Fire Bringer (3 page)

‘We promise,’ came the cry, except from the young fawn who had shouted out first.

Blindweed gathered himself and began, as Brechin padded up behind them.

‘Well then, let me see. Yes. For days and days Starbuck travelled through the forests, driven by wind and snow, hunted by fox and wolf, but he was always too quick for them. Then, at last, he passed through the Great Glen and entered Herne’s Wood. He travelled on until he reached the clearing and saw Herne himself lying by a brier, fast asleep. Above, hanging from the bow of an oak, were Herne’s antlers, which he always takes off when he rests.’

The young deer shuffled excitedly in the grass.

‘Well, as you know, only Starbuck could tread lightly enough in the wood not to wake Herne and so, very slowly, he crept past the sleeping deer god, stood on the tips of his hoofs and, with his muzzle, plucked the antlers from the tree and put them on his own head.’

Blindweed paused portentously.

‘Yes, yes, and what happened then?’ shouted an eager fawn from the front.

‘Then there was a sudden thunderclap that shook the roots of the forest and Herne awoke.’

The fawn nuzzled closer to the others.

‘When Herne saw that his antlers were gone he sprang to his feet and stamped his hoofs and snorted, and his red eyes flamed and he cried out in a great booming voice that made the branches shake. ’Who wakes the spirit of the forest? Who dares to steal Herne’s antlers?’’ As you can imagine, even Starbuck was frightened by Herne’s anger, but he held his courage and answered coolly:

‘ ‘‘It is I, Starbuck the deer. I wear the antlers.’’

‘ ‘‘Give them back,’’ cried Herne furiously, and with that he leapt on Starbuck. But Starbuck was wearing the magic antlers and so, with a single spring, he jumped high over Herne’s head and landed far off at the edge of the clearing. Herne turned but he knew that as long as Starbuck had the antlers he could never catch him. Then Herne realized he was beaten.

‘ ‘‘What is it you seek?’’ said Herne in a gentler voice.

‘ ‘‘No more than you,’’ answered brave Starbuck.’‘I seek antlers for the deer, to protect them from Lera. It is not much to ask, Lord Herne, for we are Hernling yet we wander in the world with nothing to protect us but our senses and our speed.’’

‘Well, Herne thought for a time and then he answered,

‘‘Very well, Starbuck, if you are sure that is what you want.’’

‘ ‘‘I am sure,’’ said Starbuck, and with that he took the antlers off and gave them back to the god.

‘When Herne had his horns back he seemed terrible indeed and he looked at Starbuck closely and said in a strange voice,

‘‘Starbuck, you are a brave and bold Hernling, so I will grant your wish though I could drive you from here like an autumn leaf tossed by the wind. But what you seek I will give only to such as you, foolish young stags who wish to fight. The hinds shall not be touched. Also, because you stole this prize from me, you shall have antlers with every season only and each year they shall fall from your heads when the spring rains shower the earth and leave you bald and naked, to be laughed at by every Lera. Until, when the spring flowers have blossomed and summer is beginning to ripen, they will grow again like the branches on the trees. And I will tell you this: what you seek is full of danger, so be certain.’’

‘Starbuck was so flushed with his victory that he hardly heard Herne’s warning and assured the god that he was indeed certain.

‘ ‘‘Very well then, Starbuck,’’ said Herne.’‘Go over to that oak. At its bottom, though the oak is barren with winter, you will see a single leaf. It grows all year round, for it is filled with Herne’s spirit. Eat it, Starbuck, and your wish shall be granted.’’ So Starbuck approached the oak and there he saw a single withered leaf which looked dried and dead, though it was still on its stem. Gingerly, he pulled at it and it came away and he stood there in Herne’s Wood munching on the stem. It tasted bitter and earthy, like peat moss and burnt bracken, and when Starbuck had finished he stood around blinking and waiting for something to happen. As he did so he realized that Herne had vanished.

‘ ‘‘Tricked,’’ said Starbuck angrily, for nothing was happening. But suddenly, like the sound when the earth shakes, Herne was speaking again and his voice was all around.

