistic fury, Eartha tucked her dagger into its sheath and sprang toward the stag.
The animal was strong. Eartha had no doubts about that when she landed on his back and felt the muscles rippling beneath her thighs. She rode astride the stag bareback as if he were a wild horse. And like any angry steed, the deer bucked its hindquarters in attempt to throw her. When he realized his efforts were fruitless, the stag leapt
about wildly, flying through the forest at a dizzying pace. He crashed against a tree, and pain shot up Eartha’s spine. She only maintained her precarious position by clinging to the gigantic antlers she used as her reins. Yet she knew this was no mount that could be tamed. As much as she hated the thought of ending his reign, she knew she had to take the king stag’s life before he took hers. There could be only one champion. Those were the rules of the hunt.
Eartha struggled to maintain her balance. She had only one hand on the giant antlers. The other reached into her scabbard to pull the bone dagger free from its sheath. The point of the blade cut into her palm, making it wet and sticky with blood. The stinging of the wound did not cause her to lose her focus. A few meager drops of blood were a far smaller offering than that which the stag would be delivering to the land.
Eartha strained to reach her arm around the thick neck of the deer, almost as if she were locking the buck in a lover’s embrace. He maintained a constant gallop, and Eartha clenched her thighs tight against his rump to hold her balance. Her heart was pounding, her adrenaline pumping. She was filled with a passion born not from love but from the thrill of the hunt as she reached her blade around and sliced the deer’s throat clean from one end to the other. Instantly, his soft white chest turned crimson.
Even after the death blow was dealt, the king did not easily relinquish his crown. He bucked, he screamed—a terrible wail that made Eartha weep for his forthcoming demise. She clung to the stag’s thick neck as he fought back and pressed her face against his fur until her tears mingled with his blood. Eartha embraced the buck to her heart like a lover bidding a final farewell. Finally, even the deer’s strong hindquarters could no longer hold his weight. The king stag fell to the forest floor with a crash that made the trees themselves tremble with grief.
Only after the stag collapsed to the ground did Eartha finally climb down from his back. She stood in front of the buck, no longer afraid. A deep sadness filled her heart. Eartha stroked his mane; surprised at how soft his coat was beneath her trembling fingers. She gazed into those large, doe-brown eyes as he took his final shallow breaths. Through the shadows of approaching death, she was sure she saw only a gentle, surrendering peace. Again, those wise eyes seemed to speak to her—giving her the honor of hearing his last words.
The goddess has chosen you as her champion. The god will feed the land. His blood is given so his people may flourish.
“Thank you for your offering,” Eartha whispered in reply.
With one more strained breath, the majestic beast bowed his crown and died in Eartha’s arms. She lowered her head in homage and wept for his loss. Even though she knew the god would be reborn with the churning of the wheel, she still grieved for him. He had made the ultimate sacrifice. She rested her cheek against his beautiful pelt and kissed the snout of the king. Only when she felt she had given him the reverence he deserved did Eartha prepare for the next step in the ritual. Swallowing back the bile that rose to her throat at the thought of defiling so magnificent a creature, Eartha lifted her bone dagger. She had to adorn herself with the crown of antlers and the robe of fur before she returned to the people to collect her prize.
