Bhreac looked irritably at Brechin for with the years she had come to be no lover of stags, even an Outrider captain like Brechin. But nonetheless she lowered her head deferentially. Reassured a little, Brechin cantered off towards the meeting place. The moon was midway up the sky now and in the distance the Home Oak was surrounded with stags. As Brechin rose up the hill Eloin stirred restlessly by the rowan tree. Her eyes were beginning to mist over with pain and with great difficulty the hind got to her feet. Eloin’s time had come.
What Brechin had said about being able to take Drail with one antler was true. Drail was old – nearly eleven – and virtually lame now, and although he could still hold his own against many a young stag he was no match for Brechin, the greatest fighter in the herd. Indeed Brechin could have beaten Drail even in his prime, though it would have been a bloody business. Brechin had never had any ambitions towards the lordship of the herd but recently he had been pushed further and further towards challenging Drail’s authority.
The organization of a deer herd is not especially complex. There may be up to two or three hundred deer in a large herd like this one, grouped together in loose associations through family ties and friendships. The binding principle among the stags is the Corps, which every male deer must enter, paying allegiance to the Lord of the Herd. Alongside the Corps come the Outriders, elite stags chosen for their strength and courage and usually natural loners. The Outriders are scouts and fighters, who look for new pastures and patrol for predators. The most important of the Outriders are styled Captain, like Brechin.
These simple structures give the herd a strong unity, except in late spring when the deer’s antlers fall and the herd’s hierarchy is disrupted, and at Anlach, at the beginning of autumn, when the deer rut. The rut is the most important event in the deer’s year, when the males fight for mates and settle scores. It is at this time and this time only that a stag may challenge for lordship, which normally happens once every four or five years. But Drail’s lordship had not been challenged for over six years now.
This was not because there was no stag strong enough to defeat him but because a new system had been introduced into the herd. Through a network of invented titles and privileges Drail had gathered together a close and loyal group of males from within the ranks of the Corps. It acted both as bodyguard to Drail and as a kind of secret police, spying on the Corps and the hinds and reporting any signs of discontent. It had been called the Draila and was both resented and feared. But the most feared of all was its leader Sgorr, the hornless deer, or hummel as they are also called, who Brechin had spied with Drail earlier.
Sgorr was not a birth-member of the herd but had appeared just three summers before from over the northern hills. When he arrived, asking for pasture, the young stag had been wounded in one eye and had claimed to have lost touch with his home herd after an attack by a wolf. But many dark rumours had already grown up around him. Some said he had a terrible secret. Others that he had made a pact with the forest god and had been driven out of his own herd for treachery. Some even said that he had broken the oldest law of all and had spent time in the company of men.
Whatever the truth, Sgorr had rapidly won Drail’s confidence and had now been promoted far beyond his seven years. Drail was ageing fast and as he became more and more lame Sgorr played on his fears of being ousted. It was Sgorr who had come up with the notion of the Draila two seasons before and he had personally masterminded its creation, choosing and grooming young stags himself, cleverly spying out the most discontented members of the Corps and promoting them rapidly.
Brechin had mistrusted Sgorr from the outset, though he could see the young stag was very clever, and he had immediately opposed Sgorr’s entry into the herd.
Subsequently he had watched Sgorr’s activities with quiet disgust. But if Brechin had a weakness it was that he was a soldier and Outrider first and preferred not to get involved in the politics of the home herd.
It was not until Sgorr had sought control of the Outriders too that Brechin had shown open opposition. With the other captains he had fought hoof and antler to stop Drail forcing members of the Draila on the Outriders. Drail had responded by sending the Outriders to roam further and further afield, on increasingly dangerous and unnecessary scouting expeditions. The Outriders had lost six members since the spring. One had been taken by wolves. Three killed by men. Two had vanished without trace, including Brechin’s own brother, Whitefoot.
