Fire Bringer Read online

  FIRE BRINGER

  David Clement-Davies

  ‘One of the best anthropomorphic fantasies known to me…’ Richard Adams, author of Watership Down.

  Phoenix Ark Press

  Part One -

  1 Birth and Prophecy

  ‘When the Lore is bruised and broken, Shattered like a blasted tree, Then shall Herne be justly woken, Born to set the Herla free.’ Herla Prophecy

  A lone red deer was grazing across the glen swaying through the deep tangle of heather which covered the hillside. The stag’s coat glinted russet and gold in the dying sunlight slanting down the valley and on its head a pair of ragged antlers reared into the sky, like coral or the branches of a winter oak.

  The stag was a royal with twelve spikes, or tines, on its proud head and its antlers marked it out instantly as an animal of power and distinction. The antlers’ beams were covered in summer velvet, the downy grey coating that lines new antlers as they grow. From their base, the two sharp brow tines flayed out like curved daggers. Above them the bez tines were slightly smaller and, further up the beams, the trez tines rose larger again, before the antlers flowered into their high cups.

  The stag’s fur was already thick but this could not hide a series of cuts and wounds on its sides and haunches, the marks of innumerable battles, and a livid scar that ran from the bottom of its neck clear to the base of its spine. The deer was not an unusual sight in the glen, for although this was long ago, in the days when the Great Land was still known to many men as Scotia, red deer were as plentiful then as they are in our own time. But it was unusual to see such a magnificent animal and such a splendid head of antlers.

  Suddenly the stag flinched and swung its head towards the beech wood on the edge of the western slope. Its ears pressed forward, its muscles tensed and its nostrils began to flare, sending out wreaths of vapour that hung in the air. The stag’s huge eyes pierced the thickening twilight, casting restlessly along the shadow of the trees. But the scent it had caught on the breeze was lost and the deer’s head returned to its mossy pasture, nosing through the undergrowth, rooting out the juiciest of the summer stems.

  As it went the deer’s legs carried it gently back and forth like rushes on a pond. Now and then its hoofs would slip into a crevice, hidden below the deepening covering of vegetation, but the stag never once lost its footing. Its great body would compensate instinctively, like some huge yet graceful cat, so that it seemed almost to be a part of the landscape around it, inseparable from the contours which made up its home.

  All around the silence was deepening with the evening. The stillness was broken only by the distant cry of a goshawk glorying in the hunt, the lonely hallooing of a night owl or the cracking flurry of a pheasant as it broke cover and exploded into the gloom. But everyday sounds like these did not frighten such an experienced animal. The stag’s body might brace to deflect the sudden violence of the noise, but it went on feeding. A hind or a young buck might have been unnerved by these sounds. But not a beast that had spent so many years in the Corps. Not the veteran of countless battles. Not a deer whose sight, smell and sense had taken him so quickly up the ranks of the herd. Not Brechin, Captain of the Outriders.

  Brechin had reached a rocky hillock, purple with vegetation, and he was just settling in to enjoy a thick sprig of gorse when he suddenly threw up his head again. Now his eyes shone with recognition at the scent he had just caught again. But this time Brechin snorted and stamped the ground angrily. He dropped his antlers, then, aiming his head towards the north-west corner of the wood, he raced off along the edge of the valley, tossing his head as he ran. As he neared the wood he began to swing his antlers right and left in a great arc and then, abruptly, no more than three branches’ length from the trees, he crashed to a halt and stamped the earth.

  ‘So,’ he shouted furiously. ‘Now Herla spy on Herla?’ Brechin had used the deer’s name for their own kind, but it brought no response. From far away the cry of an eagle haunted the breeze but nothing stirred in the wood.

  ‘Come, I’m no green hind to be stalked like a rabbit,’ continued Brechin. Show yourself. I nosed you on the other side of the valley.’

  At this the trees started to rustle and the antlers and head of a young stag pushed through the leaves. A red deer stepped into the open. There was a splash of black on its muzzle and its antlers were in their fourth growth, with eight spikes, two tines at the top of each beam and its bez and brow tines below. It was also in thick velvet. Brechin’s eyes softened a little as he recognized a youngster from the Corps.

