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Once upon a time, in a far-off kingdom, there lived a foolish hunter. This hunter was a bold, boastful sort; he spoke often of his hunts and his quarries, and how skilled he was with his bow and his knife. However, he was as dishonest as he was boastful, and very few of his stories were true. Even so, his manner led many to believe him- and one day, his stories caught the ear of the King. The King was a gluttonous man, who feasted often on anything and everything- but he held a particular love for venison, and thus he called upon the Hunter one day.
“I have heard of your talents, brave Hunter,” said the King, when the Hunter appeared before him, “and thus I have decided that you shall serve me. There is a great forest just beyond this kingdom. I have sent many to it to hunt the deer within, but all have failed me. Bring me as many deer as you can, and I shall make you my own hunter, and ensure that you are in good employment for the rest of your days.”
The Hunter, if he were wise, would have been honest. He would explain that his stories were no more than bluffs, and that this is a task he could never fulfil. But the foolish Hunter merely laughed, and said: “Very well, Sire! I shall bring you all the venison your heart desires!” And, with a tip of his hunting-cap, left and rode off towards the forest as night fell behind him.
When he reached the forest, however, the sky was dark and starless. The trees were choked in mist, and no lantern-light could light his way. For many long hours, he tried to hunt the deer; but for all his boasting, the hunter had never once caught his quarries. Every time he attempted to approach a deer, it startled and ran deep into the woods. Every time he shot at one with his bow, the arrow would miss and startle them. And every time he attempted to chase the deer, he would only lose them in the fog.
Before long, the hunter had become lost, alone in the woods with no arrows in his quiver and no deer he could hunt. It was then that he came across something strange. It was tall enough that, for a moment, he thought it may have been one of the trees that loomed high over the forest. But as he got closer, its form became clearer. It was a dark shadow of scars and teeth, tangled in briars with a long cloak draped over its gnarled frame. It seemed to have wings, until the Hunter looked closer; merely branches, with fabric tied across to mimic them. It seemed to have eyes, until the Hunter looked closer still; merely empty, black pits in his head. And in its claws it clutched a lantern, the flickering light held within only seeming to make the forest around it darker.
A shudder overcame the Hunter, but, bold as he was, he marched towards the figure and demanded: “You, there! Are you the reason that the deer turn away from me when I try to catch them?”
“Aye, sir,” it replied, voice deep and low. “That I am.”
“And who are you?” the Hunter asked.
“I am Fear, sir.”
And as the Hunter gazed upon him, he realised his words were true. A cold wind blew over him, and Fear stood there, motionless and patient. But the Hunter swallowed his panic, and spoke again.
“Why do you prevent me from catching them?”
“You are brash and foolish, Hunter. They run because they see your knife and your bow. They run because they fear death. They fear it as you do; as all living things do. Turn away from this place, Hunter; you shall catch no quarry here.”
The Hunter did not turn away from this, though he could feel his heart beating like a drum in beneath his coat. Instead, he only puffed up his chest.
“I do not fear you, just as I do not fear death! You shall aid me, for I come in the name of the King! If you do not, then I shall do away with you myself!”
Fear stared down at the hunter, silent and unmoving, as though in contemplation. Then, he sighed. “Your threats are worthless, and I care not for your king. But very well, Hunter; bring me an antler, and then return in three nights. But understand this: in time, you will learn to regret it.”
The Hunter grunted and nodded indignantly, storming deep into the forest for many hours more. Eventually, by the time that dawn had broken over the horizon, he found a wounded buck tangled in a rosebush; there he slit its throat, broke off an antler and brought it to Fear, who nodded gravely and disappeared into the trees as though he had never been there at all. Then, he brought the deer back to the King and waited.
On the third night, the Hunter rode back into the forest. Once again, the sky was black and starless, and fog had rolled in to thicken the air. “Fear!” the Hunter declared, unmounting his steed and walking deep into the woods. “I have returned, as we agreed!”
“As you have, sir,” Fear said, emerging from the trees and stalking towards the hunter. In his claws, he clutched the lantern still. “And as such, I have upheld my promise. Hold out your hand.”
And as the Hunter did, he reached into his cloak and pressed something pale into the Hunter’s grasp. As the hunter looked upon it, he could see that it was the antler he had given him, carved into a smooth oval and threaded onto a length of chain.
“Wear this around your throat, Hunter, and no deer shall fear you. They will not run if you draw close to them, and they will be tame enough that they will feed from your hand. But understand, Hunter: if you allow yourself to become cruel, you might find that it would be better if they remained afraid of you.” And with that, Fear once again turned and stalked into the woods, carrying his flickering light with him.
