Fire Bringer

by David Clement-Davies

  The hinds spent the first morning out of the valley resting on the edge of a small copse, huddled together and shivering in the bitter cold. The fawns were the worst hit for their little hoofs were soon frozen as they sank into the white, but they also found delight in the snow and the adventure. Bhreac in particular was keen to move them on, realizing that the weather would mask their escape. It had stopped snowing for a while during the morning but by noon it started again, as thick as before. From the edge of the home valley the landscape began to flatten out and form the more regular contours of the Low Lands. The deer found themselves travelling across a patch of down where the undulating ground proved difficult to cross for in its folds the snow heaped thick and left snowdrifts which the fawns sank into up to their haunches.

  At one point Tain disappeared altogether and if Rannoch hadn’t been watching him and marked the place where Alyth and Shira could dig him out with their hoofs, Tain might have frozen to death. But the little fawn was unhurt, though his nose was throbbing with cold, and the deer pushed on again into the winter.

  By the afternoon of the next sun the snow began to get finer until it eventually stopped altogether and the sky began to clear, giving way to great patches of blue that looked as icy as the ground below. The deer’s spirits lifted with the weather and they made better progress. Rannoch, Tain and Thistle trotted along together, though the other calves stayed with their mothers. Thistle had cheered up a little and they laughed and joked and even found time to play, rolling around in the blanket of white. But at last, as Larn approached again and the evening star began to pierce the sky, a new fear entered the hinds’ thoughts.

  As they came to a wood and looked back across the downs they realized that their hoofs had laid a clear trail in the snow. It was with sinking hearts that the hinds entered the trees where the ground began to rise. A deer’s mood is infectious and soon the fawns were nervous, their fear compounded by their unfamiliar surroundings. Among the calves only Rannoch felt more confident, for he had been into a wood before, and now he came into his own, trotting up and down and reassuring the others. He was running back towards Bracken when he overheard the twins, Peppa and Willow, talking under their breath as they padded along behind their mother.

  ‘I’m frightened, Willow,’ Peppa was saying, as darkness closed around them. ’The trees look like huge Draila.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said her sister quietly. ’I’ll look after you, Peppa.’

  ‘But there are things in the forest,’ Peppa went on nervously. ’I wish I was at home.’

  Rannoch fell into step with the little does.

  ‘Your sister’s right,’ he said cheerfully. ’There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve been in a wood alone before and I’ve seen an owl and badgers and I was even lost for two nights but nothing happened.’

  Peppa was very impressed but Willow said nothing. She turned her head away disdainfully.

  ‘My name’s Rannoch. You’re Peppa and Willow?’

  ‘That’s right,’ answered Peppa, no longer thinking of the big trees. ’We’re twins.’

  ‘I can see that,’ laughed Rannoch.’Are you Willow or

  Peppa?’

  ‘Peppa.’

  ‘So you must be Willow?’ said Rannoch. Willow didn’t answer.

  ‘Willow it is then. It’s very nice to meet you.’

  ‘And you,’ said Peppa.’Willow, what’s wrong? Why don’t you say anything?’

  Willow still refused to speak and the three fawns walked on for a while without talking. Rannoch finally broke the silence.

  ‘This is fun, isn’t it? I mean, how many other fawns would get to visit the forest?’

  ‘How many other fawns would want to?’ said Willow suddenly.

  ‘I didn’t mean . . . I was just trying. . .’

  ‘Well don’t. We’re fine on our own, thank you.’

  ‘Willow,’ scolded Peppa. ’Why are you being so unfriendly?’

  ‘Because it’s his fault that we’re here at all.’

  Rannoch was hurt but he tossed up his head proudly.

  ‘Well, I’m very sorry, I’m sure,’ he said.

  With that he ran on along the trail of deer, winding through the wood. He was angry and by the time he reached Bracken he felt miserable again. Bracken was with Bhreac and they were talking seriously.

  ‘Not now, dear,’ said Bracken when her fawn arrived. Rannoch ran over to Tain who was telling Thistle a story

  he had just made up. He fell in with them and listened for a while, but his heart wasn’t in it and he was soon lost in his own thoughts.

