The Starthorn Tree

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘Everyone all right?’ he cried.

  ‘Yeah, sort of,’ came Durrik’s voice.

  ‘I think so,’ Briony answered, from quite a distance away.

  Then Lisandre said, in an icy voice, ‘I am scratched and bruised from head to foot, and I am dangling upside-down twenty feet above the ground. Of course I am not all right. Whose wonderful idea was this?’

  TWELVE

  The Evenlode wound through the trees, brown where it was dappled with light, greeny-dark where the branches hung close. A path was worn along its ferny banks, leading down to a wide curve of pebbly sand. Here Lisandre sat, her scarlet silk skirts spread gracefully about her, her hands folded in her lap. The setting sun shone through her dandelion-seed hair so her beautiful, pale face looked as if it was haloed in light.

  Cicadas sang in the bushes all about, and Thundercloud and Snowflake were knee-deep in a bed of thistles, contentedly grazing. They had come bounding up to the four children only an hour or so after they had finally managed to extricate themselves from the treetops, bowling Pedrin over in their excitement. The goatherd had been so relieved to see them tears had stung his eyes, and he had had to wipe them surreptitiously on his sleeve, afraid Lisandre would notice and jeer at him. Snowflake had been in great discomfort with bursting udders, and so he had sat down at once and milked her, pressing his face into her flank so he could smell her clover-sweet scent. The children had not eaten for almost a full day and so they all drank the milk gratefully, even Lisandre, and gorged themselves on stale bread and cheese from the nanny-goat’s saddlebags.

  The rest of the day had been spent walking, but the mood could not have been more different from the day before. The sun was shining, the starkin soldiers were hanging in cages four hundred feet off the ground and forty miles behind them, and they had managed to escape the wood-sprites with no more than a few nasty scratches and bruises. The ointment of Naoma of the Crafty had soon eased that discomfort, and they had found this peaceful clearing with fat silverbacks sunning themselves in the shallows, and the whine of cicadas to warn them of any disturbance to the peace.

  Pedrin, Durrik and Briony were up to their knees in the river, casting their makeshift fishing lines into the swirl of water beyond the beach. Three fish already dangled from Pedrin’s belt so the urgency had gone out of their task and they were happy to splash about a little and talk and joke.

  ‘So why do seamstresses like wide-open spaces?’ Durrik asked solemnly.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Briony answered uncertainly. ‘I certainly do but then I’m not like most seamstresses, I was born out in the open. Do most seamstresses like wide-open spaces?’

  ‘Oh, they do,’ he answered. ‘’Tis because they don’t like feeling hemmed in.’

  It took a moment for Briony to understand but then light dawned in her greeny-dark eyes. ‘Oh!’ she cried.

  ‘So where do seamstresses like to live?’ he asked.

  ‘Where then?’ She was half-laughing, half-defensive.

  ‘Why, on the outskirts of town, of course.’

  ‘Very funny,’ she grinned.

  ‘Don’t mind him,’ Pedrin said. ‘He’s the master of the bad pun.’

  ‘My puns aren’t bad,’ Durrik protested. ‘You’re just jealous because you can’t ever think of any yourself.’

  ‘I can too!’

  ‘Well then?’

  Pedrin coloured, swung his leg back and forth in the water, and said nothing.

  ‘Told you.’

  ‘I’m a-thinking!’ Pedrin protested. He took a deep breath, then, his ears turning red, asked: ‘So is it hard to sew, Briony?’

  ‘Is this a pun?’ she asked, bewildered. ‘How am I meant to answer?’

  ‘You should say, “Nah, ’tis thimble”,’ Pedrin answered, grinning widely. ‘Do you get it? Thimble. Simple. Hah, that’s mighty good!’

  ‘Mighty bad,’ Durrik said, once he stopped laughing. ‘You’re good at catching fish, Pedrin, but gruesome at cracking jokes.’

  Pedrin splashed him with water. ‘You’re just jealous ‘cause you didn’t think of it yourself,’ he cried.

  A water fight ensued, the boys doing their best to drown each other. Laughing, Briony ran back to the shore. ‘Those boys are such tomfools,’ she said to Lisandre, wringing out the hem of her dress.

  ‘With execrable manners also,’ Lisandre said coldly. ‘I am hungry. When do you intend to serve me my meal, Briony?’