  ‘Well, Bandach,’ said the captain coldly, ‘I never thought I’d find you creeping about the wood like a lost brailah.’ The young deer’s antlers lifted immediately. For a deer to be called a brailah, or hedgehog, is a great insult and there was a challenge in his reply.

  ‘I’m no brailah, Captain Brechin,’ answered the newcomer slowly, ‘and I’ll fight any deer that says so.’

  ‘Bravely spoken, Bandach.’ Brechin smiled. ‘Then perhaps you’ll tell me why you’ve been watching me since I topped the hill.’

  Bandach’s eyes flickered but still he held the captain’s gaze.

  ‘I bring a message from Drail.’ Brechin nodded calmly.

  ‘So, now even you spy for Drail,’ he said sadly. Drail and Sgorr had spies everywhere nowadays.

  ‘I was watching you, Captain Brechin. But not spying. Bandach spies for nobody. Not even the Lord of Herds.’

  ‘The Lord of Herds,’ snorted Brechin contemptuously. ‘I’d never have used such a title when I was your age. Isn’t ‘‘Lord of the Herd’’ enough without Drail wanting to rule throughout the Low Lands?’

  Bandach didn’t answer.

  ‘Very well, then,’ said Brechin, pretending to graze but listening closely, ‘deliver your message.’

  ‘Drail has summoned the council,’ said Bandach.’At Larn.’

  ‘Summons, meetings. Can that soft-foot think of nothing else? Well then, tell Drail I’m busy.’

  ‘But, Captain Brechin—’

  ‘Enough. Drail knows that one of my does is near her time. I must see to her.’

  Bandach stirred back and forth nervously. Brechin was famous for his shows of disrespect towards Drail and admired by many for it, including Bandach himself, but such open disregard for his orders could mean serious trouble. Drail would not flinch at punishing the messenger for the message.

  ‘Captain Brechin,’ he continued more courteously, ‘when may I say you will come?’

  Brechin looked out across the valley. The light was fading quickly now and in the creeping haze clouds of gadflies were billowing into the air. A deep stillness was settling in over the glen and as the deer looked up he saw the evening star specking through the darkening blue. Larn, the time when the great star brings together the Herla to ruminate and discuss the day, was close at hand.

  ‘When I can, Bandach,’ Brechin snorted and with a toss of his head the captain turned and ran along the edge of the wood. But before he had reached the end of the trees the deer stopped and looked back.

  ‘And Bandach,’ he called, his strong voice echoing across the valley, ‘if you must, you can give Drail my apologies. Herne be with you.’

  With that Brechin was gone.

  The young deer stood motionless. He was shaking but he was deeply relieved that Brechin had tempered his reply to Drail. Drail had grown increasingly unpredictable. As the sun finally vanished beyond the horizon Bandach nodded his head with a new resolution.

  ‘And Herne be with you too,’ he whispered, and disappeared into the trees.

  The evening star was already bright by the time Brechin reached the home valley. He paused on the brow of the hill and looked down at the herd grazing across the grass below. I
n front of him there must have been two hundred red deer, feeding quietly in the twilight. Some were sitting down to ruminate, bringing back into their mouths the grass, bark and berries they had collected during the day and stored in their bellies; chewing steadily on the rich pellets to release the nourishing juices.

  In the meadow that opened out at the bottom of the valley the deer were made up mostly of hinds, the females, with their young fawns suckling greedily or nestling under their legs. Much further up the valley the stags were set well apart in stag parties or grazing alone in the glen, the older stags higher up the hill. Except at the time of the rut, when the stags fight to establish their harems and wrestle for control of a group of hinds, males and females in a wild red deer herd live apart, often at some distance. It was unusual for them to be so close now, for it was July and nearly all the hinds had calved weeks ago. The youngsters were already venturing out to make friends or testing the strength of their young legs.

