Fire Bringer (48 page)

‘Mother,’ cried Rannoch, running up to the hind who was lying in the grass now, ‘Mother, what happened?’

‘I don’t know,’ whispered Bracken, her breath pained and rasping. ‘He came from the trees. He must have been sent to harm you.’

‘To harm me?’ said Rannoch. ‘But who?’

‘Sgorr,’ whispered Bracken. ’Sgorr sent him.’

‘Why now?’

‘Rannoch, listen to me,’ said Bracken suddenly, flexing in pain. ‘There is little time and there is something I must tell you.’

Bracken’s eyes were suddenly bright as though the shock of the attack had swept years of darkness from her clouded mind.

‘What do you mean little time?’ said Rannoch.

‘I am dying, Rannoch. I can feel it. That stag’s antler has pierced my heart.’

‘No, Mother,’ cried Rannoch, ‘I will heal you.’

‘No, Rannoch, not even you could do that.’

‘But Mother. . .’

‘I am not your mother, Rannoch.’

Rannoch stopped. He stared at Bracken in blank amazement.

‘Not my moth—’

‘No,’ whispered Bracken, and as he listened it seemed she was telling him something he had known all along. ‘You were changed, Rannoch, at birth.’

‘Then who?’ gasped Rannoch.

‘Eloin. Eloin is your mother. The hind who said goodbye to you all those years ago. She was one of Captain Brechin’s hinds. But that night when Drail and Sgorr killed your father on the hill—’

‘Killed my father?’

‘Yes, Rannoch, and destroyed the Outriders.’

‘Sgorr,’ whispered Rannoch, his voice trembling. ‘And my dreams.’

‘Yes. Sgorr was coming to kill you. And when Blindweed saw that mark he was afraid for you. So we switched you with my fawn who died. Changed you round.’

‘Then it’s true,’ cried Rannoch, ‘I am a changeling.’

‘Yes, Rannoch, you are a changeling.’

‘Then the Prophecy. . .’

‘Oh Rannoch,’ gasped Bracken bitterly, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. But I wanted to protect you. There’s some danger in this prophecy. Do you remember when you used to play as a young fawn and so hated to have the berries smeared across your head? For a long time I thought it couldn’t be true but now. . . now. . .’

Bracken stopped talking. She could hardly talk any more. The fur on her flank was soaked in blood. Rannoch gazed at her in silence. He wanted the ground to swallow him up.

‘But moth— Bracken, you should have told me,’ said Rannoch bitterly.

‘I know, Rannoch,’ gasped the dying hind, ‘but I didn’t want anything to harm you. For I’ve loved you like a mother. . .’

Bracken winced again in agony.

Rannoch stepped forward and very gently he dipped his head towards the hind and licked her on the muzzle.

‘I know,’ he said tenderly, ‘and the most wonderful mother. . .’

‘Oh, Rannoch.’

Bracken’s back legs were beginning to shake. Rannoch threw back his antlers in agony.

‘So, Herne,’ he cried angrily, ‘you shall have your way. You don’t want me to heal at all. You want me to fight.’

‘Rannoch, what are you going to do?’ asked the hind weakly.

‘Do? I am going to follow Thistle and Willow and the Outriders into the Low Lands. I am going to save Eloin and the others, if I can. I am going to kill Sgorr and avenge my father.’

‘But Rannoch,’ said Bracken, ‘what you said about Sgorr and the Herla, it’s true. There are too many of them. What can you do?’

‘I don’t know. Raise the rest of the herd and send word through the High Land. They will come if I call, I’m sure of it. Then, who knows? Die well with the Outriders if need be. Isn’t that what it says? Sacrifice shall be his meaning. Well, if it comes to that. For what must be must be.’

‘Then you will follow them to your own death,’ said Bracken sadly.

‘Mother,’ said Rannoch, ‘don’t worry about me. Lie still. First of all I must cure you.’

Bracken was staring up at Rannoch. She was growing delirious and she no longer knew what Rannoch was saying.

‘Goodbye, Rannoch,’ she whispered, ‘goodbye. I hope you can forgive me.’

‘Bracken,’ cried Rannoch, ‘wait. Don’t leave me.’ But it was over. Bracken was dead.

‘Herne,’ cried Rannoch furiously, ‘what have you done? Why have you done this to me?’

