Deer Life

by Ron Sexsmith

  “Whoever you are,” he growled, “you’d best hop on your broomstick and fly away,” before returning sullenly to his thoughts (assuming he had any).

  But Maggie was in no mood to take any lip from this toxic bully, so she pulled out her trusty wooden spoon and gave him a good whack across the back of his head! The force of the blow knocked the glass clear out of his hand as he turned to face her with an expression of utter shock mingled with extreme rage.

  “What’s wrong with you! Are you mad?” he shouted while slamming his doughy fist down on the table.

  “I asked you a question,” said Maggie, completely unruffled by this outburst. “Do you know who I am?” she asked again calmly, then tapped her spoon on the edge of his table with menace.

  But little did she know that a crowd had been gathering behind her ever since the commotion began. And Tourtière, who was not used to so much attention, thought it best to de-escalate the situation. “All right, I give up, who are you?” he asked as if going down to the cellar of memories but coming up empty-handed.

  “Does the name Deryn Hedlight mean anything to you?” she inquired with folded arms and raised eyebrows.

  “Hedlight?” He laughed dismissively. “Let me guess, you’re his mommy and you’ve come to fight his battles for him? Then you’re going to send me to bed without any supper, I s’pose?” This unlikelihood he finished off with a coarse laugh that segued into a violent coughing fit.

  “Yes, I am his mother,” Maggie replied. “But no, I’ve not come to fight his battles or send you to bed! I would just like to know if you saw my boy today … well, did you?”

  At this question, Tourtière simply shook his head before cracking a most hideous smile. “I saw him, all right. That boy of yours had no business being out there with a gun. I wouldn’t be surprised if he blew his own head off by ax-o-dent. Better off without it, if you ask me,” he offered then proceeded to pour himself another shot.

  “Well, do you know where he is now?” she continued, clearly disturbed by his careless attitude t’ward pretty much everything. “You didn’t hurt him, did you?”

  Tourtière threw back his brandy in a single gulp and peered sideways at her like a shark. “I was walking out of the woods” (here he paused to demonstrate by walking his fingers on the table) “and HE was walking in … end of story,” he condescended as he refilled his glass once more without even looking at it.

  “Well, if I find out that you’ve done something to him, I swear I’ll …”

  But before Maggie could even finish the thought, Tourtière grabbed hold of her scarf and pulled her face uncomfortably close to his. “I said END OF STORY. Now, if I were you I would leave right this instant before I throw ya outta here myself.” The above sentence came spraying out through bearded lips and into her face in the most heinous way. His breath smelled of rotting teeth, damp socks, and ammonia. As for Maggie Hedlight? Well, she’ d seen quite enough of Tourtière to last a few lifetimes (not to mention The Fist and Firkin), and so decided she’ d be better off searching for Deryn all by herself.

  With any luck, she thought, he’ll be waiting for me when I get home. Maybe he just got lost along the way. She smiled inwardly with eyes that brimmed outwardly with tears. It was certainly within the realm of possibility, knowing Deryn. She mustn’t give up hope!

  So after mindfully navigating the minefield back to the front door, she was just about to head off into the night when the two bouncers I’d mentioned earlier in the chapter stepped right in front of her. Maggie looked up into their faces, expecting to find more trouble there, but was relieved to discover that the four eyes she met looking back down on her … were kind. “We’ll help you look for him,” they said.

  A s you can imagine, the events of the last day had taken our young Hedlight completely by surprise. He had hoped the hunting trip would change him somehow for the better, but this was an entirely different animal. A deer, to be precise! He would spend most of the first morning checking himself out in various puddles and streams while exploring the limits and potential advantages of his new-found anatomy. The shock of his current reality was matched only by his sudden desire to nibble on twigs, fallen leaves, and other bits of shrubbery that a day earlier would not have appealed to him in the least. When he wasn’t busy doing that, he passed the time mostly worrying about his mother. For how was she to know what became of him? Not knowing would surely break her heart. He thought a great deal about the witch, too, for obvious reasons. He’ d heard all the stories as a boy but never believed for a second they could even remotely be true. He wondered, also, if this spell was something he might just snap out of someday. But whenever he thought of that poor dog, it made him think, perhaps, he had got just what he deserved.