The Hunter merely scoffed at this, but fastened the chain around his neck and went into the woods to find some deer. And when he did, he found that Fear’s promise was good; as he approached them, the deer merely stared at him, ears flicking in calm acknowledgement. Even when he moved to cut out its throat, it made only a quiet, pained bleat before bleeding serenely onto his coat.
By the time he had reached the King the next morning, he had brought with him more deer than the King had ever seen in all his life. The old King was overjoyed, and immediately made him the Head Hunter of his Court, showering him with praises and gold. And for many months after this, the foolish Hunter continued to kill the deer of the forest and bring them back to the kingdom, receiving more praise with every journey; he soon became known as the greatest Hunter in the land, and his pride grew in his chest, overfed and swollen.
But before long, the Hunter had killed so many of the deer of the forest, so cruelly and carelessly, that the wolves who lived there began to starve. And as the wolves realised that there would be nothing to eat in the forest, they set out to the kingdom and the countryside, killing the cattle and the countrymen who tilled the fields alike in their search for food. And when the King heard news of this, he once again called for the foolish Hunter to be brought before him.
“My dear Hunter,” he said, “you have served me well over these many months; never have we feasted so well. But now, I require you for another job. The wolves of the forest have moved to the countryside, killing everything they come across. If you can bring me their heads, I shall make you my heir, and grant you my daughter’s hand in marriage.”
The King’s daughter was beautiful and wise, but she loathed the Hunter sorely, knowing exactly what a terrible, prideful man he truly was. She had spurned all of his advances; it was said, instead, that she preferred the company of her head maid, and often retreated to her company when he was near. But the Hunter coveted the King’s domain, and had sought to procure it for himself by marrying the King’s daughter; and thus, he laughed again, tipping his hunting cap, and said: “Very well, Sire! I shall bring you the heads of these beasts, and they will trouble this land no longer!”
And with that, the Hunter returned to the forest, dark and fog-choked as before. As he ventured through the woods, he found the wolves stalking the forest- but at the sight of his sword and his bow, they fled deeper into the woods, knowing that they were too weak from hunger to fight. And so this continued for many hours, until at last the Hunter came across the tall, leering figure of Fear once more, still clutching his trembling light.
“You!” he demanded, again. “Are you the reason that the wolves flee from me when I try to slay them?”
“Aye, sir,” he said once more. “That I am.”
The Hunter stood up tall, glaring up at Fear, who gazed at him as patiently and calmly as ever. Once again, a cold wind blew over him; he shivered in his coat, but stood tall. “Why do you prevent me from killing them?”
“You are foolish, Hunter. You have been cruel and overzealous in your hunt; the wolves are starving and desperate, as there are no deer left for them to eat. Hungry as they are, they see your bow and your knife and flee from you, fearing that you will kill them. You will catch no quarry here.”
Once again, the Hunter stomped and huffed at Fear’s words. “You will aid me again, then! For I come not only in the name of the current King, but in the name of the next!” And once again, Fear gazed down at him with an unreadable expression, before nodding solemnly and clutching his light closer to his chest.
“Very well, Hunter. I shall aid you once more. Fetch me the pelt of one of the wolves, and return in three nights. But you shall still regret it.”
Again, the Hunter scoffed and headed into the thicket. By the time the sun began to filter through the trees, he found a starving young wolf, its leg stuck in a trap. Straight away, the Hunter cut its throat and skinned it, carrying its head under his arm and bringing the skin to Fear. And Fear took the beast’s pelt, humming quietly and stalking deeper into the woods, just beyond sight. And once again, the Hunter brought the wolf’s head to his King and waited for three nights for Fear to do his work.
On the third night, the Hunter arrived, blowing his horn and tying his steed to a nearby tree. “I have returned, Fear! As we agreed!” he declared again, staring into the undergrowth as Fear emerged, carrying a bundle beneath his arm.
“As we did, sir,” he murmured. “I have upheld my promise.” And with this, Fear drew near, and draped a cloak over the Hunter’s shoulders; thick and dark wolfskin, warm as a heart. “Wear this, Hunter, and no wolf will fear you. They shall not be tame towards you; they will bite and claw at you, in their desperate hunger. But they are starved, Hunter, and as such they are weak. But I shall warn you, just the same: if you continue in this manner, you will learn why it would be better if they feared you.”
Fear, again, turned back to the woods and disappeared among the trees. The Hunter merely laughed, and went deeper into the woods. Soon enough, he found that Fear’s words were true; the wolves no longer fled when he approached, but bit and clawed at the Hunter. But they were hungry and weak; and as such, the Hunter made short work of them. Before long, he returned to the Kingdom; and, night by night, he brought the King the heads of every wolf he could find, until there were no more to slay.
