The Birkenhead Drill and Other Stories

The White Stag pond

Even in broad daylight, in the middle of a warm, spring day, the dense forest covering the slopes of Mount Inasa was dark, sinister and frightening. Low pines and junipers, twisted in demonic forms in the sea breeze, their trunks and branches blackened with salt, struggled for sunlight under the stifling canopy of giant, ancient oaks and gnarled camphor trees. The only outcrops of colour were pink and purple flowers of wild azaleas, bursting bravely from the undergrowth. The forest was silent; no birds nestled on the seaward slope. Only the southern wind howled through the crowns of the tallest trees, bringing warmth and moisture from over the sea. The forest paths resembled mineshafts, hot and humid passages through darkness.

  A fourteen-year old boy was climbing one of these paths, looking nervously all around and over his shoulder each time he thought he heard a noise. He squeezed the grip of his short sword with a sweaty hand, reassuringly. He had almost reached his destination. 

  A small waterfall cascaded down a rocky outcrop. The boy approached it, took a deep breath and plunged straight through the water. Soaking and shivering, he found himself inside a short tunnel leading inside the mountain. He walked through to a small, perfectly round glade, enclosed by walls of hard volcanic rock from all sides, like a giant hollowed-out tree stump. There was a pool of crystal clear blue water in the middle of the glade, known locally as the White Stag pond.

  The boy knelt by the side of the pool and bowed, trembling in fear and anger. His wet clothes steamed in the humid heat, drying quickly. He was at once furious and terrified. Furious because of his humiliation before the teacher. If he had ever considered keeping what he’d learned about the strange barbarian to himself, this resolve was now gone. 

  He was terrified of what he had to do next. Contacting the Master always unnerved him, but now he had to report on the failure of his efforts.  

  "Master, I have come."

  The waters of the pool wavered and blurred, and a face of a mature man appeared on the surface. A face pale like paper, with no trace of blood, and eyes gleaming like cold gold, surrounded by a mane of long, black hair falling on the man’s shoulders clad in crimson robe.