  The deer went on and at last they came to a wide clearing where the ground evened out. Bracken and Bhreac stopped to wait for the other hinds.

  ‘We’ll rest here tonight,’ said Bhreac when the others had all arrived. ‘The fawns are tired and it’s too dark to go on. If anyone’s following they’ll have to stop too.’

  The hinds nodded in agreement but now Shira stepped forward.

  ‘Bhreac,’ she said quietly. ‘Do you know where we’re going?’

  The hinds pricked up their ears, for they had been wondering this all day.

  ‘Not really, my dear. If we are to escape Drail we must get as far away as possible, even to the High Land if we can.’

  There was not one among the hinds who really knew where the High Land was and they feared its name, but at least the sense of purpose and the thought of getting as far away as possible seemed to reassure them and they began to move about the clearing, smoothing the ground with their muzzles, clearing away the covering of settled snow and finding places where they could lie down with their little ones. But just as they were settling down they heard a noise that made them start and blink in terror.

  ‘What’s that?’ whispered Tain to Rannoch.

  The two fawns were shivering in the frosty air as they listened. In the darkness, through the trees, came a sound that haunts all Herla. A low, quivering howl that seemed to rise from the depths of some wounded beast and echo through the night before it was lost again on the wind. The terrified deer shivered and the hinds, lost suddenly in their desire to run but held fast by their fear for their fawns, moved back and forth about the clearing like fish wiggling on a hook. Shira’s eyes darted back and forth looking for a thicket or a patch of bramble where she could hide Tain for a while if it came to flight.

  The howl came again and was then picked up by another and another.

  ‘Wolves.’ Bracken shuddered.

  The other hinds had heard her and though they knew the sound well, the word had its own power to add to their terror.

  ‘Yes,’ said Bhreac loudly so that the others could hear her, ‘but listen. They’re far away. Probably in the mountains. They won’t trouble us tonight.’

  Bhreac’s words calmed the deer but she could see that they were all deeply disturbed, especially the little fawns. Peppa was nudging up to Willow while Quaich was nestling under his mother’s belly, hiding his head from the awful noise and trying to suckle at the same time. To add to the misery, in the clearing the temperature had fallen again and a wind had come up, shaking the forest around them and howling through the dark branches so that the fawns thought that the wolves, who they were hearing for the very first time, were coming closer.

  ‘This is no good at all,’ whispered Bhreac, but then the old deer had an idea.

  ‘Come on, form a circle,’ she said. ‘I’m going to tell you a story.’

  The hinds were pleased and they shepherded the fawns into a ring. There they sat; Rannoch, Tain and Thistle together, Quaich, Peppa and Willow; their mothers circling them to shield them from the night and old Bhreac thinking desperately of a tale to lift their spirits.

  ‘I’m no Blindweed,’ she said at last, looking about her rather sadly, ‘but I’m going to tell you the story of Starbuck and the wolf.’

  As she said it there was another howl from the mountains and the fawns shuddered.

  ‘Yes. . . well,’ she bega
n. ‘It was a long time ago when Starbuck had crossed the Great Mountain and had come to the High Land. No deer had ever been so far north except the reindeer who have always lived in the snow. Starbuck ran free across the heather and drank from the great lochs and was happy. But one day when he was walking along the foothills of the Great Mountain he saw footprints that made him shudder. They were the marks of a wolf that had come down alone from the hills to hunt.

  ‘Now Starbuck knew that he was in danger, for the pad marks were fresh and he had no chance against a wolf, even a wolf on its own. So he began to look around him for a place to hide. Ahead, he saw a thicket and he backed inside it so that only his antlers were showing and they looked very much like branches. There Starbuck waited. He didn’t have to wait long for the wolf had scented him on the wind and was now retracing his steps, sniffing and slobbering as he went. Starbuck could see the wolf’s shaggy sides shaking with excitement as he padded along, and the lines of shiny white teeth glinting in his muzzle.