The King was delighted by the Hunter’s work; and soon thereafter the Hunter and the King’s Daughter were wed. Soon after that, the King died, and the Hunter was left to inherit all of his kingdom; the newly-crowned Queen withdrew deeper into herself, stoic and silent, a fact that the Hunter barely noticed. Once again, the Hunter’s pride became gravid and swollen, and he became a slothful, decadent tyrant. He demanded the adoration and praise of all his subjects, and fell into rages when it was not received. He threw great celebrations and banquets and parties for months after his crowning, and every time less and less people were present. Eventually, the Hunter found himself at a feast completely alone, and flew into a rage.
And again, he knew who he would blame.
One last time, the Hunter galloped into the forest, eyes burning with anger at being denied. In his hand he gripped his sword, and he stormed into the dark woods, searching for his answer. After many long hours, he finally found the source of his woes, waiting for him with a scornful glare.
“You!” he cried, for the last time. “Are you the reason my subjects will not face me?”
“Aye, sir,” Fear said, bitterly. “That I am.”
“Why now, Fear?”
“Even now, you are foolish. Because you have grown rich and fat with pride in your reign, Hunter. You have demanded adoration and taken wealth to support your decadence, and you have stomped those who refused into the earth. You are a tyrant, Hunter. I am the only reason you are still in power.”
The Hunter, enraged, thrust his sword at the dark figure, who only stood there and glared. “You will fix this!” The Hunter cried, froth at the edge of his lips. “I am a king, now! No subjects should defy me in this way!”
Fear stood up straight. For a moment, it seemed as though he was about to leave. Then, his claws tightened around his lantern. “ Very well, Hunter,” he growled. “Bring me a human heart, and return in three nights, as before. And then, I hope, you will finally learn.”
The Hunter required no further instruction. He rode out of the forest and went to his dungeons; there, he found a thief, chained and weary, and cut out their heart. When he took it to Fear, he snatched it from the Hunter and retreated back into the trees. Three nights later, the Hunter returned, just as before, and declared his presence. “Fear! I have returned, just as I promised!”
“As you have,” Fear growled, lowly, “and so I have upheld my end of the promise. Here. Take it,” he said, thrusting a leathery pouch into the Hunter’s hands; the thief’s heart, now cured and stuffed with flowers and herbs that the Hunter could not recognise. “Gather your subjects, and show this to them. They shall fear you no longer, Hunter. And you’ll be sorry for it.”
The Hunter, disregarding the sharpness of his tone as Fear hid himself amongst the trees once more, only grinned on his ride back to the palace. There, he did as he was instructed; he sent for all the subjects of the kingdom to be brought to the city, so that he might present the heart to them, and gain the adoration he so sorely deserved. It was a resplendent appointment; gilded carriages were arranged, trumpeters and drummers, and all the grandeur and triumph the Hunter could muster.
And when he finally let the heart be seen, a hush fell over the crowd. At first, it seemed like awe. But then there was a turning in the crowd, like the sky before a thunderstorm; one by one, the fear vanished from their faces, and only anger was left in its place. The subjects no longer held any fear for the Hunter, and thus they turned to the only emotion that the Hunter deserved: anger and hatred. And so, they chased the Hunter out of the city, through the country and deep into the woods, pelting him with stones and arrows.
When the Hunter reached the woods, he was greeted by wolves; ravenous and hungry and full of rage, they chased him further, tore and bit at his robes and his legs until he could only limp, until he fell onto the earth of the forest. Finally, once he thought he was alone, the silence was broken by the hooves of a great buck, who lowered its head and gored the foolish Hunter with his antlers and left his blood and his innards to spill onto the dirt below him, tarnished and helpless.
In his last moments, he saw the flickering light above him. “Fear,” he cried, weakly, “are you the cause of this?”
“No, sir,” he replied, hunched over him, with a strange satisfaction in his gaze. “Not this time.”
“Then who?”
“You, and you alone, Hunter.” His false-wings shadowed the Hunter as he bled his last upon the floor. “It was your folly that led you here, Hunter. If you were not so cruel and prideful, you may not have found yourself here. But you serve as a lesson, if nothing else. Without fear, the cruel are powerless.”
And with that, the foolish Hunter finally died, and Fear retreated to the darkness of the woods for the very last time.
The kingdom survived without its new-fallen king; the Queen took up the rule, with her maid as her consort, and her reign was as just and fair as she could make it. And many years later, the people had forgotten about the foolish Hunter; and all that remained of him was a broken sword and a collection of old, mouldering bones.
The end.