Author: David Clement-Davies
Category: Nonfiction
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The hinds scented the place and they agreed that the marks belonged to red deer. They must have been here no more than a sun before. Then Shira noticed the trees. Here and there, on the edge of the wood that banked the slope, the trunks were pale where bark had been rubbed away and the hinds saw a clear browse line where the leaves and branches had been eaten, leaving a visible line across the forest wall. As they scented the place they smelt a strong musk boundary too.
From the extent of the damage the hinds realized that quite a large population of red deer must be nearby. They huddled together to discuss what they should do and eventually decided to follow the northern edge of the loch, going east up the valley to try and avoid them.
But suddenly Bracken spotted them, high up on the western slopes where the trees cleared: three stags. Their antlers were well developed and they looked well fed and strong. It was too late to run. When the first stag caught sight of them he raised his head and let out a deep bellow. It alerted the other two and then two more stags appeared from the trees. The deer came together and then one set off swiftly up the valley, trotting forward briskly with his head held high, as the other four turned and ran down towards the water. By the time the stags reached them the hinds had formed up in front of the calves and were waiting nervously with their ears raised. The stag who had bellowed, a ten-pointer with a surprisingly small body for such a heavy head, was the first to speak, and when he did so his tone was hardly welcoming.
‘I am Birch,’ he said gruffly. ‘We’ve been expecting you. Drail has sent scouts across the Low Lands.’
The hinds started at the mention of Drail.
‘Where is the one with the mark?’ asked Birch.
‘Over here, Captain,’ cried a larger stag named Braan, who was a four-year-old. He was standing over Rannoch and peering down at the leaf on his head.
‘And I’m his mother,’ said Bracken, stepping forward angrily. ‘And if any stag wishes him harm—’
‘His mother?’ said Birch, his tone softening a little. ‘It is as we had heard. But come, the Outriders will take you to the Home Oak.’
There was little they could do, so with Birch and the stags flanking them, the deer were led along the loch towards the home herd. As they walked Alyth talked to Braan and, though he ventured little, she did manage to discover that they were all Outriders. It seemed that the organization of the herd was very much the same as it had been in the hinds’ own herd in the days before Sgorr.
When they reached the main herd the deer were spread out above the loch by the edge of a large forest, the hinds already well apart from the stags for it was past Anlach, the rut was long over and the harems had broken down. The stags were sprinkled loosely on the hillside above them, some in the trees and others on the open slopes. They were mostly apart from one another too, for though it would soon pass, the enmity they had felt for each other during Anlach was still flowing strongly through their veins. Some, however, had begun to form into stag parties and now and then the hinds would hear the reassuring click of antlers as they welcomed each other.
Everywhere the hinds saw signs of the past rut though, for in the ground near the loch were the drying remnants of muddy wallows which rutting stags so love to bask in before Anlach, rolling around in the sloshing earth and showing off in front of the hinds. On the hills and among the trees there were also the tell-tale scrapes made to mark out territory as the stags move in on the females and prepare to make their stands. The sight pleased the hinds greatly, for they hardly dared remember what it was like to be normal deer.
The Home Oak was set back to the west, within the forest itself, for this was essentially a woodland herd which explained why the majority of the deer were so large. With an abundance of acorns and rich browsing, woodland deer will grow bigger than deer that live mostly in the open.
In a clearing by the Home Oak the hinds could see a group of stags surrounding the lord. The deer who had set off from Birch earlier was here too and it was evident as they approached that he had brought news of their arrival in the valley, for the guard stags immediately nodded them through without a challenge. As they trotted through the trees they began to see deer all around them, some browsing on lichen and moss, others on bark, and as they approached the oak they saw the lord sitting down quietly, his breath smoking in the winter air.