  “It’s funny,” Deryn reflected figuratively and literally (for he was staring into a puddle even as we speak), “I came to these woods hoping to land a deer or some other creature. So why am I so guilt-ridden over killing a dog? And a witch’s dog at that! For all we know it was twice as evil as her! Besides, is a deer not an innocent animal, too? Come to think of it, I am a deer, and I’m sure I wouldn’t like it one bit if I was minding my own business and some fool came along and shot me for no reason.” It was in the midst of all this reflection that he got the distinct feeling that he was being watched. And as it turned out, he was right! For another deer had been watching him, and for some time, apparently, from the other side of a narrow stream.

  “Hello over there!” hollered Deryn, though with his mind, for, as he would soon discover, this was how all animals conversed. The other deer, however, chose not to “mind answer” him back, but only sniffed the air curiously before galloping off briskly. “Hey, where are you going?” Deryn called after him but to no avail.

  A moment later he would find himself in hot pursuit, which proved to be an excellent way of test driving his new legs! For now he was hurdling over rocks and branches with ease while zigzagging in and out of whatever obstacles the forest set in his way, until, after an extended period of giving chase, Deryn finally caught up to the mystery deer. He was standing near a cave at the foot of a grassy hill, looking nonchalant. And strangely, neither of them was even the least bit out of breath! (I should also add that the following conversation takes place entirely via animal telepathy!)

  “Oh, there you are!” said Deryn with what he hoped was a neighbourly grin. “Why did you run away like that?”

  Tilting his head suspiciously, the other deer simply replied, “Because you were chasing me.”

  “Well, yes,” admitted Deryn, “but that’s only because, um, you ran away from me,” and got back absolutely nothing in response. As this conversation seemed destined for nowhere, he thought it best to head off in a whole other direction. “So anyway, what’s your name?” he asked, mostly happy to have someone to talk to.

  “Name?” wondered deer number two with a look that could be best described as vacant.

  “Well, you know, a name, as in … what do I call you?” Deryn elaborated, though all it produced was an even more vacant look than before. He was beginning to think he’ d have better luck talking to the grassy hill! “For example, my name’s Deryn, and you are?”

  “Sorry, I’m not following you,” replied the vacant one before pursuing his own line of questioning. “What’s a Deryn? And what would I need a name for, anyway?”

  To which Deryn, after expelling mists of frustration out each nostril, struggled to think of a reasonable answer to what was actually not such an unreasonable question. “Let’s say,” he proceeded with caution, “that I see you on the other side of a stream, like today. But you don’t see me. Now, what should I holler, if I wish to get your attention?”

  “Get my attention for what?” Old Blank Face replied, making Deryn contemplate running up the hill and throwing himself off it. Even so, he stepped up to the plate and took one last swing at it.

  “How
about this? Let’s say, I call you …” (while noticing how big the other deer’s eyes were compared with his own) “… Big Eyes!” he exclaimed proudly with great relief for having thought it up so quickly. “Does that work? Would it be okay if I called you Big Eyes?”

  As for our newly christened Big Eyes? Well, his only response was to shoot Deryn a look that is universally recognized as pity. “If it makes you feel better,” he said. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  For the rest of the day they walked and talked of everything. Deryn shared with him all the harrowing details of his encounter with the witch and of Jupiter, too. He talked about his mother, his life as a human being (which Big Eyes didn’t fully believe). He even tried telling a joke or two, all of which fell flat, making him wonder if every deer lacked a sense of humour, or just this dullard. Big Eyes in return gave Deryn the general lay of the land, as well as briefed him on all sorts of helpful deer tips, such as where the tastiest leaves hung down, and, most importantly, where the best hiding places were during hunting season!

