Fire Bringer (13 page)

‘Yes,’ said Bhreac loudly so that the others could hear her, ‘but listen. They’re far away. Probably in the mountains. They won’t trouble us tonight.’

Bhreac’s words calmed the deer but she could see that they were all deeply disturbed, especially the little fawns. Peppa was nudging up to Willow while Quaich was nestling under his mother’s belly, hiding his head from the awful noise and trying to suckle at the same time. To add to the misery, in the clearing the temperature had fallen again and a wind had come up, shaking the forest around them and howling through the dark branches so that the fawns thought that the wolves, who they were hearing for the very first time, were coming closer.

‘This is no good at all,’ whispered Bhreac, but then the old deer had an idea.

‘Come on, form a circle,’ she said. ‘I’m going to tell you a story.’

The hinds were pleased and they shepherded the fawns into a ring. There they sat; Rannoch, Tain and Thistle together, Quaich, Peppa and Willow; their mothers circling them to shield them from the night and old Bhreac thinking desperately of a tale to lift their spirits.

‘I’m no Blindweed,’ she said at last, looking about her rather sadly, ‘but I’m going to tell you the story of Starbuck and the wolf.’

As she said it there was another howl from the mountains and the fawns shuddered.

‘Yes. . . well,’ she began. ‘It was a long time ago when Starbuck had crossed the Great Mountain and had come to the High Land. No deer had ever been so far north except the reindeer who have always lived in the snow. Starbuck ran free across the heather and drank from the great lochs and was happy. But one day when he was walking along the foothills of the Great Mountain he saw footprints that made him shudder. They were the marks of a wolf that had come down alone from the hills to hunt.

‘Now Starbuck knew that he was in danger, for the pad marks were fresh and he had no chance against a wolf, even a wolf on its own. So he began to look around him for a place to hide. Ahead, he saw a thicket and he backed inside it so that only his antlers were showing and they looked very much like branches. There Starbuck waited. He didn’t have to wait long for the wolf had scented him on the wind and was now retracing his steps, sniffing and slobbering as he went. Starbuck could see the wolf’s shaggy sides shaking with excitement as he padded along, and the lines of shiny white teeth glinting in his muzzle.

‘But Starbuck wasn’t afraid,’ Bhreac added quickly, for she could see she was frightening the fawns. ‘OH no, he was far too clever to be afraid. Instead he waited as the wolf came right up to the thicket. He could hear him muttering and cursing to himself that he had lost his lunch. Well, when the wolf was right next to him, Starbuck shook his antlers gently and said in a deep voice:

‘ ‘‘Why are you complaining, old wolf?’’

‘The wolf nearly jumped out of his skin, for he thought he was being addressed by a tree.’‘Who’s there?’’ he snarled.

‘ ‘‘Just a tree,’’ answered Starbuck.’‘But why do you disturb my sleep with your mutterings?’’

‘The wolf, who was old, nearly blind and rather stupid, was too amazed to do anything but answer the tree.’‘I smelt a deer,’’ he said, ‘‘and now I’ve lost it and I’m hungry.’’

‘ ‘‘Well, well,’’ said Starbuck, smiling, ‘‘I don’t know anything about a deer but I do know this. Herne wouldn’t be pleased to see you roaming about trying to harm his favourite Lera. Did you know that Herne especially loves the deer?’’

‘At the mention of Herne,’ whispered Bhreac, ‘the wolf was very afraid, for he had begun to think that he was bewitched and perhaps it was Herne himself who was addressing him.

‘ ‘‘No I didn’t,’’ he said respectfully, ‘‘but I must eat, mustn’t I?’’

‘ ‘‘Well, yes,’’ said Starbuck, ‘‘I suppose you must. But the grass and the trees and the glens have much tastier things than the hide of some old Herla.’’

‘ ‘‘Oh,’’ said the wolf.’‘What?’’

‘ ‘‘Berries for a start,’’ said the cunning Starbuck.’‘And if you reach up to my branches you will find some especially juicy berries to fill your tired old stomach.’’

‘ ‘‘Thank you,’’ answered the wolf.

‘He wasn’t at all pleased by the idea of berries but was too afraid to be rude to the talking tree. With that the wolf lifted himself on his back legs and tried to reach the berries that he thought were growing on Starbuck’s antlers. Starbuck didn’t waste a moment, for as soon as the wolf’s muzzle came close he tossed his head forward and caught him such a blow in the face with his antlers that his front teeth were knocked out and he was sent flying backwards, over and over. He picked himself up and with a yelp of terror went hurtling away, his tail between his legs. And from that day on, whenever he scented deer, he would remember the talking tree that had knocked out his teeth and would go off to hunt some smaller Lera.’