His coat was a rich winter brown, with the last gleams of russet on the back. He was very shaggy and he had a magnificent throat sack and, as a twelve-pointer, a splendid pair of antlers that rose proudly above him. They were easily as impressive as Brechin’s had been, with beautiful pointed cups. He was understandably proud of these antlers, which at Anlach had won him lordship yet again, but though he was a royal he had already reached his eleventh year and he knew that it would not be long before he faced a real challenge to his authority.
But now he had secured his place once more and he continued to rule the herd as he had done for five summers, benevolently and with wisdom. He did not get up as the hinds and fawns neared and sniffed the air. Birch approached him respectfully and talked to him for a while before he rose slowly and stepped forward to survey the newcomers. He seemed to be looking for something and when he saw Rannoch, who was standing behind Bracken, he nodded to himself and began to address the group.
‘I am Tharn, Lord above the Loch,’ he said in a quiet, steady voice, ‘We’ve been expecting you. Members of the Draila came looking for you not six suns since.’
Tharn watched with interest as fear flickered across the hinds’ faces.
‘Do not worry,’ said Tharn almost angrily, ‘I sent them packing. Tharn does not bow to a ‘‘Lord of Herds’’.’
Bracken looked at the others with relief.
‘You are very lucky though,’ said Tharn, ‘that you didn’t stray to the west or the east. For everywhere in the Low Lands nowadays the Herla have become soft-foots, even the woodland deer. There are other herds that would have handed you over without another thought. Well now, let the little one step forward.’
The hinds were silent as Rannoch stepped gingerly into the open. The stags around Tharn came in closer to have a look and soon they were muttering and nodding to themselves gravely.
‘Well,’ said Tharn, when he had finished scrutinizing Rannoch, ‘this is a rare thing. Very rare. We shall have to see. I do not know what you plan, but if you wish to stay with us for a while the herd must sit in council. Tonight you are safe though. I give you my word.’
The hinds and their calves were led back out of the forest, down the slope and across the valley to another part of the wood where the does were wintering. The lead hind was a doe called Selta and she welcomed them warmly, as did the others, asking them questions about their journey and admiring the little ones. But when they saw Rannoch many of the hinds fell silent and moved away.
The others, especially Bankfoot and Willow, felt bitterly sorry for their friend, but they too were soon caught up in the warmth of the welcome. The loch seemed to have a strangely calming effect on the herd, which was clearly a happy one. There were no Draila here and no Drailing and the forest gave excellent browsing. It was rich in oak, beech, ash and hawthorn, with plenty of bramble and even a good crop of ivy. The loch also gave the herd a natural protection from the south and, of course, as much water as they could ever care to drink. Bracken and Rannoch were sipping at its edge the next day, when Birch ran up to them.
‘Herne be with you,’ he called politely. ‘Forgive me for disturbing you, Bracken, but Tharn would like to see you and the little one.’
The three of them ran up to the forest and the Home Oak and as they approached they saw that Alyth was already there. Tharn greeted them and looked at Rannoch for a long time before he spoke.
‘The council has met,’ he said at last, ‘and we have decided to ask you to stay with us, if you will. All of you.’
There was something particular in the way Tharn said ‘all of you’, and Bracken looked at him keenly.
‘
Yes, Bracken.’ Tharn nodded gravely. ‘There was doubt about the little one. Some of the stags believe a mark like his to be an evil omen and there is much superstition among the Herla here. One stag in particular, a hart named Colquhar, was against him staying. But don’t worry,’ added Tharn, seeing the distress on Bracken’s face, ‘that is done with now.’
Tharn tossed his antlers back and stamped the ground. He had had to fight Colquhar himself, only that morning. Alyth and Bracken thanked the Lord of the Herd but as they were setting off from the oak, Tharn called Bracken back.
‘Bracken, I wanted to speak with you alone,’ said the deer.
‘Walk with me a while.’
Bracken nodded and told Rannoch to go back with Alyth. Then the hind and stag set off through the trees, the sun spangling their backs as it filtered through the leaves.
‘Tell me, Bracken,’ said Tharn when they were well away from any other deer, ‘what do you know of the Prophecy?’