  “My mother was killed by The Round One,” he said rather bluntly before looking up at the tranquil sea of clouds.

  “The Round One?” inquired Deryn.

  “He’s in the woods almost every day … he’s very round,” Big Eyes replied and quite accurately.

  “Yes, I know him!” said Deryn and shuddered at the very thought of him. “His name’s Tourtière!”

  “Well, he’s The Round One out here, although I have heard some of the squirrels refer to him as ‘Bear Droppings.’”

  “Bear Droppings? HA!” Deryn laughed (well, in his mind at least). And soon Big Eyes had no choice but to join in. For even in the animal kingdom, it seems laughter can be quite contagious. So he does have a sense of humour after all! thought Deryn, who was only now beginning to feel a bit more at ease about his unusual predicament. It felt nice to have made a new friend, and heaven knows he needed one.

  Just then, a shadow of concern passed over the face of each deer as Big Eyes visibly froze and then whispered, “Did you hear that?” Deryn, too, became quite still as he tried his new ears on for size.

  “Is somebody coming our way? What do we do now?” he asked with anxiety renewed.

  “Quick, into the cave!” said Big Eyes. “They won’t see us in there!” Even though they’d just met, it was already clear to Deryn that whatever Big Eyes said to do was undoubtedly in his best interest. So as our burgeoning friends huddled in the darkness with nothing but the sound of their two hearts pounding, it wasn’t long before a familiar voice could also be heard calling out in the wilderness.

  “DERYN! IT’S YOUR MOTHER! HOLLER IF YOU CAN HEAR ME!! DERYN!!!!”

  Every instinct compelled him to run to her arms, but he knew that would be a grave mistake. She would never recognize him, anyway, not in his current state. Instead all he could do was watch the heartbreaking spectacle of his mother going slowly past. Her face was, as always, the very picture of love and kindness. Following close behind her came the two enormous bouncers from the previous chapter. And although he hadn’t a clue who they were, it was comforting at least to know she wasn’t out there all alone.

  “Oh, Ma,” he sighed. “Sorry for putting you through this.” First her husband gone and now her son. It all seemed too much to bear. And watching Deryn throughout the duration of this sad parade, Big Eyes had become completely transfixed by something small and shiny rolling down his new friend’s cheek. “Deryn?” he asked curiously. “Is there a waterfall in your eyes?”

  A fter a long day’s journey, it came as a welcome sight to happen upon The Willow Tree just as nightfall descended. Maggie and her two travelling companions (whose names, incidentally, were Griff and Gruff) had plenty of time to get acquainted as they searched in vain for any sign of Deryn. And because the twins were men of few words and possibly even fewer thoughts, Maggie wound up doing most of the talking, which was completely agreeable to her. “Oh, I know this place!” she said, smiling upward at the faded sign. “My husband once stayed here on his way home from Hixenbaugh! If I’m not mistaken, he’ d come from visiting a friend there who’d opened a bookshop. At least I think it was a bookshop,” she concluded, before floating on the river of precious memories.

  All the while Griff and Gruff looked down from on high with genuine affection for this kind lady who had treated them like they were her very own sons (which was by no means the sort of treatment they were used to). The next moment, however, their peace would be shattered by the sound of a full-blown bar scuffle in motion! Recognizing this all too familiar sound, Griff and Gruff immediately sprang into action, both rushing in to see exactly who was punching who. But once inside, it took little more than a glance to suss out the situation at hand. For two men (one with a bloody nose) swung blindly at each other as another man struggled valiantly to keep them apart while, in the process, finding himself on the receiving end of most of the blows. The human punching bag in the middle was none other than Charlisle the bartender, and peeking out from underneath the bar in an effort to avoid any stray punches was our very own Crad Grimsby, who, for good reason, was a bit too distracted to notice that three new customers had walked in.

