To Skelter, the flatlands were much the same as those he had left behind on the island. Nothing would ever be able to touch his rugged mountains for beauty and splendour, and even if he had to live in a sanitised society of brown hares, he did not have to accept their cultural ideas of harmony. He dreamed, as always, of his heather-cloaked hills and glens, of the glint of moonstones and garnets in the burns, of the shining lochs, of the crofts wafting peat smoke from their turved roofs, of the sedge, the ptarmigan, the red deer in all its highland glory, the distant stone castles on impossible peaks, the gnarled and bearded shepherds with their archaic staves, of ancient rusting claymores and dirks beneath hillside stones, of the cairns, of the wildcat and the eagle. Eyebright, suckling Scootie, would listen patiently as he tried to explain to her what his homeland was like, and her eyes grew hazy and sad when she realised how much he missed it. She wanted to replace that void in him with something else, but of course, that was impossible. Once a highlander, never anything else, and though the flatlands surrounded his body, his soul would always be in the mountains, drifting with the mist amongst the heather.
Three days after the hares had established themselves on the airfield, Jittie came to visit Skelter and Eyebright. She admired Scootie for as long as was hedgehog possible, which was for at least two seconds, before going on to describe the events that occurred on the island after the hares had departed. There had indeed been a slaughter, though the hares were not wiped out by any means, and even some of moonhare’s colony had survived and still gathered under the totem in Booker’s field.
‘It was a noisy day, that’s for sure,’ said Jittie, ‘and a bloody one for the lagomorphs. They brought in terriers afterwards, for the rabbits, and a lot of them lost their lives. Later, Bess’s man came and barked at the hunters, especially when the badgers were being disturbed by the terriers.’
‘But you got away all right?’ said Skelter.
‘Pooh, who wants to kill a hedgehog? The only way they get us, is with their infernal cars, on the highway, and that’s not on purpose, I’m positive of that.’
‘I’ve heard that gypsies cook hedgehogs in clay, so that when they’re baked and peeled, the bristles come out embedded in the hard clay,’ said Eyebright, shifting her position for the restless Scootie.
‘Might have been true in the old days,’ said Jittie, ‘but not now. Gypsies want to eat the same food as all the humans. They’ll take a chicken, pheasant, hare or rabbit, but I’ve not heard of them eating hedgehogs, not lately.’
‘Anyway,’ said Skelter, ‘we’re fairly safe here, behind the fence. Of course, we have to stay off the concrete strips, or we’d get flattened like … like hedgehogs on a highway. It didn’t take long to learn that. No reason to go on them anyway, really, except to get to the other side.’
‘Yes, you seem to have come out of it all pretty well. I don’t suppose your moonhare is very pleased, having her colony stripped down to seven or eight members?’
‘She’s getting old anyway,’ Eyebright said. ‘I think she’ll be ready to step down soon. I don’t want to take over myself, but I have hopes for this little one, someday. She’ll make a good moonhare …’
Skelter exchanged a look with Jittie. Both of them knew that the brown hares would never accept a hybrid as a leader, but there was no need to say anything to Eyebright. Skelter was sure that once the newness of the recent birth wore off any great ambitions Eyebright had for Scootie could be modified, and compromises sought. As far as he was concerned, his leveret was better off just being an ordinary member of the colony, and letting others take the responsibility of leadership, whenever it was necessary.
Jittie left them once the morning came and set out for her home.
That night a spring storm swept across the airfield, and drove rain into the ground like nails. Now that the flogre was no longer a threat, the brown hares did not dig blue hare forms, but had gone back to their old method of a scraping on the surface. The only one who still dug a U-shaped hole was Skelter himself and as he watched the others being hammered by the hard raindrops from under his little roof of turf, he felt a little superior.