Meanwhile Drail’s ambitions had grown with his power. His power base now stretched far beyond the herd itself; hence the newly invented title, ‘Lord of Herds’, which Brechin had so scoffed at in the glen. But the title represented far more than a name, or the simple reflection of Drail’s vanity, for many of the red deer across the Low Lands now recognized his authority and, before Anlach, would come to pay him homage. The home herd was the largest red deer herd in the Great Land, and the Draila had won support from other lords by offering help against their own enemies. Drail’s methods had begun to spread like a virus and his writ now ran as far north as the Great Mountain and even to the edges of the High Land.
Yet to Brechin the greatest threat posed by the Draila was within the herd itself, for the Draila stags were becoming increasingly aggressive. Apart from predators, starvation and disease the main causes of harm to a deer herd are wounds inflicted during the rut. But although stags will fight often, especially during the rut, their battles are mostly for show and their encounters rarely result in any serious damage. A directly fatal injury is virtually unheard of. But that was beginning to change. The encounters were proving more and more ferocious and Sgorr had even begun to train the young stags to use their antlers in an entirely new way; to sharpen them on rocks and stones and cut and jab with the points and to aim for vulnerable parts of the body. It meant that last autumn there had been far more injuries than normal and one stag, who had been caught in a fight over a hind with two Draila, had even been killed.
The habits of the hinds had also changed under Drail’s lordship. His consuming desire for control had meant that the Draila had forced the females to live much closer to the stags. The herd had become much less mobile and for three seasons now they had used the same Home Oak. Brechin did not approve of this, though he was strangely glad to be so close to Eloin.
As Brechin climbed the hill he heard a familiar voice in the darkness. It distracted him from his dark thoughts. Ahead of him a group of yearlings were sitting in a circle in the grass, their spindly legs folded under them, and listening, wide-eyed, to the old deer addressing them. Most of them were around nine months old and had stopped suckling. But they were not too old to listen to a good story.
‘And so, when the forest was young,’ the old stag was saying, ‘Starbuck stole the magic antlers from Herne and won a promise that for evermore the deer would roam as free as the wind.’
It was Blindweed, the storyteller.
‘Spinning more of those old tales,’ Brechin chuckled to himself. He remembered many cold winter nights sitting at old Blindweed’s feet lapping up the stories of magic antlers, enchanted forests and of Herne himself. The ancient stag seemed to have been no younger then.
No one in the herd knew how old Blindweed really was. Some said he was fifteen, others even older. Eight is a good age for a red deer and thirteen about their natural span, but in exceptional circumstances they can live to as old as twenty and even older. You cannot, except in young deer, tell the precise age of a stag from his antlers, though the number of tines and their size is a good indication, for you find few royals below the age of five or six. Blindweed had a fine head, with nobbly, pearled antlers that rose to fourteen points on his brow. But it was clear that they had gone back, as it is called when they weaken, and would never be as strong as they had been in his prime.
‘Well, that’s quite enough for one moon,’ said Blindweed suddenly. ‘Your mothers will be scolding me with the morning.’
‘But what happened to Starbuck?’ shouted an eag
er voice from the back.
The fawns took up the cry.
‘Yes, yes, how did he steal the antlers? Come on, Blindweed. Tell us.’
The old deer chuckled to himself.
‘Very well, but then to your mothers. Promise, now.’
‘We promise,’ came the cry, except from the young fawn who had shouted out first.
Blindweed gathered himself and began, as Brechin padded up behind them.
‘Well then, let me see. Yes. For days and days Starbuck travelled through the forests, driven by wind and snow, hunted by fox and wolf, but he was always too quick for them. Then, at last, he passed through the Great Glen and entered Herne’s Wood. He travelled on until he reached the clearing and saw Herne himself lying by a brier, fast asleep. Above, hanging from the bow of an oak, were Herne’s antlers, which he always takes off when he rests.’
The young deer shuffled excitedly in the grass.
‘Well, as you know, only Starbuck could tread lightly enough in the wood not to wake Herne and so, very slowly, he crept past the sleeping deer god, stood on the tips of his hoofs and, with his muzzle, plucked the antlers from the tree and put them on his own head.’
Blindweed paused portentously.