‘‘Starbuck,’’ he was saying, ‘‘your wish is granted. But because you stole this gift, the things you seek shall be both blessing and curse to Herla. So tremble, Starbuck, and run.’’ Starbuck felt a terrible pain in his head and saw a blinding light and he turned and bolted in terror. He hurtled back through the wood, the branches of the trees tearing at his sides and haunches, his face scratched and bruised, and all along he was driven by the agonizing pain, as though his head would burst open.

‘He thought he must run on for ever as the trees lashed passed him. But at last the pain began to subside and Starbuck broke clear of Herne’s Wood and came to a stop in the sunlight by a clear pool. There the exhausted Starbuck reached down to drink and as he did so he saw his reflection in the water. His face was scratched and bruised by his flight, his clear eyes blinking in the day, and on his head were a pair of mighty antlers, vaster than any deer has known. And that is how the brave Starbuck won horns for the Herla.’

The assembled fawns were silent, their young mouths hanging open with amazement.

‘So,’ said Blindweed in a cheerful voice that broke the spell, ‘which young fawn can tell why Herne’s gift was both blessing and curse?’

The young deer looked back and forth to each other wonderingly.

‘Come now, there must be one of you. What ever do they teach you nowadays?’

Suddenly the calves turned their heads, startled by a voice that sang out from the back.

‘The antlers of Hernling are blessing and curse, For they mean we must fight for the chance to be first. Though they help us protect both the herd and each other, At the time of Anlach, we must fight one another.’

‘Captain Brechin,’ said the startled storyteller. ‘I didn’t see you there’.

‘Forgive me, Blindweed,’ replied Brechin as he entered the circle, ‘but I couldn’t help listening. You still tell a fine tale.’

Blindweed was delighted.

‘Fawns,’ said the old deer, remembering himself, ‘have you forgotten your manners? Welcome Captain Brechin, the bravest of the Outriders.’

Most of the fawns were too overawed to do anything at all.

‘Sit still, little ones. And don’t let me disturb you further, Blindweed,’ said Brechin. I have stayed too long already. Continue your story.’

‘No, Captain,’ replied Blindweed with a mixture of embarrassment and pride. ‘It’s very late and if we sit here talking how will they ever grow up to be brave Outriders? Come now, be off with you.’

At this, some of the calves began to grumble and the young fawn at the back shouted out, ‘Tell us another story, Blindweed. Tell us about the First Stone.’

‘Yes,’ said another.

‘Now, now. I’ll tell you tomorrow. I promise.’

‘Tell us about Willow, the Mother of Hinds.’

‘Tell us the Prophecy, Blindweed,’ said the fawn that had spoken first. His name was Lychen. The fawns took up his cry.

‘Yes, the Prophecy. Tell us the Prophecy.’

‘Silence,’ snapped Blindweed angrily. ‘The Prophecy is no mere fable to be fed to young fawns. It is part of the Lore. Now stop being foolish.’

‘I bet Captain Brechin wants to hear it,’ said Lychen boldly. ‘Go on, Blindweed.’

‘I’ll muzzle you if you don’t be quiet,’ said Blindweed furiously.’ Captain Brechin has much more important things to do than listen to a lot of little soft-foots and an old storyteller.’

But the calves weren’t listening to Blindweed. They were looking up at Brechin.

‘Please, Captain Brechin, sir,’ said Lychen in a bold voice, ‘you want to hear it, don’t you?’

Brechin looked down at the calf and his heart was suddenly pierced with worry for Eloin. But he smiled.

‘If Blindweed will tell it,’ he said, ‘I would be honoured.’

‘Hooray,’ shouted the fawns delightedly. ‘Go on, Blindweed, tell it. The Prophecy. The Prophecy.’

‘Very well,’ said Blindweed irritably. ‘If the captain insists. But silence, all of you. This is not for fooling.’