Bubba guessed they were going to move him somewhere, because the man kept coming out to his cage and staring at him. He was glad, because he hated the cage. Mother had never kept him behind wire or bars. It was the first time in his life that he had been imprisoned in anything smaller than a house, and he loathed it to the core of his being. He would rather die than remain in such a place.
When the two new men came with another cage, Bubba was sure. Still, he did not see why he should be compliant, even if it meant that he was being moved, so when they put the cages together, and opened both doors, he remained firmly gripping his perch. The men spent a long time trying to persuade him to go from one cage to another, and the more they tried, the more he resisted. When they gave up and went for a drink, then he calmly climbed from his perch and transferred his great bulk from one cage to the other. Bubba enjoyed the way they barked at each other when they returned.
The door to the new cage was closed and locked by one of the two new men. This second cage was a lot lighter and flimsier than the one the hairy-faced man had kept him in. It was a cage for transporting things by air. Bubba had been in one of these cages a long time ago, when mother took him from the dark steamy forests and brought him to this land of rabbits and hares.
Was he going to travel again by air?
How strange that had been, to fly without the use of his wings. Although he had been in a drugged state at the time, he had been aware that he was flying. A bird knows when he is in the sky, above the turning globe: he feels it in his every nerve and fibre. The sensation of flying is an experience of the soul, as well as the body.
He hoped they were going to take him back to the place of huge trees and great rivers. That would be fine. He had eaten everything around here. The forest would be well stocked, with those hairy creatures that looked like men, but had tails and swung from the trees. Of late his dreams of this far off land were becoming clearer, less distant.
His cage went up on the back of a truck, and then they were off, travelling on the road, the harsh sound of the engine in his ears. He watched the countryside sweep past, the hedges and fields flowing the other way, faster than they did when he was aloft and cruising on the thermals. Soon the cottage was far behind him, and he had left the silky dog, the sleek creatures by the stream, the hawks and harriers without having had the opportunity to kill just one of them. This was his only regret, that he had not left them all for dead.
Skelter had slept in the sun for two hours after a night of feeding on the new shoots of corn. He felt dissipated. When the sun became too hot to remain in his form, he came out and checked on Eyebright and Scootie. They were fast asleep, curled up together in the scraped out form that his mate preferred, and he left them there, a warm feeling in his stomach.
There were other hares, other insomniacs, walking around the place, nibbling at this and that. Skelter was not in a nibbling mood, and hare-walked to the edge of the runway to feel the down-draft of the aircraft running through his fur as they took off. It was probably a dangerous occupation, but all the hares did it. It was then he noticed something on the far side of the concrete strip, and his fur prickled. He wondered whether to cross and get a closer look, but that was definitely too dangerous and he was not into foolishness, having barely escaped death in various forms during his time.
What he had seen were some bags of white crystals, one of which had broken open and was spilling onto the ground. Skelter knew this to be man-food, for the female human at the cottage had once given him a cube of that stuff, one of which she also put in her hot drink. It had been a delicious experience. Skelter had never tasted anything so sweet in all his life. He would really like to taste that stuff again!
In the end, he resisted the urge, knowing that the aircraft were taking off and landing all the time, and those giant wheels were large enough to squash a pi
g, let alone a hare. The sweet white crystals would have to remain where they were, and Skelter would make do with a certain kind of beet, which had a faint taste of the same substance. Should he go out into the fields and look for some? In truth, he told himself, he couldn’t be bothered going anywhere. He was in one of those apathetic moods, whereby he wanted to do nothing except sit and scratch his clipped ear.
The fields drifted by Bubba, as the vehicle rumbled on towards the airfield. Bubba could see the great metal birds lifting off the distant concrete, and knew how the people inside were feeling. Some would be afraid, but most would be feeling exhilaration, the wonderful sensation of flight. How terrible it would be if Bubba were ever robbed of this ability to fly. He suddenly had a terrible thought. What if he were not being sent to the place of hot jungles? What if they were taking him somewhere else, to put him in another cage? When mother had been alive he had shown Bubba to other humans and had witnessed their amazement. Humans were intrigued by Bubba, found him fascinating. What if these two men with the truck were taking him to some place where men would put him in a cage, not knowing he was part man himself, and leave him there for the rest of his life, to be stared at by a passing line of people?