  ‘But Starbuck wasn’t afraid,’ Bhreac added quickly, for she could see she was frightening the fawns. ‘OH no, he was far too clever to be afraid. Instead he waited as the wolf came right up to the thicket. He could hear him muttering and cursing to himself that he had lost his lunch. Well, when the wolf was right next to him, Starbuck shook his antlers gently and said in a deep voice:

  ‘ ‘‘Why are you complaining, old wolf?’’

  ‘The wolf nearly jumped out of his skin, for he thought he was being addressed by a tree.’‘Who’s there?’’ he snarled.

  ‘ ‘‘Just a tree,’’ answered Starbuck.’‘But why do you disturb my sleep with your mutterings?’’

  ‘The wolf, who was old, nearly blind and rather stupid, was too amazed to do anything but answer the tree.’‘I smelt a deer,’’ he said, ‘‘and now I’ve lost it and I’m hungry.’’

  ‘ ‘‘Well, well,’’ said Starbuck, smiling, ‘‘I don’t know anything about a deer but I do know this. Herne wouldn’t be pleased to see you roaming about trying to harm his favourite Lera. Did you know that Herne especially loves the deer?’’

  ‘At the mention of Herne,’ whispered Bhreac, ‘the wolf was very afraid, for he had begun to think that he was bewitched and perhaps it was Herne himself who was addressing him.

  ‘ ‘‘No I didn’t,’’ he said respectfully, ‘‘but I must eat, mustn’t I?’’

  ‘ ‘‘Well, yes,’’ said Starbuck, ‘‘I suppose you must. But the grass and the trees and the glens have much tastier things than the hide of some old Herla.’’

  ‘ ‘‘Oh,’’ said the wolf.’‘What?’’

  ‘ ‘‘Berries for a start,’’ said the cunning Starbuck.’‘And if you reach up to my branches you will find some especially juicy berries to fill your tired old stomach.’’

  ‘ ‘‘Thank you,’’ answered the wolf.

  ‘He wasn’t at all pleased by the idea of berries but was too afraid to be rude to the talking tree. With that the wolf lifted himself on his back legs and tried to reach the berries that he thought were growing on Starbuck’s antlers. Starbuck didn’t waste a moment, for as soon as the wolf’s muzzle came close he tossed his head forward and caught him such a blow in the face with his antlers that his front teeth were knocked out and he was sent flying backwards, over and over. He picked himself up and with a yelp of terror went hurtling away, his tail between his legs. And from that day on, whenever he scented deer, he would remember the talking tree that had knocked out his teeth and would go off to hunt some smaller Lera.’

  The fawns were delighted by this story and felt much better about the howls that were really a good many miles away. All except Thistle, who was grumbling to himself.

  ‘I think it’s a silly story,’ he muttered.’Who ever heard of a talking tree? Besides, how could Starbuck understand a wolf anyway?’

  ‘Because Starbuck is a special deer,’ said his mother kindly.

  ‘And besides, it’s only a story.’

  ‘I loved it,’ said Tain, ‘especially because Starbuck can talk to the Lera.’

  ‘Now, now,’ said Bhreac, ‘enough chatter. If we don’t all get some sleep how will we ever travel anywhere?’

  The fawns began to calm down again and soon most of them were fast asleep.

  ‘I’ve never heard that story before,’ whispered Bracken to Bhreac as she watched Rannoch drift into dreams beside her.

  ‘Who told it to you?’

  ‘No one,’ chuckled Bhreac.’I made it up.’

  Rannoch woke with a start. He had had dark dreams that night. First he had dreamt he was being chased by a strange hornless deer with sharp teeth. Then he had dreamt of wolves and wind and high, lonely places. As he looked around him now he was shivering. It was still dark and the others were fast asleep. Bhreac was muttering to herself in her own dreams and Peppa, Willow and Quaich were curled up snugly by their mothers. Tain and Thistle, who already thought themselves too old to rest at their mothers’ sides, where further off on their own. Rannoch got up and shook himself but he felt wobbly on his feet and his ears were ringing. Something in him was unsettled and he felt strange. Around him the forest was quite still, for the wind had died and nothing was stirring in the darkness.

  Rannoch wandered to the edge of the clearing, ate a few desultory leaves and peered into the wood. Then, quite unafraid, he stepped into the trees. It began to grow light as he walked and slowly the trees became discernible, so Rannoch felt confident that he could easily find his way back to the hinds. He was just beginning to enjoy himself when he suddenly stopped. From up ahead he heard a noise.

