Author: David Clement-Davies
Category: Nonfiction
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Deer that never trip or fall,
Discipline will set us free,
We swear eternal loyalty.
Mistrust was rife for the spying of fawn on hind and buck was working on the herd like a poison. Soon no deer trusted another and hinds were so frightened of saying anything in front of their children that even the young calves began to run riot. If a hind dared to scold or discipline a pricket she faced the threat of being reported for criticizing the Drailing.
The only exceptions to this general atmosphere of hatred and mistrust were among the selach, the single hinds with young fawns and no living mate in the herd. This group included Bracken and Canisp, as well as Tain and Thistle’s mothers, Shira and Alyth. There were about twenty such hinds in all and they usually kept together. Not all their stags had died in the battle that terrible night. Bankfoot’s father for instance had been lost to a wolf that spring, but most of the hinds’ stags had been among the Outriders. Although it was forbidden to speak that name in the herd now, the other stags knew it and it made them reluctant to look among the selach for a mate.
But the selach generally had a better time of it than the other deer, although Bracken was in constant fear for Rannoch. The timid hind had told him nothing of his real mother nor of the strange fawn mark on his brow, which she went on concealing with the mixture of leaves and berries. She hardly knew why she did it, for she understood little of Blindweed’s strange mumblings. But she did realize that it was better if the little fawn didn’t stand out in any way.
Blindweed had shown her how to make the dye and, every now and then, the old deer would visit the hind and her fawn and nod gravely as he watched Rannoch grow. Rannoch and the others were too young to enter the Drailing and, although it was very dangerous, Blindweed made sure that Rannoch and the other selach heard some of the old tales. He was especially interested to hear of Rannoch’s adventure in the forest and kept asking the calf questions he didn’t understand until Bhreac told him to shut up. Old Bhreac was a favourite among the selach and she often acted as nursemaid to the fawns. Blindweed and Bhreac were often seen arguing together but the two old Herla had grown very fond of one another and spent many hours grazing in the meadow.
Then there was Eloin. The night she had gone away with Sgorr, Eloin had pined for Brechin and Rannoch and grown so sick at heart that Drail thought she would die. But then something stirred in the doe’s heart and she grew well again, as well as any hind could, that is, who longs for her little calf. When normally she would have mated again and then returned to the hinds, the Draila made sure that she stayed close to the Home Oak. That Anlach Drail had tried to mate with her without success. But whereas the other hinds in his harem had all been dismissed, Eloin alone was kept constantly at Drail’s side. The hinds in the herd thought this very strange and Eloin could often be seen pacing the hillside and running up to the hillock where Brechin had died, to look out eagerly across the Herla, scouring the valley in the hope of spying Rannoch.
So, in the home herd, autumn grew old. The deer smelt the scent of winter on the wind and huddled together for warmth. The branches in the forest thinned and the meadow was covered in brittle leaves that drifted and churned across the ground, stirred by the winds that came down from the north. When the deer went down to the stream to drink and dipped their tongues in the water, they tasted ice on their lips and muttered together gravely, for they realized that the winter hurrying down from the mountains would be harsh and cruel.
It was late autumn when Bracken finally relented and allowed Rannoch greater rein to wander further from her side. It was one of those bright, cold days when the sunshine seems to turn the sky to liquid light and everything is filled with a restless expectation that Rannoch, Tain and Bankfoot set off to play by the top of the stream.
‘W-w-w-wait for me,’ panted Bankfoot, trying to keep up with the two fawns as they ran across the meadow. They had become firm friends and now spent most of their time together.
‘Come on, then,’ laughed Rannoch as the calf padded up to them.
‘Well then, what shall we do?’ asked Rannoch.
‘Let’s go to the lake,’ said Tain.
They all agreed this was a fine idea and set off up the meadow to the lake. It wasn’t really a lake but a place where the stream was widest as it entered the valley and hit a patch of soft gravel below a high, flat rock. A pool had formed where the ground fell away to the right and here the fawns loved to stand and watch the little fishes as they darted and shimmered back and forth among the long reeds.