‘Yes, yes, and what happened then?’ shouted an eager fawn from the front.
‘Then there was a sudden thunderclap that shook the roots of the forest and Herne awoke.’
The fawn nuzzled closer to the others.
‘When Herne saw that his antlers were gone he sprang to his feet and stamped his hoofs and snorted, and his red eyes flamed and he cried out in a great booming voice that made the branches shake. ’Who wakes the spirit of the forest? Who dares to steal Herne’s antlers?’’ As you can imagine, even Starbuck was frightened by Herne’s anger, but he held his courage and answered coolly:
‘ ‘‘It is I, Starbuck the deer. I wear the antlers.’’
‘ ‘‘Give them back,’’ cried Herne furiously, and with that he leapt on Starbuck. But Starbuck was wearing the magic antlers and so, with a single spring, he jumped high over Herne’s head and landed far off at the edge of the clearing. Herne turned but he knew that as long as Starbuck had the antlers he could never catch him. Then Herne realized he was beaten.
‘ ‘‘What is it you seek?’’ said Herne in a gentler voice.
‘ ‘‘No more than you,’’ answered brave Starbuck.’‘I seek antlers for the deer, to protect them from Lera. It is not much to ask, Lord Herne, for we are Hernling yet we wander in the world with nothing to protect us but our senses and our speed.’’
‘Well, Herne thought for a time and then he answered,
‘‘Very well, Starbuck, if you are sure that is what you want.’’
‘ ‘‘I am sure,’’ said Starbuck, and with that he took the antlers off and gave them back to the god.
‘When Herne had his horns back he seemed terrible indeed and he looked at Starbuck closely and said in a strange voice,
‘‘Starbuck, you are a brave and bold Hernling, so I will grant your wish though I could drive you from here like an autumn leaf tossed by the wind. But what you seek I will give only to such as you, foolish young stags who wish to fight. The hinds shall not be touched. Also, because you stole this prize from me, you shall have antlers with every season only and each year they shall fall from your heads when the spring rains shower the earth and leave you bald and naked, to be laughed at by every Lera. Until, when the spring flowers have blossomed and summer is beginning to ripen, they will grow again like the branches on the trees. And I will tell you this: what you seek is full of danger, so be certain.’’
‘Starbuck was so flushed with his victory that he hardly heard Herne’s warning and assured the god that he was indeed certain.
‘ ‘‘Very well then, Starbuck,’’ said Herne.’‘Go over to that oak. At its bottom, though the oak is barren with winter, you will see a single leaf. It grows all year round, for it is filled with Herne’s spirit. Eat it, Starbuck, and your wish shall be granted.’’ So Starbuck approached the oak and there he saw a single withered leaf which looked dried and dead, though it was still on its stem. Gingerly, he pulled at it and it came away and he stood there in Herne’s Wood munching on the stem. It tasted bitter and earthy, like peat moss and burnt bracken, and when Starbuck had finished he stood around blinking and waiting for something to happen. As he did so he realized that Herne had vanished.
‘ ‘‘Tricked,’’ said Starbuck angrily, for nothing was happening. But suddenly, like the sound when the earth shakes, Herne was speaking again and his voice was all around.
‘‘Starbuck,’’ he was saying, ‘‘your wish is granted. But because you stole this gift, the things you seek shall be both blessing and curse to Herla. So tremble, Starbuck, and run.’’ Starbuck felt a terrible pain in his head and saw a blinding light and he turned and bolted in terror. He hurtled back through the wood, the branches of the trees tearing at his sides and haunches, his face scratched and bruised, and all along he was driven by the agonizing pain, as though his head would burst open.
‘He thought he must run on for ever as the trees lashed passed him. But at last the pain began to subside and Starbuck broke clear of Herne’s Wood and came to a stop in the sunlight by a clear pool. There the exhausted Starbuck reached down to drink and as he did so he saw his reflection in the water. His face was scratched and bruised by his flight, his clear eyes blinking in the day, and on his head were a pair of mighty antlers, vaster than any deer has known. And that is how the brave Starbuck won horns for the Herla.’