He shuddered. The thought was too horrible to contemplate. Of course he would rather die.
But why was he thinking this way? He was going to be taken in a metal bird, and the metal birds flew between the jungles and the flatlands. The journey had already been made once, by Bubba himself, so he knew this to be fact. He surely did not need to punish himself with these horrible nightmares.
Up in the sky, above a field, a kestrel hovered. Bubba watched it drop like a red star from the heavens and hit something in the grasses, some small creature that wriggled for an instant, and then went limp and still in its talons, terror having stopped its heart. The kestrel lifted itself on its powerful wings, rising up into the vast blueness of the world of birds, into cloudland, and the seas of high winds. Bubba envied the kestrel, wanting to be out there himself. Bubba could have done to the kestrel what the kestrel had done to the small mammal.
Skelter did not even feel like passing the time of day with the other hares, and went to the far end of the runway where the vehicles were rumbling along, pulling flat carts of leather boxes, sacks and other paraphernalia around, to load into the belly of the aircraft. It was interesting, but not that interesting, so he lay with his head on his paws and watched the activity with only half an eye.
Bubba felt the truck pull to a halt. There were a lot of humans around this place. They were hurrying here and there, carrying things, most of them in their finery. Vehicles of all kinds were being parked, driven away, unloaded, loaded. Bubba knew that it was time to be taken off the truck himself. He felt the excitement surge through his breast. He was going to fly, without using his wings!
The cage was lifted off the back of the truck and put on a flat cart to be taken out to a metal bird. Bubba studied the landscape with sharp eyes, noting that there were lots of hares out on the short grass. If he were free now, they would not be gambolling around in such a carefree fashion.
A vehicle was hooked up to the cart and began to pull it along, making the cage sway, and Bubba rocked inside it. He was not afraid, he told himself, just a little excited. He was going on a long journey, to another land …
At that moment he saw the hare, the magical hare, lying by the side of the concrete strip, staring right at him. His mood changed instantly. No longer was he the passive creature, ready to be flown away in one of man’s metal birds. He was incensed, outraged, infuriated.
Something snapped inside his head. This was humiliating beyond all words. This was impossible to endure. The hare that had caused him so much trouble, had been starved to death, yet had risen again to torment the lord of the flatlands, was here to gloat over Bubba’s incarceration, over his deportation. It was monstrous.
The anger flared inside the great bird, until it was a raging fire, and he knew that if it was the last thing he ever did, he had to tear that hare asunder. Let it come back from the dead then, to show its smug features to the world! Let it piece itself together, when its bones lay in regurgitated fragments! Let it reincarnate itself, from inside Bubba’s belly!
Bubba flung himself at the door of the cage, smashing his body against the network of metal. He went berserk, throwing himself this way and that, rocking the cage back and forth.
The man on the vehicle began to get alarmed, but instead of stopping, he speeded up, probably hoping to get the cage off his hands that much sooner.
Skelter was suddenly wide awake as his brain sent jangling messages to his feet, run, run, run. The flogre was here, on their safe airfield. Not only was it here, it was going mad inside its cage, and seemed determined to get out. Skelter knew he had been seen by the creature. Their eyes had locked, and the recognition on both sides had been simultaneous.
Nevertheless, he did not run, for there was nowhere to hide. The airfield was as flat and open as an iced-over lake. He just had to hope that the terrible raptor did not burst out of the cage.
He remained frozen by the sight of the creature that seemed to hate him so much. It was some while since he had seen the great bird last, and it seemed to have grown since then. Its bulk covered half the cart that was carrying it. Skelter could see it smashing its heavy beak against the door of the cage, using it like a claw-hammer to break out of its temporary prison. Surely it would succeed soon? The bird of prey was immensely strong. Skelter had seen it snip telephone wires with its beak.