Rannoch bellowed and bellowed again and swung his antlers to and fro. In that moment his heart was consumed with anger, and as he thought of Sgorr and his father and Willow, he felt the violence of Anlach rise and swell up inside him. But with the terrible anger that now burned in him came something he had never experienced before, a clarity. He suddenly realized that what he was feeling was different to the simple passions that stirred at Anlach or the violence that had been bred at the Stones. For at the thought of Sgorr and what he had done, his heart was filled by a desire not just for revenge, but for justice. Rannoch’s course was set.

‘Take them south, Haarg,’ said Rannoch as they stood on the hilltop, ‘as quickly as you can. I’ve sent word north too.’ Haarg nodded gravely. Around him stood nearly a hundred Outriders.

‘But where are you going, Rannoch?’ asked Haarg.

‘West, Haarg. There’s something I must find out before I meet Sgorr.’

‘What?’

‘It was something they told me when I was with Herne’s Herd,’ said Rannoch. ’I’ve never told any one else except Bankfoot. Something Sgorr did, long ago, for he came from that herd and they drove him out for it. Only the stag who witnessed it knew exactly what took place and the secret died with him. It’s something Sgorr fears the Herla knowing. It happened on an island out to sea, to the west where man has raised his stones. Kaal told me where it is.’

‘And you’re going to find out what happened?’

‘Yes. For if Sgorr so fears others knowing it, it is a grave weakness in him that can only help me when I finally. . . when I finally test this prophecy.’

Haarg looked keenly at Rannoch.

‘Then it’s true?’

‘Yes, Haarg, it’s true. But I still don’t know where it will lead. Now you must hurry, my friend, if we are to do any good. You must stop the others reaching Sgorr first.’

As Rannoch ran west towards the sea, Haarg and the Outriders set off from the herd towards the Great Mountain. But as a wind began to blow across the High Land something else was stirring in the heather. There were voices travelling through the undergrowth. A strange whispering in the briers and across the moorland grasses. A call carried through the sky. Rannoch had summoned the Lera.

Rannoch’s mind was filled with thoughts of Willow and his friends as he ran, for though he still had no real plan, he was desperate that he should be in time to help them. But something else clouded his mind. The threat of a sacrifice.

No matter, thought Rannoch now. If I must make a sacrifice then I shall and willingly. But first I must know what Sgorr’s secret is.

Rannoch looked up at the heavens.

‘Herne, you must guide me now,’ he cried into the night, ‘for I am doing your will, whatever that may be.’

The wind moaned around Rannoch’s head but suddenly and strangely he felt less alone. On he ran towards the west.

On the fourth sun Rannoch’s heart quickened as he scented the sea. The stones that Kaal had told him of reared in front of him, charred and blackened against the dull grey sky. But Rannoch paused fearfully, for everywhere he saw the signs of destruction. The men’s stones had been broken down, the earth was burnt and scarred, and everywhere Rannoch saw human bodies. Their fawns, their hinds and their bucks lay dead on the bleeding earth, their heads broken, the strange shining sticks that Rannoch had seen at the hunt lying useless at their sides. Again Rannoch was reminded of Herne’s Herd and the terrible mist in the fearful glen. He shuddered as he walked through the killing ground.

Rannoch walked on and suddenly the ground dropped steeply away, tumbling towards the sea that swept ahead of him. There it was, just as Kaal had described it to him. The island he had told him of lay in the far distance, swathed in cloud, but its three high, wooded peaks were unmistakable. Rannoch’s heart sank. It looked so far away and the wind was beginning to lash the water into a fury. Rannoch had little experience of swimming and he remembered Bhreac and her death in the river.

‘Sgorr did it,’ said Rannoch to himself, ‘and so shall I. With Herne’s help.’

The deer tipped down the mountainside.

When he came to the shore he paused fearfully again and looked out to the distant island. To swim that far seemed impossible, and the water was growing fiercer and fiercer. Rannoch bellowed and plunged into the sea.

The icy water closed around his fur and filled his muzzle with salt as his head and antlers went under. His eyes began to sting and the stag kicked furiously, scrabbling with his hoofs on the sliding current. Up he bobbed and slowly he began to move forward in the sea, his head just above the water, his antlers licked with spume and spray. From the sky above it started to rain and Rannoch’s ears were filled with the clamorous patter of rain on wave.

On he struggled and after a while he had left the land behind him. But the island seemed to grow no closer and further out Rannoch began to feel the tug of current and tide. His fur felt heavy too, like a great coat that dragged him down, for Rannoch had his winter pelt and the sea was making it heavier and heavier. The waves swelled, breaking over his face, and as he swallowed great gulps of salt water he gagged and spat and struggled to breathe.