  As Brechin watched he spotted a hind who had been in his harem two seasons before and a yearling grazing nearby. Brechin’s bloodline ran strong in the herd and he recognized one of his own calves. Its first head of antlers was coming, but Brechin smiled as he realized that he didn’t even know the youngster’s name. No matter, he thought to himself. It was only right for them to be distant while the calf was still with the hind. When he carried his second or third head Brechin would get to know him properly and start to teach him the ways of the Outrider.

  As Brechin looked on he felt the powerful protective instinct that is the bloodright of the Outrider rise in his belly and was relieved to see the silhouettes of his fellow Outriders crowning the neighbouring hills. Their antlers rose and fell as they fed and watched in the calm evening. He could make out the thick, shaggy form of Greyneck, the quick, youthful movements of Tarn, and the single, ragged antler of Crinnan.

  Brechin walked on slowly until a snort came from his left. Two stags were racing across the ground to meet him.

  ‘Who goes? Hernling or Lera?’ one of them called.

  Lera is the deer’s word for all animals, except of course man, but the deer see themselves as different; they are Hernling, creatures that enjoy the special protection of the forest god Herne.

  ‘Hernling,’ replied Brechin. ’Friend of the forest.’

  ‘Come then and tread lightly,’ came the formal greeting and two deer were at Brechin’s side. It was Spey and Captain Straloch. Both were royals, with twelve tines fanning above their brows.

  ‘Brechin,’ said Straloch breathlessly, ‘we hardly heard you.’

  ‘No, Straloch,’ replied Brechin with a smile. ‘How is the herd?’

  ‘The evening goes well. Tarn nosed fox beyond the stream just before Larn, but the scent has gone. We have warned the hinds to be careful.’

  ‘Good.’ Brechin nodded. ‘But see they keep a keen eye.’ A deer herd is at its most vulnerable just after fawning.

  The herd lives in constant threat of attack and a fox is fully capable of taking a young fawn. But with their new-born calves the female deer are easily frightened and, as much as the loss of a young fawn, the Outriders now feared a stampede. Deer are flight animals but when the herd is with very young calves their habits change dramatically. Flight can be disastrous for the fawns and so the herd tend to bunker down, usually in a shaded valley like this one, and rely on the Outriders to scare off predators and fight if necessary.

  ‘What news of the council meeting?’ asked Brechin.

  ‘Council meeting?’ said Spey with surprise. ‘We’ve heard nothing of a council meeting.’

  ‘I thought not.’ Brechin nodded gravely.

  ‘Is anything wrong, Captain?’ asked Straloch.

  ‘Perhaps. Drail sent a message that he has summoned the council. But all the Outriders are here. He knows that the council cannot meet without the captains of the Outriders present.’

  ‘Shall I call them?’

  ‘No, Spey. Stay here and keep watch. The fawns are more important.’

  With that Brechin ran on down the hill. As he dipped into the meadow he saw a group of Corps members trotting up the opposite hill towards the Home Oak. So a meeting was to take place. A full moon was climbing the sky now and in its strong, blue light Brechin made out Drail’s massive form moving slowly up and down the lines of assembling stags. He snorted in disgust as he spotted an antlerless deer behind him. It was Sgorr, Drail’s second in command.

  ‘Hatred and fear,’ said Brechin sadly to himself, ‘that’s all they are breeding in the herd. And cruelty.’

  Brechin turned west towards the little stream that bubbled along the meadow at the bottom of the valley. Nearby, in the sludgy ground by the water, a hind had made a wallow and was rolling around in the delicious, cooling mud. Brechin plashed over onto to a strip of green that edged the trees, where six or seven hinds were feeding, chewing steadily on the cud, and raced forward as he caught sight of the single rowan tree.

  Beneath it Eloin, the hind Brechin had mentioned earlier, was lying on her side in the long grass. Her belly was swollen and as she slept her flanks rose and fell noiselessly and every now and then her smooth body twitched with pain. Hinds can mate as early as two, especially woodland deer which tend to mature quicker than deer that live in the open, but there is some variety in their breeding habits. Eloin was a five-year-old now and had mated with Brechin late the previous winter. At four she was not exactly old to mate for the first time, but some in the herd whispered that the beautiful hind had been holding herself back. The pregnancy had been an unusually long one too and Eloin was one of the last to drop her fawn. Brechin knew that it meant danger for both calf and hind.