The fawns were delighted by this story and felt much better about the howls that were really a good many miles away. All except Thistle, who was grumbling to himself.

‘I think it’s a silly story,’ he muttered.’Who ever heard of a talking tree? Besides, how could Starbuck understand a wolf anyway?’

‘Because Starbuck is a special deer,’ said his mother kindly.

‘And besides, it’s only a story.’

‘I loved it,’ said Tain, ‘especially because Starbuck can talk to the Lera.’

‘Now, now,’ said Bhreac, ‘enough chatter. If we don’t all get some sleep how will we ever travel anywhere?’

The fawns began to calm down again and soon most of them were fast asleep.

‘I’ve never heard that story before,’ whispered Bracken to Bhreac as she watched Rannoch drift into dreams beside her.

‘Who told it to you?’

‘No one,’ chuckled Bhreac.’I made it up.’

Rannoch woke with a start. He had had dark dreams that night. First he had dreamt he was being chased by a strange hornless deer with sharp teeth. Then he had dreamt of wolves and wind and high, lonely places. As he looked around him now he was shivering. It was still dark and the others were fast asleep. Bhreac was muttering to herself in her own dreams and Peppa, Willow and Quaich were curled up snugly by their mothers. Tain and Thistle, who already thought themselves too old to rest at their mothers’ sides, where further off on their own. Rannoch got up and shook himself but he felt wobbly on his feet and his ears were ringing. Something in him was unsettled and he felt strange. Around him the forest was quite still, for the wind had died and nothing was stirring in the darkness.

Rannoch wandered to the edge of the clearing, ate a few desultory leaves and peered into the wood. Then, quite unafraid, he stepped into the trees. It began to grow light as he walked and slowly the trees became discernible, so Rannoch felt confident that he could easily find his way back to the hinds. He was just beginning to enjoy himself when he suddenly stopped. From up ahead he heard a noise.

It was a furious flapping and cawing. Rannoch pressed slowly forward until he saw a sight that nearly made him laugh out loud. It was a big black crow, bigger than any bird Rannoch had ever seen. It was flapping its wings and cawing furiously as it tried to lift itself from the log it was standing on. But each time it flapped and tried to take off the effort ended in a flurry of irritable squawks. Rannoch tingled as he realized he could understand what the bird was saying.

‘Quite absurd,’ cried the bird in a sharp, snapping voice as he flapped and strained. ‘Quite absurd. Never land in a wood again. Nevermore. Nevermore. Crak, Crak. Now what am I to do? To do? Oh I wish I’d never got up.’

As Rannoch came closer the bird stopped flapping and eyed him carefully, his long pointed beak tilting left and right as he did so and his little eyes sparkling.

‘Well, what are you looking at? Looking at? Crak, Crak,’said the bird, clicking his beak together.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Rannoch.’I was just wondering if you were all right.’

‘Do I look all right? Crak, Crak. Look all right?’

‘Well, no,’ said Rannoch politely, ‘you don’t.’

‘Well, don’t just stand there. Stand there. Crak, Crak. Do something. Do,’ said the bird irritably.

Rannoch walked up to the log and now he realized that there wasn’t just one log but two and that one of the bird’s feet was wedged in between them, where the log had rolled as the bird had landed on it to get at a particularly juicy looking woodlouse.

‘Shan’t walk again. Crak, Crak,’ cried the bird. ‘Nevermore. Nevermore. Oh do hurry up.’

Rannoch lowered his head and began to push at one of the logs. After a lot of straining and butting it started to wobble, just enough for the bird to pull his leg free and lift himself into the air in a shower of feathers. He landed just next to Rannoch and began to hop around painfully, cawing and screeching and snapping his beak. Finally he seemed to calm down and then he suddenly wheeled on Rannoch and fixed him with a beady and very suspicious eye.

‘What did you say? Did you say?’ cried the bird.

‘Me? What do you mean? I didn’t say—’

‘I thought so,’ cried the bird, nearly taking off again. ‘You spoke to me. Quite remarkable. Crak, Crak. Where did you learn it?’

‘Oh. I didn’t. It just sort of happened,’ answered Rannoch.

‘Nonsense,’ said the bird. ‘Don’t be silly. Anyway. What are you doing here? Crak.’