  Without any hesitation, Griff and Gruff stepped into the skirmish and proved to be an enormous help to Charlisle in his hour of need. They simply picked up the troublemakers, as Maggie had witnessed at The Fist And Firkin, and booted them on to the street as if they were little more than drunken footballs. Everyone in the tavern gave them a well-earned round of applause. Maggie applauded, too, with considerable pride for her bald chaperones who, in less than one day, had proven themselves more than worthy of her trust. And not surprisingly, it was Charlisle who was first to greet our new arrivals with arms outstretched for some enthusiastic handshaking. “Your timing’s exquisite!” he said, smiling up at the impressive giants. “Now, could I interest you all in some ice-cold ale? On the house, of course,” he kindly offered. An offer, you may have guessed, that was met with unanimous approval, for they were all quite parched after their long hike. Feeling it was now safe to step out from behind the bar, Crad himself soon ambled over.

  “Greetings!” he said with a slight bow to Maggie, followed by a bigger one for her two companions. “Name’s Grimsby, welcome to The Willow Tree!”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Grimsby. I’m Maggie Hedlight, and here we have Griff and Gruff.” Her voice rang out cheerfully as she produced a corresponding hand gesture for each introduction. “We’ve come all the way from Hinthoven!” she added while checking his face for any sign of astonishment at this amazing feat of endurance.

  “You don’t say!” said Grimsby. “Hinthoven? I should think you must all be close to collapsing!” (To which all three nodded in the affirmative.) “Well then, why don’t we go take a seat by the fireplace?” he kindly invited with his customary “wizard arms” fully extended.

  Little did they know that they would be heading over to the same cozy nook where just a couple days earlier Eleanoir and Jupiter had enjoyed some respite before their own dark journey! Before long, Charlisle came rushing back as promised, carrying a tray of cold complimentary ales, and all three sipped gratefully and heaved sighs of relief for the simple luxury of sitting down.

  “Did you have an early start?” Grimsby asked Maggie with a smile that was returned in kind.

  “Why yes, we headed out this morning and have been walking all day,” she replied with a knowing wink in Griff and Gruff’s direction. “Haven’t we?”

  “Well, I hope you don’t mind me saying so,” Crad went on, “but you do seem, at least to my eyes, to have quite the unusual entourage here! Am I correct in assuming that these two strapping young lads are … your sons?”

  “Ha! No, they’re not my sons,” replied Maggie, clearly amused by the assumption. “Although I will say this! They’ve been so kind to me today that I may end up adopting them before too long.” S
he giggled for what seemed like the first time in ages. (Though Griff and Gruff seemed much less enthusiastic at the prospect of this arrangement.) “To be honest with you,” said Maggie as Crad listened on, “these nice boys were helping me search for my son today! His name was, I mean is, Deryn.”

  Grimsby turned to the twins and nodded his approval at them. “That’s mighty kind of you, boys. Chivalry’s alive and well, I see!” he remarked before bringing his full attention back to Maggie and wondering whether she might be of a similar vintage as him.

  “He’s been missing since yesterday,” she continued, brushing away a small tear. Then, looking up, she began to search the innkeeper’s eyes curiously, for they seemed to share a similar sadness with hers. Within them she felt she could detect a certain shattered shop window of loss only a mother (or perhaps a big brother) would know of.…

  “I’m sorry to hear it, ma’am,” his heart sighed. For a new and more disturbing thought had just now entered his mind. A thought, however, he was not at all comfortable sharing! “Your boy, was he in the woods, by any chance, when he went missing?” Grimsby delicately inquired while imagining purple eyes and thinking it was all much too sinister to be mere coincidence.

  “Why, yes, he’ d gone hunting for the day,” replied Maggie, “I never should have let him go,” and began to sob into the sleeves of Griff, who then held her in an awkward embrace.

  Crad’s mind had become inflamed with so many discomforting thoughts that he began to feel positively faint. And noticing this sudden change in him, Maggie collected herself in an instant and confronted him on the spot. “Mr. Grimsby? Is something the matter?”