Folklore

By The Magician’s Nephew

Chapter One

The white Stag

The hunt was on. Leon crouched behind a tree, notching an arrow. The tracks he just observed were only a few minutes old. He peered over his shoulder into the dense wood.

Leon had never been this far from the village before. The forest was known for being a death trap where evil beasts and magicians lived. Along with being the site for mysterious happenings, the woods earned the name Dunklerc, or the Dark Forest.

But Leon spent much time out in the woods hunting, and nothing strange ever happened to him. This led him to question the truth of the tales told by the bard; the stories told of villains in the deep woods and dark events that occurred long ago. But in some of the stories, very few indeed, there was a hero who, although out of his league, would face the evil. It was these tales that he loved the most. As a matter of fact, the stories gave him hope that even a petty hunter such as himself could make a difference in the world. But the world he knew was only a small clearing in the middle of the forest called Cherook, and the village needed its meat.

Leon could hear the deer grazing nearby. He glanced from behind the tree and saw two deer. They were a perfect size. He stood as close to the tree as possible and took aim. He hoped Osbearn, his fellow hunter, was doing the same.

The bow bent as Leon pulled the cord to his ear. But before he shot, there was a flash of white in the wood nearby. The sight startled him, causing the arrow to hit a tree. The two deer bolted into the forest, frightened by the attack.

Leon quickly put another arrow to the bow. He looked into the forest where the white figure was, but it was gone. Leon was confused. Was it just his imagination? No, it could not have been, he was positive. But was it? Tales of demons and ghosts entered his mind. He felt for a moment… frightened. He quickly suppressed this fear and scold himself for be afraid. The matter was pushed out of his mind and he continued his hunt, following the fresh tracks.

Leon’s cloak billowed in the wind as he swiftly dodged between trees, over roots, and under branches. His sword banged against his thigh. Moments later, the deer were within sight. They had stopped again and had begun to graze. Leon was determined this time to bring at least one of them down. He surveyed his surroundings only for a brief moment before taking aim. Using his strong arm to steady the bow, the tension increased as his hand reached his ear. One shot would bring this animal down, just one shot…

Suddenly, white light fell around Leon and blinded him. He couldn’t anything but the dazzling light that surrounded him. He fell to the ground, unable to sustain himself. Then there was a voice, it was deep and beautiful, but some how strange. He didn’t hear the voice through his ears, but it echoed in his head.

“Leodywn, Leodywn, why are you hunting me?”

Leodywn… that was his true name, given to him at birth, although he did not know its meaning or who the person was who bestowed it upon him. Finally Leon summoned enough courage to speak.

“Who are you? Why do you speak to me?”

The reply came, “I am Falkier, lord of the forest, whom you are hunting. Now get up and follow me.”

The light disappeared, revealing the familiar forest. Leon found himself sitting on his heels, his bow lying upon the ground next to him. He looked around. Although his vision was not yet adjusted to the dark forest, he could see, in the distance, a white figure. It was a stag. Its antlers were dense and sturdy, such as the ones on a young buck. But his eyes possessed wisdom of one older than all the ages.

It turned around and began to trot into the forest, its white fur becoming less and less visible, leaving Leon in the woods, half-blinded and alone.