‘Prophecy?’ said Bracken, without a flicker of emotion.
‘Yes.’ Tharn smiled. ‘When the Draila came to us with news of a fawn who had been stolen from the herd, they also tried to hide it. Don’t they think we know the old stories? I knew immediately that a fawn with an oaken mark was of more importance than the Draila were trying to make out. Not that that matters, for I am lord here and I will not be ordered around by Drail or Sgorr or any of his brailah. But tell me,’ he added, dropping his voice, ‘do you think he is the one?’
Bracken kept perfectly calm.
‘Lord Tharn,’ she said quietly, after a while, ‘a white fawn mark like Rannoch’s may be strange. But the prophecy – there are many other things in it.’
‘Ah yes,’ agreed Tharn, ‘that’s what I told the others. Your fawn is no changeling, so you yourself are proof perhaps that this is just one of Drail’s twisted fantasies.’
Bracken was silent as she struggled to hide her emotions.
‘But Bracken,’ Tharn went on, ‘have you noticed anything. . . anything different about your little one?’
Bracken shook her head.
‘No matter,’ said Tharn wistfully. ‘No matter. It’s just that if there were anything in it, I believe such a one should be treasured. Yes, treasured indeed.’
They had come to the edge of the forest and Tharn was looking down across the loch now with a sadness in his eyes. Bracken was about to speak when Tharn suddenly shook himself.
‘Just listen to me. I’m getting old and foolish,’ he snorted, ‘and that, Bracken, is what I really wanted to talk to you about. For my time above the loch is coming to an end and when it comes I cannot guarantee your fawn’s safety. Whether there is any truth in this prophecy or not, these are bad times in the Low Lands and there are many, even in this herd, who would look with a cold eye on Rannoch. There are others still who seek Drail’s favours. Colquhar for one. I will do everything in my power, but you must be ready, Bracken. If anything happens to me you must be prepared to fly again.’
When Bracken reached the hinds again, Alyth, Canisp and the others were eagerly discussing the news. There was little hesitation that they should stay, for a while at least, for they had already made friends and the winter was getting worse. So the hinds decided to settle with the deer above the loch and try to make a new life for themselves.
Winter tightened its grip. The snow came in waves of white and on the edges of the loch the waters froze, stretching out sheeted ice fingers. The wolves called from the mountains and the air in the valley was like steel. Nature spread out her arms across Scotia and blew her icy breath across the mountainsides until the flakes of white piling against them trembled and turned to stone.
But as surely as calf follows hind, so spring came again to the Great Land. The earth span and the sunlight warmed Nature’s hands and she turned her breath softly on the rivers again, melting the ice sheets where the otter had skated, and sending streams of cool water rushing down the valleys from the mountain eyries to greet the sea. The forest bloomed and the crocuses pushed their heads through the heather as the shoots of young grass stretched themselves and sang. Everywhere the Lera opened their eyes, throwing off winter’s sleep, and raced out to meet the season’s day.
Among the deer, under the calm eye of Tharn, there had been peace. Rannoch and Bracken had stayed close to each other during the cold time, for although Tharn had given instructions that the fawn was to be treated like any of the other deer, there were still many who were suspicious of him.
They soon got used to browsing in the trees and nestling in the thick undergrowth to sleep, and in truth they found it much warmer in the wood.
Time and again Rannoch had asked his mother why the deer treated him so strangely and if he really was different, but Bracken had always nuzzled him and told him it was only because they were jealous. With time, though, the Herla forgot some of their fear of the mark and by the time the snows began to thaw and the deer started to scent the spring, the hinds and their fawns felt that perhaps they had found a new home.
It was a bold spring morning, still cold but with the distant sun bringing the promise of new life. Across the loch a blue mist hung low with the dawn, in thin bands that stretched across the forest like tree lines browsed by deer. The mist hung in the air, dissolving in places and curling in wisps from the ground, so it looked as though the frost that glinted like crushed diamonds on the earth was lifting upwards. The light that slanted through the trees above the loch shone and faded into bands of silver and black that made the shadows glow. Along the edge of the forest the branches hovered in this half light as though floating on the breeze that whispered down the valley.
