The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror. Fifth Annual Collection

“My father was not a man,” Vivian said and stood. “He would have used you as all Oakmen use mortals. Blood is important to a good hunt. You would have run for him, like a fox before the hounds.”

Beneath the warm green blankets Robin shivered, hearing the truth spoken in her words, seeing again the hatred in the Oakman’s eyes.

He stood weakly and Vivian held his arm until he gained a steady stance. She took one blanket from the ground and wrapped it around his shoulders like a cloak. She took a second blanket for herself.

“Wrapped in the greencloth, you will never be seen either by your enemies, or by the game you seek. Come, let us go into the forest and I will show you the deer.”

Vivian hoisted his longbow on her shoulder and carried the quiver of arrows at her side. Robin followed, his steps uncertain at first and then growing more confident as he felt the blood flow in his cheeks and his heart beat strongly.

It was still morning when they entered the forest again, and Robin marveled that in so short a time the greenmist had flowed through the woods and brought them to life. The branches of trees were still black and leafless, but the air smelled sweet and pungent with new growth. Snow gave way to the mud and Vivian pointed out to him the bright orange blooms of the lichen set like goblets to catch the spring mist. Mosses along the trunks of trees turned dark green and yellowed fruiting stems bowed their heads with beads of dew. The sun slanted through the trees, chasing away the cold breath of winter.

They had not gone far into the woods when Vivian stopped him with a hand just touching his shoulder. She nodded toward a break in the trees. A young stag, his horns still a winter red, entered the clearing. Vivian handed Robin his longbow and arrows.

Robin smiled broadly, excitement threading his pulse as he nocked the arrow. He wouldn’t miss this time. He pulled the bowstring back and let loose the arrow. It wobbled slightly in its flight and Robin held his breath fearing failure. And then it landed unerringly in the stag’s chest.

The stag reared back his hooves in angry surprise. The tines of his horns crashed against the low-lying branches and his bellows filled the forest. He tried to run, but Robin shot a second arrow that landed close to the first. The stag leapt into the air and then landed heavily, the long slender legs collapsing beneath the huge body.

Robin cheered, raising the longbow high into the air. There would be game for the fire. And there would be dry wood with which to cook it, he thought, remembering the fallen tree where he had met the Oakman. He turned to thank Vivian and then stopped seeing the stricken expression on her face.

She lowered her eyes and he saw the beads of sweat on her upper lip. “Forgive me,” she said softly and Robin thought she meant it for him.

He smiled understandingly at her and clasped her by the shoulder. “The hunt is hard to see the first time. It gets easier.” Beneath his hand she trembled.

“The problem now is how to get the stag back to camp quickly,” he mused aloud. “I’ll dress it here, but there are others in these woods as hungry as my men. I don’t want to lose the meat to the scavengers.”

Vivian untied a small gold horn from her waist and handed it to Robin. He recognized it as the horn her father had used to call his men. “Use this whenever you need the assistance of your men. They will answer it, if they can hear it.”

Robin took the horn and placed it to his lips. He blew into it, hearing the long shrill notes of the horn soar above the forest. He stopped and was aware of the silence. He blew again and this time when he stopped he heard voices calling to him from the greenwood.

“Robin? Is that you?” cried a loud voice.

Robin smiled widely. “Little John, over here!”

“I told you it would be him,” said another voice triumphantly and Robin recognized Will Stutely.

“It was I told you,” grumbled a third voice, a little out of breath. Robin searched the trees and saw the black habit of Friar Tuck, his belly breaking first through the bushes.

“In God’s name, will you look at the stag!” Little John shouted, rushing to examine the fallen beast. He looked around, puzzlement on his broad face.

“Robin?” he called. “Are you still here?”

“Aye, I’m here,” Robin laughed. “Can you not see me standing next to you?”

Little John jumped at the sound of Robin’s voice so close to him in the woods. Robin let slip the cloak and moved closer, to stand by the stag.

“I would never have seen you had you not shown yourself.” Little John smiled with amazement. “You’ve a new game afoot, Robin. To wear such a green in the wood. We will all disappear.”

“That’s why he remains the leader of our band,” answered Will with pride.

“Wait, there is more,” Robin started to say, turning to look for Vivian. But she was gone. Robin frowned, searching the trees for sight of her.

“Well, then?” Little John said, already bending over the stag with his knife. He had opened its belly and begun the job of gutting it. Steam rose from the stag’s belly as the viscera, glistening like wet jewels, spilled out on to the leaves.