When the three friends arrived they were delighted to see that the pool was swollen with rain from the hills and the stream was dancing and gurgling over the stones. The fawns skipped around the side of the pool in the sunlight, crying out as they spotted a fish or tiptoeing as close to the water as they could without falling in. They had been at this game for a while when Tain stopped them. He had heard something.
A group of deer were coming down the valley, singing as they went. Their song ended with the Drailing’s familiar chant, ‘We swear eternal loyalty’. Suddenly a group of ten prickets came into view and marched straight up to the youngsters at the pond.
‘H-ALT,’ cried the fawn at their head and the deer came to a stop. Rannoch shivered when he saw who it was. Braggle had just been promoted into the Drailing.
‘I told you we’d meet again,’ said Braggle as he saw
Rannoch. ‘I see fatty still expects you to protect him.’
‘You just sh-sh-shut up,’ stammered Bankfoot.
‘Oh dear,’ sneered Braggle, ‘we w-w-will have to teach you all some manners, w-w-won’t we?’
He turned to the assembled prickets.
‘Drailing!’ he shouted.
The battle was a brief one. Rannoch, Tain and Bankfoot fought hard but these prickets were much bigger and they were outnumbered by more than three to one. They kicked and buffeted the Drailing and many of them went home that day with black eyes and bruised ribs. But at the end of it Tain and Bankfoot had been subdued, while Rannoch was surrounded by five prickets. He was badly shaken.
‘Not so bold now, eh?’ said Braggle. ’And now I owe you.’
With that Braggle and the Drailing began to push the fawn towards the pool. The lip of the pool on this side was raised about three antlers above the water and Rannoch gulped as he looked down. But rather than allowing himself to be pushed in, Rannoch suddenly turned and, lashing out with his hind hoofs, one of which caught a Drailing on the muzzle, the little fawn dived head first into the pool. He hit the cold water with a splash and went down. His little legs kicked as he sank and his body span round and round as the startled fish shot away to hide in the reeds.
Down he went and the icy water rushed in around him, filling his nostrils and stinging his eyes. Rannoch hit the bottom but instinctively he pushed upwards with his legs and rose again towards the sunlight. His head broke the surface and he gasped desperately for air. But the life-giving breath was quickly swamped by water that made him choke as he went down again. Fawns do not naturally like water and Rannoch had no idea how to swim. He kicked again with his legs and this time the rhythm became more even and he started to paddle. Rannoch’s head broke the surface again and he managed to stay up, coughing and spluttering violently. Braggle waited just long enough to see him emerge a second time.
‘Now that’s a real soaking,’ he called delightedly. ‘Don’t you forget it.’
Highly pleased with himself, Braggle marched the prickets off down the meadow, singing as they went.
When they had gone Tain and Bankfoot ran over to the pool where Rannoch had managed to swim to the edge. Now he was climbing the bank where the ground shelved upwards, sneezing and shaking himself furiously.
‘Rannoch. Rannoch. Are you all right?’ shouted Tain. ’We thought you would drown.’
‘I’m fine,’ spluttered Rannoch. In truth he was furious, but it was only his pride that had really been hurt.
‘But that Brag
gle,’ snorted the bedraggled calf as he dripped onto firm ground. ‘Just you wait. Tain, Bankfoot, what’s the matter?’
Tain and Bankfoot were staring at Rannoch in amazement. The little fawns looked at each other wonderingly, their eyes as big as dandelions.
‘R-r-rannoch,’ stammered Bankfoot, ‘your forehead.’
‘What’s wrong with my forehead?’ said Rannoch irritably.
‘It’s wet, that’s all.’
‘No,’ said Tain. ’There.’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Rannoch and he turned back to the pond.
The fawn looked down and tried to see his reflection in the surface. The image was broken at first but then, in the sunlight, the water grew still again and Rannoch’s eyes opened wide with confusion. In the middle of his forehead, where the drenching he had just received had washed away Bracken’s dye of berries and leaves, there was a patch of pure white felt in the shape of a leaf.
‘It’s like an oak leaf,’ whispered Tain.
‘W-w-what does it mean?’ stammered Bankfoot, also gazing down into the water.