Suddenly a branch moved in the forest and began to sway through the trees. A stag was making his way along the edge of the wood, stopping every now and then to browse noisily on the young shoots already budding, tearing at the juicy twigs and munching heavily with his strong jaw. He was about six years old and a ten-pointer. He had a keen look and at every sound he would swing his antlers left and right to challenge the distant noise. His winter coat was thinning but his throat was still shaggy. His name was Colquhar.
As Colquhar came to the end of one portion of the trees he suddenly stopped and, lifting his head, he pushed out his chest. His front right hoof began to paw the ground and his head moved slowly left as he peered down over the loch. He was looking towards a stony outcrop now, about halfway down the hill, and as he watched, his eyes narrowed into a hard, unfriendly stare. If those eyes had been arrows they could have carried his anger as swift as starlings across the valley to where two fawns were walking through the sunlight.
‘But why, Rannoch?’ Willow was saying, as the young deer reached the group of stones. ‘The others want you to play.’
‘No they don’t,’ said Rannoch. ’Besides, that’s all they ever think about. Play.’ Rannoch had grown and the two furry pedicles above his head were already quite pronounced.
‘But I don’t understand,’ said Willow. ‘You said before that they won’t play with you and now you say you don’t want to play at all.’
‘I know,’ said Rannoch, ‘but the truth is they only play with me because they’ve been told to, not because they want to. They’re frightened of me.’
‘I’m not frightened of you.’
‘You haven’t heard what they’re saying. About this prophecy. Thistle recited it again the other day in front of the others and I asked Tain to teach it to me. Tain’s changed towards me. Even Bankfoot has changed.’
‘No they haven’t. Anyway, why listen?’
‘It talks about an oak leaf, Willow. That’s why we had to leave the home herd.’
‘It’s just a silly story, that’s all. Fern says there’s lots more in the Prophecy than a fawn mark. About a changeling and other things. It’s got nothing to do with you.’
They were beginning to climb up out of the valley now and Willow was silent for a while. She was thinking of some way to console her friend.
‘Come
on,’ she said at last. ‘Lets go back to the loch and find Peppa.’
‘No. I want to be on my own.’
‘You don’t want me to be with you?’ said Willow.
‘No. Yes. Oh, I don’t know,’ cried Rannoch suddenly, setting off at a run. Willow hung back and watched him and then ran after him towards the top of the hill.
‘I’m sorry, Willow,’ said Rannoch as she caught up with him. ‘It’s just that I don’t understand.’
Rannoch turned and looked at her, then said in a whisper,
‘Tell me, Willow, do you think I’m different?’
Willow’s large, bright eyes looked back at him calmly. She looked at his fine young face with its high forehead and the strange fawn mark in the middle of his temple.
‘Of course I think you’re different,’ she said and touched his nose with hers.
‘No, not like that,’ said Rannoch.’I mean, do you think I’m strange?’
‘No, I don’t,’ answered Willow. ‘I think you’re. . .’
‘But this mark,’ said Rannoch, ‘and the forest and the raven and my dreams and I feel strange sometimes.’
‘Its only because you’re sensitive and intelligent,’ said
Willow kindly.
‘But I see some of the others watching me and I know they’re frightened of me. Perhaps I should go away,’ Rannoch added, dropping his head.
‘Don’t talk like that. You have lots of good friends and besides, if you went away I would have to come with you and I don’t think I want to go out there again, not just yet.’ The fawns had stopped at the top of the valley and were looking north across the hills. In the distance they could see the tips of great white mountains that rose much higher than the surrounding peaks. The tree line hardly rose to their foothills and their tops were furled in huge swirls of cloud.
‘Willow,’ said Rannoch almost to himself, ‘do you think
Tain’s right?’