The Hunter

The Hunter had become an old man.
When he rose that morning he felt a stiffness in the muscles & bones of his legs
“Past my prime,” he said.
But his knife was still sharp, & so were his wits
He had a lifetime's kenning of the woodland's ways,
& his aim was straight when the shakes didn't take him.

Autumn had come with its cold damp shroud
All over the trees & bushes around his hut
& he could feel Winter pressing at its heels.
So much preparation still to be done, so little time.
Stores to be made,
Provisions for the journey to his daughter’s village
A day from here, last year through the belly of a storm
Over the pass into the Maidendale Valley.

He shuddered as he rallied the fire from its slumbers
Whistled, but old Jack had gone to the crows
Three months back, had said goodbye
Vanished, & had not been seen until he found him lying there
On the side of the mound;
It seemed a fitting place for his burial.

The Hunter wondered if his own burial would be down in the valley
Among the farmers of his daughter's stead
Or would it be a grave of leaves
& a wake of crows for him too?
He knew which he would want,
& stopped nibbling his bread.

After all these years of killing & solitude
Once the woodland guide to Kings & Lords,
Once frenzied in a battle which decided the fate of a whole country;
Only now had he come to fear Death,
Death, who had been his companion for so long.
Only now, when he felt the weakness upon him
When he heard the cries of little birds swooped upon by a sparrowhawk,
Or the squeal of a paunched hare
Did he understand what he faced.

But he was a practical man, with work to do
There's venison needed for the Yule feasting;
Good & gamey, that’s how they like it!
Now was the Time for the Taking.

He had no fear of killing that's for sure
It had been his life,
& from an early age he had made the offerings
As taught by his Master:
A master-hunter's hundred ways
Of maintaining the goodwill of the Woodland Guardians.

--==--

Out onto his forest way he fares,
With his bow on his shoulder
& his father's skinning knife at his belt
Feeling every bit the boy in search of a kill to prove his manhood.
Ho ho! What are years?

He smiles & thinks of his Wife
When they were together in the Happy Time.
Even when she died in her bed,
& he grieved (for fifteen years)
He never felt the doubt
That he feels now.
He grunts & blinks to banish the thought,
Moving slowly among brambles;
Breathing easy in sunlight.
Born to this task & at one with all around him,
He is re-assured by the familiarity of it all.
This is what he is & always will be;
He thanks the Lady for a life of meaning & purpose.

Flashing in the sunlight he sees her,
A gleaming flank, a red deer doe
Strayed from her master's side, it would seem;
All by herself.
He stalks, lies breathing slowly, close
Behind old ferns, listening to his heart beat
& her chewing at a clump of grass.

White! She is pure White! His mind reels
For he has heard the tales:
Once in a hundred years is such a skin shown to the people
The perfect Yule offering to his daughter & her husband.
& sweet! The meat of such is fabled for its flavour!

There is no sense of time in this dance
of wriggling running  & lying still,
Looking for the correct opening
The right feeling for the kill;
The loosing of the dart & the final run to where she lies.
Little to be remembered or spoken about,
A magic of speed like lightning
Over so soon, like a fight or a life changing trial.

Sitting astride her shoulder he releases her life's blood onto the ground
With a knife that was his Dad's & his before him;
Still sharp too! Holding it’s reddened blade aloft
He Prays for the Hind as he should
& gives thanks for the kill.

The next thing that he remembers, he is running!
Running for his life as never before!
Not daring to look behind him
Not remembering why
Running with a howling wind of ferocity & terror on his tail;
The hunter hunted!

Age? It has no meaning now!
He has run & fought for his life before.
He has felt the rush of blood & some kind of instant terror
But never anything as deep as this
Horror that fills him
& pushes him this far.

Age? It has no meaning now!
He has laughed at men who show fear
In the Old Wild Wood at night,
For it is his home!
But nothing like this. Nothing like this.
He has never ever even dreamed
Of anything like this!