The cart began to go faster, and the cage swayed and rocked with the motion, until the inevitable happened. Bird and cage toppled from the speeding cart to crash on the concrete. The door to the cage broke open on impact with the peritrack, and the great flogre struggled through the hole, and was free.
* * *
Bubba shrieked in triumph as he took to the air, the wind rushing through his feathers.
Now was the time of the raptor! Now was the time of the hunter! Now was the final end of the magical hare.
High he flew at first, to feel the force of the sky in his bones. It had been so long. The power flooded into his wings, into his body, into his legs. His talons were hooks of iron: his beak was a curve of steel. In the spiral of his eye was the hare, far below, frozen in fear. Bubba would fall on that hare like the sun dropping out of the heavens.
Nothing on the earth could withstand the force of Bubba, the greatest bird of prey in the world, the largest raptor on the face of the sky, anywhere. He was the king of death, the mightiest flier, the terrible vengeance of the sky upon the earth. His was the heart of stone that dropped upon the running kind, and scooped them helplessly up in gin-trap claws. He was the scourge of the mammal caught in flight, its own heart beating fear into its brain.
He screamed again in triumph, and the wind screamed with him as he stooped to kill.
Skelter could not move. His heart had all but died. His brain was alive, but with nothing but terror. That he was about to be killed was certain, for there was no hiding place. His only hope was that the flogre would choose some other hare, some other poor creature, on which to descend. That would not happen, for he knew he was the goal, the target of the flogre’s hatred.
He watched the bird climb on its short but powerful wings, a great mottled creature that was king of the dome. It became a speck against the clouds and for a moment the highland hare lost it against the backdrop of blue, then it appeared again, growing rapidly larger by the second.
It was then he found enough vitality in his body to run, and run he did, out onto the concrete strip, careless of any wheels that might descend and crush him to paste.
* * *
Bubba saw the hare start to life, dash out onto the runway, and knew that he had him. There was nowhere for the creature to go. It was a stark target on the flatness of the concrete, and could be whisked away in an instant. The talons itched to tear flesh. The beak was primed to pierce pelt. The landscape
was a whirlpool, of which the hare was the centre, and red-eyed Bubba was the descending slayer. All else was a fog, a mist, scarlet before the eyes. There was only the hunter and the prey, and this spiralling madness of a lust to kill.
There was a noise, a roar, and unexpectedly another great bird stooped to kill, snatching Bubba out of the sky like a hawk on the wind takes a sparrow. The hunter had become the quarry, the circle fused, the cycle complete.
Bubba, intent on the hare, never saw the giant bird.
Then he was gone, a fluff of feathers on the wind.
At the last instant, Skelter looked up, saw the two shadows merge, the one swallowing the other. A great bird had come, a bird a thousand times bigger than the flogre, and had taken it in a single mouthful. The flogre had been there one moment, a menace with death in its eyes, and the next second it was nothing. There was a kind of muted phuuut sound, as the metal bird sucked the predator into one of its four mouths. Then down began falling like flakes of light snow.
Skelter stood and shivered as he watched the aircraft that had eaten the flogre land further down the runway. Then he heard someone calling his name, and realised that Eyebright was there, on the grass verge. She was telling him to get off the runway, or he would be squashed. It’s dangerous out there, she called, what on earth was he doing?
Skelter ran from that place, onto the trimmed grasslands, knowing that Eyebright and all the other hares were unaware of the drama that had been taking place on the runway. Skelter followed Eyebright back to her form, where she had left Scootie unattended. He found his leveret waiting for them, her large eyes brimming with concern.
Eyebright was angry that she had had to go looking for Skelter, who asked in the end, quite reasonably, ‘Why did you?’
Frost Dancers: A Story of Hares Page 38