‘I’m here with my friends,’ said Rannoch. We’re running away.’

‘Running away. Crak, Crak. Running away. So you’re with that lot heading north? What do you want to run away for?’

‘Well, the Draila. . .’ Rannoch began, and he was about to tell him something of his adventure when the bird suddenly lost interest and flew up onto the branch of a tree. He fluffed his feathers on the bough and then looked down coldly on the little fawn.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Rannoch. What’s yours?’

‘What’s mine? Crak. Crak, Crak, answered the bird, whose name really was Crak and who always had great difficulty explaining the fact.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Rannoch. I’ve never met a crow before.’

The bird took off again and landed right next to Rannoch.

‘What did you call me?’ he screeched. A crow? A filthy, greedy, tricksy crow? How dare you?’

‘But aren’t you a crow?’

‘No I’m not and I’ll thank you not to be so impertinent.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Rannoch, who had decided that this bird was really very rude. ‘What are you then?’

‘What am I? Am I? Crak, Crak,’ said the bird, strutting around proudly. ‘I’m a raven of course.’

‘Oh,’ said Rannoch, who had never seen a raven before and wasn’t at all sure he wanted to again.

‘And you are a fawn,’ said Crak, walking straight up to him and sticking his beak in Rannoch’s face, ‘but a strange one to be sure. To be sure. Crak, Crak. Well, if you think I’ve got time to stand around in a wood all day, you’re wrong.’ And the bird lifted into the air again and flew straight upwards. He landed on a branch high in the canopy.

‘But if you’re running away,’ he called down to the fawn, ‘you’re going in the wrong direction. You won’t get through up ahead. Crak, Crak.’

With that the raven lifted into the air and was lost in the trees, cracking and cawing as he went.

‘Wait. Come back,’ cried Rannoch. ‘What do you mean?’ But the raven was gone. Rannoch was left alone thinking to himself that he had never met such an insulting creature in all his life. The bird hadn’t even said thank you.

By the time Rannoch made his way back to the clearing the others were awake and preparing to leave. The hinds had breakfasted on some acorns and a small juniper tree nearby. Bracken scolded Rannoch for wandering off again but she was too full of thoughts of the journey to be really angry. Bhreac was readying the others, talking to the hinds and encouraging the calves.

‘Well,’ said Shira, ‘which way now?’

‘We’ll keep going straight ahead,’ answered Bhreac.

‘Come on, we better get moving.’

At this Rannoch stepped forward.

‘I don’t think we should go north,’ he said as importantly as he could, then imitating the bird, ‘We can’t get through that way.’

The calves, all except Willow, were very impressed by this but Bracken just nudged Rannoch gently.

‘How do you know, my dear?’ she said, smiling.

‘A raven told me,’ answered Rannoch brightly.

Some of the fawns giggled and Bracken licked the little deer.

‘Of course a raven told you,’ she said gently, for she assumed that Rannoch had had another of his dreams.‘Now don’t you worry. Bhreac knows best.’

‘But Mamma. A raven really did tell me.’

The hinds had no time for Rannoch’s story and, with Bhreac and Bracken taking the lead, they pressed on through the trees. The forest began to open out and they made good progress. The trees were thinning and the ground was rising, so that the deer could see a long way back over the path they had taken. Ahead there was a break in the forest over a wide stretch of ground and then the trees began again, banking very steeply upwards. Bhreac was leading the deer out into the open when Fern called from the back.

‘Quick,’ she cried, ‘down there. There’s something moving through the trees.’

Bhreac and Bracken ran back to take a look and Bhreac nodded gravely. She had seen a flash of movement through the branches. A deer was coming towards them and, though it was still quite a way off, they could clearly see it was running fast.

‘Hurry,’ whispered Bhreac, ‘across there. It will be easier to tell who it is if we get some height.’

So the hinds began to run across the open ground, the fawns going as fast as they could. The group disappeared again into the far trees and paused to look back. The deer was coming on. They were going to move off again when

Bracken suddenly stopped them.

‘Wait,’ she said, ‘I think it’s a hind.’

‘You’re right my dear,’ said Bhreac, ‘and she’s not alone. There’s a fawn with her.’

‘Bankfoot,’ shouted Rannoch delightedly.’It’s Bankfoot and Canisp.’

By the time Canisp and Bankfoot reached the open ground the others had made their way back to the edge of the far trees. Rannoch and Tain hopped up and down as Bankfoot puffed up to them.

‘My dear, how did you get away?’ cried Bhreac. ’We thought we had lost you.’