  It was a furious flapping and cawing. Rannoch pressed slowly forward until he saw a sight that nearly made him laugh out loud. It was a big black crow, bigger than any bird Rannoch had ever seen. It was flapping its wings and cawing furiously as it tried to lift itself from the log it was standing on. But each time it flapped and tried to take off the effort ended in a flurry of irritable squawks. Rannoch tingled as he realized he could understand what the bird was saying.

  ‘Quite absurd,’ cried the bird in a sharp, snapping voice as he flapped and strained. ‘Quite absurd. Never land in a wood again. Nevermore. Nevermore. Crak, Crak. Now what am I to do? To do? Oh I wish I’d never got up.’

  As Rannoch came closer the bird stopped flapping and eyed him carefully, his long pointed beak tilting left and right as he did so and his little eyes sparkling.

  ‘Well, what are you looking at? Looking at? Crak, Crak,’said the bird, clicking his beak together.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Rannoch.’I was just wondering if you were all right.’

  ‘Do I look all right? Crak, Crak. Look all right?’

  ‘Well, no,’ said Rannoch politely, ‘you don’t.’

  ‘Well, don’t just stand there. Stand there. Crak, Crak. Do something. Do,’ said the bird irritably.

  Rannoch walked up to the log and now he realized that there wasn’t just one log but two and that one of the bird’s feet was wedged in between them, where the log had rolled as the bird had landed on it to get at a particularly juicy looking woodlouse.

  ‘Shan’t walk again. Crak, Crak,’ cried the bird. ‘Nevermore. Nevermore. Oh do hurry up.’

  Rannoch lowered his head and began to push at one of the logs. After a lot of straining and butting it started to wobble, just enough for the bird to pull his leg free and lift himself into the air in a shower of feathers. He landed just next to Rannoch and began to hop around painfully, cawing and screeching and snapping his beak. Finally he seemed to calm down and then he suddenly wheeled on Rannoch and fixed him with a beady and very suspicious eye.

  ‘What did you say? Did you say?’ cried the bird.

  ‘Me? What do you mean? I didn’t say—’

  ‘I thought so,’ cried the bird, nearly taking off again. ‘You spoke to me. Quite remarkable. Crak, Crak. Where did you learn it?’

  ‘Oh. I didn’t. It just sort of happened,’ answered Rannoch.

 
‘Nonsense,’ said the bird. ‘Don’t be silly. Anyway. What are you doing here? Crak.’

  ‘I’m here with my friends,’ said Rannoch. We’re running away.’

  ‘Running away. Crak, Crak. Running away. So you’re with that lot heading north? What do you want to run away for?’

  ‘Well, the Draila. . .’ Rannoch began, and he was about to tell him something of his adventure when the bird suddenly lost interest and flew up onto the branch of a tree. He fluffed his feathers on the bough and then looked down coldly on the little fawn.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Rannoch. What’s yours?’

  ‘What’s mine? Crak. Crak, Crak, answered the bird, whose name really was Crak and who always had great difficulty explaining the fact.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Rannoch. I’ve never met a crow before.’

  The bird took off again and landed right next to Rannoch.

  ‘What did you call me?’ he screeched. A crow? A filthy, greedy, tricksy crow? How dare you?’

  ‘But aren’t you a crow?’

  ‘No I’m not and I’ll thank you not to be so impertinent.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Rannoch, who had decided that this bird was really very rude. ‘What are you then?’

  ‘What am I? Am I? Crak, Crak,’ said the bird, strutting around proudly. ‘I’m a raven of course.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Rannoch, who had never seen a raven before and wasn’t at all sure he wanted to again.

  ‘And you are a fawn,’ said Crak, walking straight up to him and sticking his beak in Rannoch’s face, ‘but a strange one to be sure. To be sure. Crak, Crak. Well, if you think I’ve got time to stand around in a wood all day, you’re wrong.’ And the bird lifted into the air again and flew straight upwards. He landed on a branch high in the canopy.