The fawns had already fallen silent as Blindweed readied himself. Even Brechin felt a thrill as the ancient stag swayed his gnarled antlers back and forth, closed his eyes, and as though talking to the moon, began to recite:

‘When the Lore is bruised and broken,
Shattered like a blasted tree,
Then shall Herne be justly woken,
Born to set the Herla free.
On his brow a leaf of oaken,
Changeling child shall be his fate.
Understanding words strange spoken,
Chased by anger, fear and hate.
He shall flee o’er hill and heather,
And shall go where no deer can,
Knowing secrets dark to Lera,
Till his need shall summon man.
Air and water, earth and fire,
All shall ease his bitter pain,
Till the elements conspire
To restore the Island Chain.
First the High Land grass shall flower,
As he quests through wind and snow,
Then he breaks an ancient power,
And returns to face his woe.
Whenthe lord of lies upbraids him,
Then his wrath shall cloak the sun,
Andthe Herla’s foe shall aid him
To confront the evil one.
Sacrifice shall be his meaning,
He the darkest secret learn,
Truths of beast and man revealing,
Touching on the heart of Herne.
Fawn of moonlight ever after,
So shall all the Herla sing.
For his days shall herald laughter,
Born a healer and a king.’

Blindweed finished and opened his eyes. A slight breeze had come up as if from nowhere, rustling the grass. Brechin shivered. His old scar suddenly pained him. The deer looked at each other in silence and Blindweed shook his tired head.

‘Right,’ he said at last. ‘It’s time.’

Without any further protest the young fawns got to their feet. They thanked Blindweed as they went and began to run down the hill together, back to the safety of their mothers. Soon only one was left by Blindweed’s side. It was Lychen.

‘What does it mean?’ asked Lychen in a little voice. ‘The Prophecy. Is it true?’

‘What does it mean?’ said Blindweed. ’Well, Lychen, why don’t we ask Captain Brechin?’

Brechin was standing, gazing back towards the Home Oak.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Lychen nervously, ‘but do you know what the Prophecy means? Is it true?’

‘No, little one,’ said Brechin, looking down, ‘I don’t. But as for it being true I will say only this. There is more truth in Blindweed’s stories, though they are only stories, than there is in the heart of many a stag. So listen to them well. Now off with you, I have business to attend to.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Lychen and, caught between fear and pride, with a skip the fawn turned and shot off down the hill. When he had gone Blindweed walked slowly up to the captain. He had heard something serious in Brechin’s tone and he sensed something was wrong.

‘Captain Brechin,’ he said gravely, ‘it is very good to see you again and to know that at least some of the Hernling remember the old tales. Nowadays everything has changed. No one listens any more. And what with Sgorr and the Draila, they would drive away the spirit of Herne.’

‘Yes, Blindweed, there is much trouble in the Low Lands. But if I remember the old tales it is because you taught us them so well. You taught us that in those tales lies the secret of the Lore.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Blindweed, shaking his antlers. ‘The Lore. It is too much abused.’

‘Well, Blindweed,’ said Brechin, suddenly flexing his haunches and snorting, ‘I’m glad I’ve seen you, for tonight it is the Lore that I shall need.’

With that the captain raced away, up the steep gully towards the Home Oak. The full moon hung in the sky, bathing the valley in a luminous, eerie light as Brechin approached the meeting place. The wind had strengthened, sending great shoals of cloud scurrying across its haunted face. On the exposed plateau, that is such a common feature of the southern glens, twenty Corps members were assembled and around them stood the closed ranks of another fifteen Draila. As Brechin crested the plateau four of these stags broke away and ran up to meet him. They were lead by Narl, a young buck who only that spring Brechin had nearly come to blows with when he blocked his admission to the Outriders.

‘Herne be with you,’ called Brechin loudly and with little warmth.

‘Brechin, you’re late,’ said Narl, ignoring the traditional greeting. ’Drail is growing impatient—’

‘Captain Brechin to you,’ Brechin bellowed. He had halted and already his front haunches were set forward. The three other stags stopped behind Narl and as Brechin pointed his brow tines and stamped, they edged in behind their leader.

‘Forgive me, Captain Brechin,’ said Narl sarcastically, but clearly intimidated by the huge antlers, ‘I forgot how keen the Outriders are on their titles. But if you’d be so good as to join us, Lord Drail has something to tell you.’

Under any other circumstance Brechin would have charged Narl. But now he was keen to know what was happening at the meeting place. He had delayed too long.

‘Surely you mean Lord Sgorr?’ said Brechin contemptuously, and he pushed straight through the four deer. ‘Well then, what are you waiting for?’

Brechin surged on across the heather as the four Draila brought up the rear.