‘I don’t know,’ said Rannoch quietly, but he felt strange all over and his body was tingling. Rannoch was afraid.
But Tain came to the rescue.
‘Come on,’ he said sensibly, ‘Bracken will tell us what it is.’
Rannoch nodded and together the three fawns set off back to the home herd.
As they left a shadow fell across the surface of the pool and the head and antlers of a young stag shivered on the water. On the flat stone above, from the hiding place where he had seen everything, a Draila’s steady gaze followed the young fawns across the meadow. Then, turning away and trotting down the hill, the deer suddenly surged forward and raced towards Sgorr and the Home Oak.
Bracken was petrified when she saw Rannoch returning between Tain and Bankfoot with his strange fawn mark open to the world. She shepherded them straight over to a thicket, away from the herd, scolding and cajoling them all the while. Luckily, so close to winter, the herd were too busy feeding to have noticed the three fawns coming up the valley, let alone pay any attention to a fawn with a white fawn mark on his forehead. Bracken had secreted a store of leaves and berries ready for the winter and, as the three fawns watched, she began pawing the ground, preparing the mixture.
‘There,’ she said at last when she had rubbed it onto Rannoch’s forehead. ‘That’s better. You gave me such a fright.’
Rannoch suddenly realized why his mother had put him through the ritual of the berries, but he was too bewildered to speak. Bankfoot was the first to pluck up his courage.
‘B-b-bracken. W-w-w-why must he cover it up?’ Bracken looked down at Bankfoot and tried to smile.
‘Because, my dear, times are bad in the herd right now. So it’s best, that’s all. It’s a special mark and some deer might not like it. They might be jealous.’
‘Do you mean the Draila?’ whispered Tain.
‘Yes.’ Bracken nodded. ‘And others. It’s better that
Rannoch looks just like you and me.’
At the mention of a special mark Bankfoot looked at his friend with a new wonder.
‘But I think it’s very f-f-f-fine,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Bracken, ‘it’s very fine. But it doesn’t mean that Rannoch is different in any way. You must listen to what I say and you must promise me that you won’t breathe a word of this to another Herla. It’ll be our secret.’
The fawns stared back at Bracken nervously, but they understood the seriousness in the hind’s voice.
‘We promise,’ they said.
‘Good. Now run along the both of you. It’ll be Larn soon and your mothers will be wondering where you are.’
Bracken led Rannoch up the valley to a patch of mossy heather near the other grazing selach and the hind lay down. Rannoch lay next to her, rested his little head on her flank and closed his eyes. Bracken began to ruminate, chewing steadily as she gazed ahead. As she munched, her eyes were thoughtful and very grave.
‘My poor Rannoch,’ whispered Bracken softly, ‘you don’t understand any of this, do you?’
Bracken looked down at Eloin’s fawn. In truth neither did she. But Bracken had been right to waste no time in covering the fawn mark. As soon as Sgorr heard the news of a Herla with a white oak leaf on his forehead, he sent orders that the fawn be found and brought to him immediately. Members of the Draila were already moving through the valley, searching for the strange deer. The hinds shook their heads in bewilderment as the stags moved among them, prodding their frightened calves and glaring down into their faces.
Deer are naturally superstitious, so the news of an oak leaf was soon moving through the valley like wildfire. But nowhere they went could the Draila find evidence of the calf, and after a while the young captain who had reported it himself began to worry he had been mistaken. Two Draila reached Bracken and Rannoch at Larn. But Bracken shook her head and, seeing nothing out of the ordinary about the fawn at her side, the Draila moved on. The hind got up immediately and led Rannoch through the grazing selach to an old deer standing on her own.
‘I’ve heard,’ whispered the kindly old doe as the two came up. ‘How is the little one?’
‘He’s fine. For the moment,’ said Bracken. ‘But Bhreac. We must do something. It won’t be long before the secret’s out.’
Bhreac nodded.
‘Perhaps we should go,’ she said. ’Blindweed is always saying that if Rannoch’s secret is known we should get away from here. With what has been happening in the herd he may be right. I don’t understand anything of this prophecy but I know that Drail and Sgorr wouldn’t hesitate to harm a fawn. But where can we go? Winter is here already and the stags will be faster than a hind, a fawn and an old doe.’ Bracken was touched that Bhreac was so ready to go with them.