  Briony stopped laughing. ‘I’m sorry, milady,’ she said gently. ‘Indeed you must be hungry. Been a mighty long time since we last ate. I’ll be a-kindling the fire now.’

  She busied herself gathering firewood while Lisandre watched, a little of the stiffness gone from her back. Pedrin and Durrik waded out of the pool to help her, their clothes and hair dripping wet.

  ‘I see milady does not intend to lift a finger,’ Pedrin said with some acidity, taking the heavy load of branches from Briony’s skinny arms.

  ‘It wouldn’t occur to her,’ she answered. ‘She’s been waited on hand and foot all her life, you know.’

  ‘Yeah, but we’re not at the castle now,’ he said rebelliously. ‘She treats you like dirt.’

  ‘She treats me as if I were her servant, which is what I am,’ Briony replied gently. ‘I don’t mind, much. All this is hard for her. I’m happy to do what I can to make it easier.’

  ‘What’s so hard for her? A-sitting around and a-watching us work?’

  ‘But don’t you see how weary Lisandre must be, and how a-feared? She’s never left the castle before, except to be carried down the town in a litter. You sneered at her for her shoes but don’t you realise she’s got no others? I think she’s amazingly brave, to leave the luxury of the castle and be a-setting out on such an adventure.’

  Colour had risen in her cheeks and she was gazing directly at him for the first time, so he saw how very bright her eyes really were. He looked back at her in surprise, and she blushed and dropped her eyes, bending to pick up an old dry branch. He had not thought of things from quite this angle before but he said stubbornly, ‘Or amazingly stupid.’

  ‘But she’s not stupid at all. She knows there’s summat wrong with her father’s death and she’s determined to find out what and set it right. She was the only one of the starkin to see behind Lord Zavion’s charming smile.’

  She gathered up another handful of dry leaves and mosses, carrying them back to their campsite in her apron. Pedrin said nothing as he helped Briony lay the fire, but when he glanced at a white-faced Lisandre, sitting so still on the sand, the hostility in his eyes was a little tempered.

  As was the usual practice among the hearthkin, Pedrin said a little prayer to Liah as he tried to strike a spark from his flint.

  ‘O Liah, lady of the hearth,

  Kindle our spark of light,

  Bless our fire tonight,

  Keep your flame bright,

  All this long, dark night,

  Watch over us while we sleep,

  And keep us safe from harm,

  O Liah, lady of the hearth.’

  ‘What is the goat-boy muttering about now?’ Lisandre asked wearily.

  ‘He asks for the blessing of Liah the Hearth-Keeper,’ Briony replied softly. ‘She’s the goddess of the home fire, the bringer of warmth and light. It is Liah who grants the power to see clearly and understand what is seen.’

  ‘How quaint,’ Lisandre said.

  Pedrin glared at her, all his hostility aroused once more, and laid the fish in his pan to fry.

  ‘The best thing about fried fish is that ’tis so quick,’ Durrik said happily. ‘Imagine if we had to sit and smell that for an hour!’

  ‘It does smell delicious,’ Lisandre admitted. ‘I am very hungry.’

  ‘It tastes even better,’ Pedrin said, licking his fingers a few minutes later. ‘Why does food always taste better outdoors?’

  ‘Does it?’ Lisandre said. ‘Until we left the castle, I had never eaten outside before and
the food we have had since then has all been rather repugnant. Though I must admit this is the best fish I have ever tasted.’

  ‘Well, it was swimming about only half an hour ago,’ Pedrin said. ‘The fish you eat up at the castle must be a day old, at least.’

  She was too busy eating to answer. Apart from the fish, there was soft goat’s cheese and freshly baked bread and delicious yellow yams that Briony had dug up in the forest and roasted in the fire. Soon all that was left was a scatter of bones and crumbs, which Briony carefully gathered up and buried out of sight. She then spread some of the bread with honey and poured out a bowl of Snowflake’s warm frothy milk.

  ‘What you doing?’ Durrik asked as she carried the bowl and plate to the far side of the clearing, leaving them behind a big bush.

  Briony looked at him in surprise. ‘A-leaving an offering for the wildkin, of course. It’d be very rude to fish in his pool and dig up his roots without a-leaving summat in return.’

