Last night’s storm had cleared the air. The crispness almost touchable, accompanied by the fresh smell of moist earth and lavish plants. It was after such storms that it seemed like it was early spring once more, despite the sun pushing down with the expected force of midsummer.
Lord Armatus Otacher let his gaze wander across the edge of the dark forest, a board smile beaming on his face. While enjoying the beauty of the wild nature around, he was also on the lookout. The scout of his small hunting party had headed out with the dogs some time ago. Usually, he ought to be back by now, but there was still no sound to be heard. Neither the horn he carried along nor the bark of the hounds. Even the birds were eerily silent for some time now. An ill omen to many.
“I told you, Milord”, said Theóderich next to him and pulled at the reins of his horse, causing the animal to make a step backward and shake its head. “We shouldn’t have come here. Isn’t this the cursed forest, where the children vanished twenty years ago?”
“Rumors, my friend, are ill advisors”, he replied unbothered.
“With all due respect, my Lord, but such a judgment isn’t wise”, he said with clear unease on his face. “Rumors often turn out to be true. And considering the silence of the birds, I’d rather we leave this place.”
“Theó, please. You’re back for two days already, and I’ve told you more than often enough, you don’t have to talk to me like this.”
“But you’re my Lord now.”
Armatus sighed and cast his eyes down.
“I… I duly apologize, my Lord”, said Theóderich, somewhat alarmed. “I didn’t mean to remind you of… of it.”
“Then talk to me like you used to, before you left… before father…”, he replied pleading. “Before he died.”
Armatus looked at him, expecting his old childhood friend to return, but there was again just the hint of Theóderich’s old self hidden by what appeared to be the stranger who had returned in his stead. Before he could insist once more, the scout sounded his horn in the distance. Still, it wasn’t enough to make the gloom disappear between them. For a moment, Armatus even considered calling the hunt off and returning to the castle.
The horn sounded again, closer.
He couldn’t call the hunt off now. After all, the scout shouldn’t have taken the trouble to rouse and corral the animal only to be called back on a whim. Armatus’ father had taken care that his son was keen not to waste other people's time, even the time of those in standing below him.
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The horn sounded a third time.
Pushing his gloom aside, Armatus urged his horse into a gallop towards the forest.
The hart they had chosen the day before was planned to be driven out at the forest’s edge by the dogs and then driven to an old stone circle. Once there, it was Armatus, who was to kill the animal. Since his seventh birthday he had been on such hunts, but this time was the first time he had the honor to kill the hart of ten the scout had found the other day. Still, the experiences of his other hunts lend themselves easily to this one. Without thinking about it, he loosened the spear from the saddle and readied it.
The horn sounded again, this time accompanied by the barking of the hounds.
Armatus brought his horse parallel to the sounds, and a moment later the hart jumped like white lighting out of the thicket. That it was a white animal, surprised him, for the scout had spoken of an ordinary yet majestic hart the other day. Yet, the surprise didn’t last long. Suddenly, Armatus thought someone had bewitched him, for time seemed to slow and allowed him to look directly into the white hart’s lavender eyes. It appeared to him that the animal challenged him and darted directly into the direction it was supposed to run.
Armatus took the animal on its challenge and made his horse double in speed, for the hart was faster than expected. Somewhere behind him, he could hear Theóderich call after him, but he didn’t pay his childhood friend any attention. All his mind focused on was to match the deer’s challenge and take it down.
The hart ran like the wind and seemed not to tire at all. But Armatus didn’t pay this much more mind then, seeing it as a reason to urge his horse on. All he could see was the white animal ahead of him. He readied his spear, willing to throw it despite running the considerable risk of loosing his only weapon in the process and with it his only means to kill the animal. Yet, this seemed to be part of the challenge. The considerable chance that this magnificent being would outwit him. The hunt, as his father had often told him, wasn’t about taking down the prey, but finding it, hunting it and taking up on the challenge it offered, and this hart had clearly had challenged him.
Suddenly, the hart slowed. Armatus hardly managed to stop his horse to avoid overtaking the animal. He pulled the spear back, and again time seemed to slow. Again he could see the harts clear lavender eyes focus on him. There was no fear in those eyes but anger. Without hesitation, the hart turned and readied its magnificent antlers. To Armatus, it appeared as if a light was radiating from between the prongs. A light ancient, glorious and dangerous.
He couldn’t stop.
His horse let out a panicked shriek and bugged. Unable to keep his balance due to the spear, Armatus fell off and against the hart.
The pain of countless knives being plunged into his chest was immediate and indisputable, even before blood welled up in his mouth. Like a sack of grain, he was tossed over the hart, pulling the animal with him. He tumbled across the ground until he hit a large rock, which knocked the remainder of the air from his lungs, as well as some of the blood filling them up.
Unable to move, Armatus gasped for air and stared ahead. All he could see was the blood covered head of the white hart and it’s eyes now staring dull and empty past him into eternity.
That’s it, I guess, he thought, eerily calm and closed his eyes.
Somewhere far, far away, he could hear someone call his name.