‘We must go into the mountains,’ she said half-heartedly.
‘Into the High Land, as Bandach said. It’s the only place where Drail won’t be able to find us. But whatever we do, we must do it soon.’
‘Three deer travelling alone in winter will be easy prey,’
said Bhreac gravely.
Bracken shivered.
‘What’s wrong, Mamma?’ asked Rannoch. ‘Why do we have to go?’
‘Hush, my dear,’ whispered Bhreac. ’Your mother and I are trying to think.’
‘Perhaps some of the others might come with us,’ said
Bracken hopefully. ‘There’s Canisp and Shira. They’ve talked about leaving the herd.’
Rannoch’s ears perked up, for that meant Tain and Bankfoot too.
‘No, my dear,’ said Bhreac gently, ‘we cannot endanger any of the others. Besides, seven deer would be easier to follow than three. No, we must go alone.’
Bracken nodded, though she was disappointed and terrified of the journey that now faced her and the calf.
‘Don’t worry, Mamma,’ said Rannoch, shaking his tail,
‘I’ll be with you.’
‘Bravely spoken, little one,’ said Bhreac. ’And so you shall.’
Bhreac lowered her head and licked Rannoch on the ears but when she looked at Bracken her old eyes were grave.
‘I wish I knew where Blindweed was,’ she sighed. ‘He may be an old fool, but he would tell us what to do.’
At that very moment Blindweed was being escorted towards the Home Oak. Five Draila had been sent to fetch the storyteller and bring him before the Lord of Herds. The old stag tossed his head and snorted angrily as the Draila pushed and prodded him up the hill and kept grumbling that he had never been treated so badly in his life. By the time they reached the Home Oak Blindweed was seething with indignation. Sgorr was at the tree, standing beside Drail and ten stags who formed Drail’s inner bodyguard. Eloin was there too and she flashed the old deer a terrified look as he approached. He knew immediately that something was wrong.
‘Blindweed. It is good of you to come,’ said Drail benevolently. ‘It is so long since we ha
ve seen you at the Home Oak.’
Blindweed lowered his antlers.
‘The lord is kind,’ he answered coldly, ‘but I fear you have little need of my services.’
‘Not at all,’ said Sgorr. ’But we have been busy and you know how it is.’
Blindweed nodded slowly.
‘I know how it is. How may I be of service to the lord?’
‘Blindweed, Lord Drail finds he misses your stories and your wisdom,’ said Sgorr slyly, ‘and this evening we would listen to the Lore again.’
‘You surprise me,’ said Blindweed, looking nervously at Eloin. ’In the herd it is dangerous to speak of such things.’ Eloin’s eyes were fixed on Blindweed’s now.
‘My dear Blindweed. You must understand that for some of the deer it is better not to fill their heads with strange stories that frighten and confuse them. They just wouldn’t understand. But among deer like ourselves, it’s different. Now Drail would be entertained.’
‘Very well. A story of Starbuck, or of Herne, perhaps?’
‘Later. I myself am very fond of the fawn’s tales. But first we would hear the Prophecy.’
Eloin’s body flinched and she almost started, but Blindweed showed no emotion.
‘The Prophecy,’ he said blankly. ‘Why should Lord Drail want to hear that old thing? There are far better tales to while away an evening and much less silly ones at that. The first stone for instance, when Herne came down—’
‘Blindweed,’ said Sgorr less gently. ‘The Prophecy, if you please.’
Blindweed was desperately trying to think of some way out but it was obvious that he could not avoid reciting. So he began slowly, falteringly and as he spoke on the hill even
Sgorr shivered. But when he had finished Sgorr came forward and peered at him coldly.
‘My dear Blindweed. It was well spoken. But haven’t you missed some of it out?’
‘I may have done. It is very old and there are many verses.’
‘Indeed,’ said Sgorr. ‘But I distinctly remember a part about a fawn mark.’
Blindweed had indeed left out this verse but now he feared it would give too much away to hold back any longer. All he wanted to do was find out whether they had captured Rannoch already.