The assembled fawns were silent, their young mouths hanging open with amazement.
‘So,’ said Blindweed in a cheerful voice that broke the spell, ‘which young fawn can tell why Herne’s gift was both blessing and curse?’
The young deer looked back and forth to each other wonderingly.
‘Come now, there must be one of you. What ever do they teach you nowadays?’
Suddenly the calves turned their heads, startled by a voice that sang out from the back.
‘The antlers of Hernling are blessing and curse, For they mean we must fight for the chance to be first. Though they help us protect both the herd and each other, At the time of Anlach, we must fight one another.’
‘Captain Brechin,’ said the startled storyteller. ‘I didn’t see you there’.
‘Forgive me, Blindweed,’ replied Brechin as he entered the circle, ‘but I couldn’t help listening. You still tell a fine tale.’
Blindweed was delighted.
‘Fawns,’ said the old deer, remembering himself, ‘have you forgotten your manners? Welcome Captain Brechin, the bravest of the Outriders.’
Most of the fawns were too overawed to do anything at all.
‘Sit still, little ones. And don’t let me disturb you further, Blindweed,’ said Brechin. I have stayed too long already. Continue your story.’
‘No, Captain,’ replied Blindweed with a mixture of embarrassment and pride. ‘It’s very late and if we sit here talking how will they ever grow up to be brave Outriders? Come now, be off with you.’
At this, some of the calves began to grumble and the young fawn at the back shouted out, ‘Tell us another story, Blindweed. Tell us about the First Stone.’
‘Yes,’ said another.
‘Now, now. I’ll tell you tomorrow. I promise.’
‘Tell us about Willow, the Mother of Hinds.’
‘Tell us the Prophecy, Blindweed,’ said the fawn that had spoken first. His name was Lychen. The fawns took up his cry.
‘Yes, the Prophecy. Tell us the Prophecy.’
‘Silence,’ snapped Blindweed angrily. ‘The Prophecy is no mere fable to be fed to young fawns. It is part of the Lore. Now stop being foolish.’
‘I bet Captain Brechin wants to hear it,’ said Lychen boldly. ‘Go on, Blindweed.’
‘I’ll muzzle you if you don’t be quiet,’ said Blindweed furiously.’ Captain Brechin has much more important things t
o do than listen to a lot of little soft-foots and an old storyteller.’
But the calves weren’t listening to Blindweed. They were looking up at Brechin.
‘Please, Captain Brechin, sir,’ said Lychen in a bold voice, ‘you want to hear it, don’t you?’
Brechin looked down at the calf and his heart was suddenly pierced with worry for Eloin. But he smiled.
‘If Blindweed will tell it,’ he said, ‘I would be honoured.’
‘Hooray,’ shouted the fawns delightedly. ‘Go on, Blindweed, tell it. The Prophecy. The Prophecy.’
‘Very well,’ said Blindweed irritably. ‘If the captain insists. But silence, all of you. This is not for fooling.’
The fawns had already fallen silent as Blindweed readied himself. Even Brechin felt a thrill as the ancient stag swayed his gnarled antlers back and forth, closed his eyes, and as though talking to the moon, began to recite:
‘When the Lore is bruised and broken,
Shattered like a blasted tree,
Then shall Herne be justly woken,
Born to set the Herla free.
On his brow a leaf of oaken,
Changeling child shall be his fate.
Understanding words strange spoken,
Chased by anger, fear and hate.
He shall flee o’er hill and heather,
And shall go where no deer can,
Knowing secrets dark to Lera,
Till his need shall summon man.
Air and water, earth and fire,
All shall ease his bitter pain,
Till the elements conspire
To restore the Island Chain.
First the High Land grass shall flower,
As he quests through wind and snow,
Then he breaks an ancient power,
And returns to face his woe.
Whenthe lord of lies upbraids him,
Then his wrath shall cloak the sun,
Andthe Herla’s foe shall aid him
To confront the evil one.
Sacrifice shall be his meaning,