With time, though, he realized that by waiting for the rise of the wave and swimming less the water would bear him up and lift his head and antlers above the surface. Yet this made him slower and still the island seemed an impossible distance. Rannoch could feel the strength in his legs beginning to ebb away.

It seemed as though he had been swimming for ever. He felt sick from all the salt water he had swallowed and his eyes were in terrible pain. Rannoch was close to exhaustion and he could hardly hold his head up any more.

‘Oh, Herne,’ he gasped, ‘Herne. Help me.’

Every movement was an agony and Rannoch’s head began to swim.

‘Herne, what do you really want of me?’ gasped the deer.

‘Is this the sacrifice foretold by the Prophecy? But if it is, what is it for? What is it all for?’

The deer’s head was suddenly engulfed by sea water as a wave broke over him. He kicked and spluttered but there was no strength left in him. Down he went again.

‘Herne,’ he cried as his head rose to the surface once more and through the salty gauze of water he spied the island still lost in the distance, ‘if you don’t help me, then what of my friends? What of the Herla? Have you abandoned us?’

But Rannoch was lost. Down he went again and this time he had nothing to fight with. The sea closed over his antlers.

Rannoch felt something brush his side. Then something was underneath him too, bearing him up. Rannoch was lifted, up and out, so that it seemed as if he was riding on the water itself. He found himself thrust forward and suddenly he had the strength to swim again.

‘Herne,’ cried Rannoch, and as he did so he found he could breathe again.

Suddenly a head broke the surface in front of him. It was a seal.

‘Rurl,’ gasped Rannoch.

There were other seals with him, swimming by Rannoch’s flanks and carrying him through the water.

‘What are you doing here?’ spluttered Rannoch.

‘I could ask the same of you, Rannoch,’ barked the seal.

‘But now we must get you to the shore.’

So on Rannoch was carried, half swimming, half born up by the lithe bodies, towards the island and Sgorr’s dark secret.

As Rannoch saw the sand in front of him and a great rock on the shore, his heart felt strong again and he tossed his antlers in the sea. The seals had dropped away from him now and with one last effort Rannoch kicked at the waves, found his legs touching sand and rose out of the water. As he did so Rurl splashed from the waves too, barking and flapping in the gull-driven day.

Rannoch shook himself furiously and looked down with infinite gratitude at the seal, lying there on the shore.

‘Rurl,’ he gasped, ‘I don’t know how to thank you. I thought I was lost.’

‘No need to thank me, Rannoch,’ said the seal. ‘It’s good to see you again after all these years. You’ve grown but that mark is just the same.’

Rannoch nodded.

‘Yes,’ he said quietly, ‘and it means more to me now, I think. Though I still fear where it will lead.’

‘The Prophecy?’ said the seal.

‘Yes, Rurl, I found out that I am a changeling, that—’

‘It’s all right, Rannoch, I know all about it,’ said Rurl.

‘You know?’

‘Yes and about Herne’s Herd.’

‘But how?’

‘The Lera, Rannoch. The Lera have been watching you for longer than you think. Anyway, I spoke with an otter two suns ago and he told me about your mother and your plea to the Herla in the High Land. That you are going south again. But first he said you were making for the west coast. That’s how I found you. We’ve been swimming up and down ever since.’

‘Thank Herne you did.’

‘So you found out what you wanted to know about Herne from Herne’s Herd?’ asked Rurl.

‘Yes and no. At least I know that I am not Herne but that. . . that the Prophecy is true.’

Rurl nodded.

‘Many things kept me from believing it. What you said about my power to speak to the Lera for one. You were right, Rurl, Tain can do it now and Haarg; many of the other Herla too.’

Rurl nodded once more.

‘But something else is happening,’ said Rurl quietly, ‘that I hadn’t expected from the land. They’re all beginning to speak to each other, Rannoch. All the Lera.’

Rannoch looked at the seal and shivered. It was more than just the cold.

‘Rannoch, there’s one thing none of them could tell me, though,’ said the seal, ‘about man. Did Herne’s Herd. . . did they have. . . ?’

‘Yes, Rurl,’ said Rannoch quietly, ‘they knew of man. They knew of man’s violence, anyway. Sgorr knows of it too, for he came from Herne’s Herd. But he has an even darker secret that is hidden here on this island.’

Rurl had heard rumours of a secret.

‘So Sgorr knows about the bringer of violence?’ he said gravely.