  ‘Whose pool?’ Pedrin asked, sitting up abruptly and reaching for his slingshot.

  ‘The river-roan’s, of course. Did you not see his hoof-prints in the mud by the river?’

  ‘A river-roan’s hoofprints? No!’

  ‘Did you think this pool unoccupied?’ Briony was a little puzzled.

  ‘But . . . I didn’t think, I suppose.’ Pedrin looked about uneasily. He lowered his voice. ‘Do you think he’s a-watching us now?’

  ‘For sure,’ Briony answered. ‘River-roans are very curious, you know.’ She saw the alarm on all their faces and said in her soft, gentle voice, ‘There’s no need to be a-feared. He won’t hurt us, as long as we don’t make too much of a mess or try to harm him in any way.’

  ‘But I thought river-roans always be a-trying to trick people so they can drown them,’ Durrik said, staring around with wide eyes.

  ‘Oh, they’ll a-try to drown you if they think you’re a threat, but river-roans are mostly pretty gentle. ’Tis the lake-lorelei you really need to be a-worrying about when it comes to drowning, and they never share a pool with a river-roan. It was when I saw his hoofprints that I decided it was safe to camp here, didn’t you realise?’

  Pedrin’s ears turned red. ‘Just so long as he stays away from us, I s’pose it’ll be fine,’ he said gruffly, and got up to call the goats in from the forest.

  They grew sleepy as the fire sank down into coals, and made themselves beds of bracken and grass. Lisandre sat and watched them in silence, her back very straight, then ordered Briony to come and brush her hair and wash her face and hands. Briony did as she was bid, trying without much success to smooth down the shock of unevenly hacked fair hair. When she was finished Briony passed Lisandre the silver mirror, and she examined her face and hair closely, frowning in displeasure at what she saw. ‘I look like some repulsive hearthkin brat,’ she said unhappily, and tried to smooth down her crumpled, muddied skirt. ‘Briony, you must wash my dress for me and set it to dry for the morning.’

  ‘Yeah, milady. Come, won’t you lie down and rest? We have another long walk tomorrow.’

  ‘Very well,’ Lisandre said, and held up her hand imperiously. After a moment Pedrin realised she expected him to pull her to her feet. He blushed furiously and took her hand. It was very soft, but her long nails cut his palm cruelly. He hauled her up, and she came to her feet abruptly. He realised, with rather a shock, that she was not much taller than him after all. It was the preposterous high heels that all the starkin wore that made them seem so very tall. She stepped away from him haughtily, gathering up the great mass of her skirt with both hands so she did not trip over its trailing hem.

  ‘You boys must turn your backs and cover your eyes while I undress,’ she commanded. ‘Do not dare try to cheat, for I shall know.’

  ‘Nah, of course not, milady,’ Durrik said in a scandalised voice, then flickered a wink at Pedrin. The goatherd could not help grinning in response. He knew his friend had every intention of peeking, just as he did himself. There was nothing to see, however, for Briony held up the long purple cloak as a screen and Lisandre undressed behind it, then wrapped herself up well before lying down on the bed of bracken Briony had prepared for her.

  ‘Try to sleep, milady,’ Briony said.

  ‘I’ll try,’ Lisandre said rather pettishly, trying to get comfortable. ‘I must admit I am immensely weary.’

  It took a long time for Briony to wash the mass of red silk, and squeeze it out and hang it up to dry. Although both Pedrin and Durrik were so tired their bones ached, they were so indignant at Lisandre’s behaviour that they made a point of sitting up to help Briony and keep her company. At first Durrik entertained her with jokes and funny stories then, when he grew so drowsy he could hardly keep his eyes open, Pedrin took out his wooden flute and began to play. He had not had the opportunity since they had fled the Regent’s crystal tower, and so he took pleasure in playing tune after tune, until at last Briony was able to join them in their rough bracken beds by the fire.

  ‘You play well,’ Lisandre said sleepily. ‘When I have woken my brother, you must come up to the castle and play for him. I’m sure he will be able to find you a job as a court musician.’

  Pedrin had not yet forgiven her for her comment about hearthkin brats, so he replied rather curtly, ‘Thank you, but I like being a goatherd. I wouldn’t like to spend all me days a-lying round, growing fat and lazy, unable to even wash me own face.’