Has the wind taken him?
No he is falling!
He has fallen from the river bank;
Which river bank?
& hits the cold water with a final shout.
The dark current draws him down into its flow,
He turns & rolls in its forces, losing his strength.
He cannot fight it. It has taken him.
The fear is gone, there is a moment of sadness
But he is moving so quickly
That he cannot think
& his mind is slowly filled by a shadow.

The rushing & roaring carry him to a quieter place;
He soars as through clouds in the night sky
Then he sees below him lights like fires
Still he cannot think, so he accepts it.
Look, it is a city.
Wider than the woods themselves;
A city.
Sprawling in strange coloured lights on both banks of a river.
Huge beyond imagining, a city the size of a country
Dark, yet burning everywhere with a strange orange glow like fire,
& in places blue, green, red or white lights burst out below.

Terrible towers, some churning filth into the sky,
Roads filled with rushing beams of light,
Hordes of people who seem to be revellers
Screaming & shouting obscene prayers to Gods whose names
Set him on edge;
Dancing, walking & running & gliding about
In clothes of disordered colour
He has never seen so many people before.

As he watches he begins to see a story unfold,
Some of the people are trying to escape or run away from something.
Many are hiding in their homes
With doors locked & a strange blue light flickering on their ghostly faces
While the others are busy destroying everything.

They are pulling down the orange lights
Tearing apart the ramparts of huge buildings like castles
With their bare hands;
There are so many of them!
Others oppose them & are constantly trying to rebuild
& scurry about in the burning rubble like little ants.
It is a city of demons engaged in constant warfare with one another!

The lights begin to fall & to go out.
The shadow spreads over the town.
Many cries of fear & pain rise up from below him.
He winces; many are praying & begging for release.
Some are destroying themselves.
Then he is swept away.

Breathing heavily,  he is lying on his side.
He is lying on something
It is the body of a white doe. The knife is still in his hands.
Blood is everywhere
& he cannot move.
But the dead animal begins to stir.
His heart misses a beat but he cannot move.
She pushes his body aside & stands up, over him.
Her blood runs onto his face from her wound.

He looks up into her eye,
It was her eye, he realises, in which he was drowning
& her tears that had carried him away to the place of burning.
She stands & stares at him.
It becomes dark.
It becomes dark, but her pale body glows.

She reaches down & takes the knife from his hand;
Rises to stand on her hind legs & look around
Then, making a small explosive noise from her nostrils,
She begins to dance.
Strings of black blood whirl around her as
She prances & waves the knife about in the air.
He cannot move, he only watches
But his fear becomes something pure within him
& he feels certain that she is not a demon
Like the demented city's inhabitants.

She spins & reels, lightly stepping
To dance over him;
He has fallen back,
He can only look up into her smeared, peaceful yet terrible face,
Then she is gone from his sight,
But he can hear her;
A whispering rustle of grace among the trees,
Gone, then a flash of white as she returns to him;
His old dad's knife in her right hand & something else...

His own head!

His own head in her left hand!
Held by the hair & waved about like a trophy!

The whisper grows louder, like breeze among the treetops
Or the gentle singing of his wife by the river
It grows all around him
& he cannot be afraid any longer, for the pangs in his heart are of love & of loss
Her brightness has cut him open & entered him.
Tears flood his face.

“Hear me man! & know joy!
Even the Most Terrible is a creature of Love
Yes! I am your Death & you have given yourself to me!
But know that it is I who am honoured,
& that honour I return to you!
This is the end of Hope & Expectation,
But also the end of Fear & Anxiety!
I have not come by you for the Final Day, for
I have always been at your side!
In battle, in love, at the hunt, you were open to my promptings;
You are my Beloved!
As I return the honour to you,
So I pray you, return the honour to me!”
 
Then it is over & she is gone.

--==--

He turned & saw on the ground just by him
The bloodied carcass of a doe he had just slain.
So he gave her great honour,
As he skinned & butchered her there in his forest,
& died many years later, truly Ancient & Wise they said,
On the side of a grassy mound hidden among hawthorn trees.

September 1995.