  He padded up to her side and as he looked down his eyes grew dark with worry and love. The thought of losing Eloin filled him with an aching confusion.

  When red deer have mated they separate and do not show much concern for one another, especially during calving. But although Brechin’s strength and prowess had won him seven hinds the previous autumn, he was unusually fond of Eloin. Knowing that she was having difficulties calving, he had spent the last eight suns checking up on her.

  The most unusual part of their coupling, though, was that last season Brechin had not even had to win Eloin in the rut. When the stags fight for their hinds the home valleys echo with the clatter and scrape of clashing antlers. After the victorious deer have chosen their mates one or two of the younger deer may step in to claim the remaining hinds. But very occasionally a brave hind will come forward and attempt to choose a mate for herself. She risks being gored in the process but when Eloin had padded up to Brechin and, without even lowering her head as was expected of her, had touched the base of both his antlers with her muzzle, Brechin had simply muzzled her in return and together they had walked away. All agreed that their mating was made by Herne.

  All but Drail. He had wanted Eloin for himself and when she had stood with a captain of the Outriders he had been consumed with jealousy. Perhaps that was part of the reason for the change in him, thought Brechin now, as he looked down at his beautiful hind. He lowered his head and licked Eloin’s face.

  ‘Eloin,’ he whispered softly. ’Eloin. Wake up.’

  The hind opened her eyes and tried to lift her head.

  ‘Brechin. I was sleeping.’

  ‘Lie still, Eloin. You must rest and be strong.’

  ‘Forgive me,’ said the hind, sinking back into the grass.‘I’m too weak.’

  ‘When is your time, Eloin?’

  ‘Soon. Very soon now. He kicks like Herne.’

  ‘Will you be the last?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Bracken dropped her fawn this morning.’ Brechin knew the name. Bracken was a doe who had stood with one of Brechin’s Outriders last autumn, an ageing stag of about ten years named Salen. She was a slow hind and rather timid but was still quite a catch for Salen. He had had a bad fall the previous summer and this would be his last season as an Outrider. He had been lucky to have any hinds at al
l, let alone a new-born calf.

  ‘Salen will be very proud,’ said Brechin delightedly. ‘Is it a buck or a doe?’

  Eloin looked back sadly at her mate.

  ‘Neither, Brechin,’ she said. ‘The calf was stillborn.’

  Eloin looked towards the trees and in the shadow of an oak Brechin saw Bracken. She was standing quite still in the grass. Her head was tilted slightly to one side. Every now and then her haunches would flinch and her muzzle drop to nudge the little body lying motionless at her feet. It was a dead calf.

  Eloin laid her head on the earth again. One of the most painful sights in the forest is a mother deer and her dead fawn. The hinds will stay by their fawns for days, waiting for them to move or nuzzling them to feed, until at last, filled with endless confusion, they simply walk away.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Eloin, sensing Brechin’s concern.

  ‘Bracken was weak but I’ll bear you a fine little Outrider.’

  ‘Eloin,’ Brechin whispered, ‘I must leave you for a while. Drail has summoned the council to the Home Oak.’

  ‘And the Outriders?’

  ‘Bandach says we are called but when I got back to the home valley none of them knew anything about it.’

  Eloin stirred and tried to raise her head again. A deer’s instinct for danger is its chief weapon in the world.

  ‘Be careful, Brechin,’ she said. ‘You know how jealous

  Drail is.’

  Brechin snorted.

  ‘If Drail wants you he must fight for you at Anlach,’ he said. ‘That is the law. And if he fights I could take the old soft-foot with one antler. And a broken one at that.’

  ‘Yes. But there’s Sgorr and the younger stags. They have no duty to sprig nor thorn. Be careful, that’s all.’

  ‘I’ll be careful and when I return I won’t leave you till you have calved.’

  Brechin pressed his muzzle gently between Eloin’s ears and turned away. Across the stream he spotted an old hind named Bhreac grazing on the bank and he ran straight up to her.

  ‘Bhreac,’ he said, ‘Eloin is near her time and I’m worried. Will you watch her for me?’