  She did not answer, though they heard her turn away abruptly, the bracken crackling. Pedrin put his flute away and pulled his weatherproof cape up about his ears, having won first watch with the toss of his new silver coin. Silence fell.

  It was sometime later that he woke with a start, hearing rustling sounds in the bushes. Pedrin held his breath, listening. He heard the sound of crunching and slurping. Suddenly the darkness was split by a broad ray of light. The massive trunks of the trees were illuminated brightly. He saw something move, something dark and quick, then all was still. Quickly he looked back towards the fire, startled and afraid, and saw Lisandre was sitting up, a blazing sphere in her hand. Then the light dwindled down to a muted glow that lit her face and Pedrin’s, but no longer split the darkness.

  ‘What was that?’ Lisandre said shakily.

  ‘I don’t know. The river-roan, mebbe, though it did not look much like a horse.’ He got up and crossed the clearing, his hand on the billy-goat’s tense shoulder. Thundercloud’s head was lowered, his golden eyes narrowed evilly. There was just enough light left for Pedrin to see that the bowl of milk was empty and the bread and honey gone. He went back to the fire with a tight feeling in his throat, a coldness in the pit of his stomach. ‘Summat has eaten the offering anyway,’ he said, trying to sound light-hearted. ‘Let’s hope it warn’t a gibgoblin!’

  Lisandre made a little sound, a sigh or a sob, it was hard to tell which. She raised high the sphere of light, turning it so that its bright beam swept through the trees. There was nothing to see.

  ‘What is it?’ Briony sat up, her ragdoll clutched in her arm, the blanket falling from her thin shoulders. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Summat came and drank the milk,’ Pedrin said brusquely.

  ‘Oh, that’s good,’ she said.

  ‘It didn’t look much like a horse.’

  She gave a little nod. Durrik was awake now too, his blond hair sticking straight up, his face frightened. ‘What do you think it was? Will it come back?’ he asked.

  Pedrin did not want to admit he had fallen asleep, or that his heart was galloping along so fast it thundered in his ears. He gave a little shrug and looked at Briony but she said nothing, just yawned sleepily and snuggled back down in her blanket.

  After a moment Lisandre brought the light back down to a muted glow that slowly sank away, leaving them in darkness. ‘Well, I cannot see anything out there,’ she said, her voice a little wobbly. ‘I think it must have gone.’

  ‘What’s that light you keep a-conjuring up?’ Pedrin asked curiously, throwing more w
ood on the fire so he could see. ‘’Tis so bright and you don’t need no tinder or flint to light it.’

  ‘What, this? It’s my night-light,’ Lisandre said carelessly, and held it out for the others to see. It was a jewelled orb, the shape and size of a sisika egg, enamelled a pale violet-blue and garlanded with flowers and ribbons of gold set with sapphires, blue opals and amethysts. At one end was a golden crown set with a brilliant diamond, at the other end a little oval knob that looked as if was designed to be set into a stand. A heavy gold chain was now threaded through so the jewelled egg could be worn hanging from Lisandre’s waist. The two boys stared, open-mouthed. They had never seen anything like it.

  Lisandre swung the jewelled egg idly. ‘It’s pretty, is it not? It was my christening gift from the king. All children of the Ziv are given one, so we need not fear the dark. Look . . .’

  She held the egg up and gave it a little twist with her hand. To the surprise and delight of the others, it opened like the bud of a flower, revealing within a golden bird sitting upon a blossoming branch of blue jewels. The bird spread its tiny wings, opened its golden beak and sang exquisitely. When the song was finished, the bird folded its wings and closed its beak, and the four petals smoothly and silently shut once more, hiding the bird within.

  ‘What about the light? Where does the light come from, the one a-shining like a lantern?’ Pedrin asked, fascinated and envious.

  ‘Here,’ Lisandre said, pointing one finger at the great spherical diamond set into the golden crown. At her gesture it began to glow with light, sending rainbow sparks flashing around the circle of intent faces. ‘I can make it as bright as I want,’ she said. ‘If I wanted to, I could light up this clearing as if it were day.’

  ‘How?’ Pedrin asked.

  ‘What do you mean, how? I’ve showed you how.’