The Starthorn Tree

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘Oh well, at least we’ve left the gibberhog far behind us,’ Briony said. ‘If we’d taken shelter in a cave, it would’ve been bound to be his home and we would’ve had the sow and all the piglets to worry about as well. Let’s get a-moving and see if we can’t find somewhere to shelter. Those clouds look nasty.’

  The children set off up the side of the river, Thundercloud and Snowflake bounding before them. The trees rose high all around them, tall and grey and silent, their roots like a tangle of ossified snakes. Mist reached down from the mountains to brush their cheeks with soft, indifferent fingers. Pedrin and Durrik were glad of their capes, and Lisandre wrapped her heavy cloak close about her. Briony pulled her shawl up about her hair, while Pedrin gave little Mags-in-Rags his blanket to wrap about her head and shoulders.

  ‘Now, if I remember a-rightly, there’s a place not far from here that might do the trick,’ Sedgely said ruminatively. ‘Though ’tis probably home to a bear now. If not summat worse.’

  It began to rain, light and stinging at first, and then in great blowing sheets that soaked them to the skin.

  ‘Bear or not, lead us to this place,’ Lisandre commanded. ‘It is near nightfall and we are all tired. I cannot and will not flounder on in all this mud.’

  ‘If there is a bear there, I warrant you’d rather we were a-floundering,’ Sedgely sighed. ‘Bears don’t much like uninvited visitors.’

  ‘Briony will weave a net to entrap the bear, if there is one there,’ Lisandre snapped. ‘Just get us out of this rain!’

  On they went, tired, wet, cold and very uncomfortable. Branches slapped them in the face. Their feet sank deep into mud. The tree-trunks were wreathed in mist, so that they could hardly see their way. From time to time, Sedgely stopped and stared about him, tugging at his long white beard dispiritedly. ‘Things do change a lot in twenty years,’ he said once, and another time, ‘I do hope there’s no bear living there now.’

  At last he stopped, nodding his head in satisfaction. ‘Here we are then. I thought I hadn’t forgotten the way. Just follow your nose, Sedgely me lad, I always say. Just follow your nose.’ He tapped it knowingly. Durrik and Mags shared a grin of pure, mischievous delight.

  They were standing at the foot of yet another giant of the forest, a tree that soared so high its upper branches were lost in clouds. The tree-roots enclosed the children like thick, groping arms, creating a dusk even darker than the one now closing in over the forest. It was so dark it was hard to see more of each other’s faces than vague white blotches floating in the grey. The children all huddled together, shivering.

  ‘Well?’ Lisandre demanded. ‘Where is this cave?’

  ‘What cave?’ Sedgely asked.

  ‘The cave you were leading us to, the cave in which you said we could shelter,’ she said impatiently.

  ‘Oh. There’s no cave. ’Tis the tree I was a-talking about. ’Tis hollow. Some little weevil must’ve eaten out its heart. It’ll be a little cramped with all you big lumbering children, but at least it’ll be dry. That is, if there’s no bear.’

  The old man clambered up onto one great writhing root and jumped down on the far side. ‘Well, no smell of bear,’ he said in quite a cheerful tone. ‘Though that’s not to say a snake mightn’t a-slithered in to get out of the rain. Couldn’t smell a snake over all this water.’

  ‘A snake?’ Lisandre recoiled.

  ‘A snake would be better than a scorpion.’ Sedgely’s voice was muffled as he groped around in his coat pocket. ‘At least we’ll know straightaway if there’s a snake, while a scorpion tends to sneak up on you while you’re asleep.’ Light suddenly illuminated the dusk all about them, turning the rain into long strokes of quicksilver. There was a moment of silence, the children standing shivering in the rain, then Sedgely’s head popped up again. ‘No snake,’ he said succinctly. ‘Come in out of the rain before you all catch your death of cold.’

  One by one they clambered in over the high root. In the pale radiance of the light shining from the old man’s hand, they could see a wide gaping crack in the trunk. They examined it rather fearfully. All, that is, except for Mags. Her eyes were fixed greedily on the jewelled orb in Sedgely’s hand. There was a fierce longing there, a covetousness that Pedrin recognised well, having felt much the same desire himself. Something about her expression bothered him, though. It was the depth of the longing, as much as the absence of some emotion he thought should have been there. Wonder, perhaps, or surprise that such a ragged old man should possess something of such opulent beauty. There was no such amazement in her face, only greed.

  Just as he recognised the look in her eyes, it vanished, and Mags was wondering aloud with the others at this doorway into the heart of the tree. ‘Leeblimey!’ she cried. ‘Is there really a little room in there? Are you sure ’tis empty?’

  ‘If anyone lives here, they’re not home now,’ Sedgely replied. ‘Go on. No point a-standing about in the rain. We’ll find out soon enough if we’re not welcome.’

  One by one they crawled in through the crack, Sedgely setting his night-light in the centre so it illuminated the small chamber within brightly. The walls narrowed overhead so that they banged their skulls if they stood, but once seated there was plenty of room as long as they kept their knees bent close to their bodies. At least, there was, until Thundercloud came butting his way in, shaking his shaggy coat so they were drenched anew.

  ‘Oh, no!’ Lisandre cried. ‘Get your goat out of here, Pedrin. It’s bad enough that we have to smell that Mags-in-Rags girl without having the stench of wet goat as well.’

  As Pedrin hastily chased a belligerent Thundercloud back out into the night, Mags thrust her fist into Lisandre’s face, saying furiously, ‘Smell this, frog-face!’

  Briony dragged her back. ‘There aren’t enough room for punch-ups in here, Mags. Please don’t start a scuffle! We’re all tired and wet and cold. Let’s just try and get warm and dry, and get some sleep while we can.’

  ‘What gives her the right to sneer at me!’ Mags cried. ‘She’s just as tatty as me, for all her airs and graces.’

  Lisandre looked down at the ruin of her red silk dress. In the steady glow of Sedgely’s night-light, they could see she was close to tears. ‘What is this appalling child doing here anyway?’ she asked icily.

  ‘What indeed?’ Briony said. ‘For now we are six.’

  As the import of her words sunk in, there was silence for a long moment. ‘But she says she’s not wildkin,’ Pedrin objected. ‘If she’s not wildkin, that must mean you are.’ He said it challengingly, not really meaning it, but Briony nodded her head slowly.

  ‘At least I know now.’

  Pedrin was instantly sorry he had spoken. He could see the shock on Lisandre’s face, the instant recoil. He felt the same recoil in himself. All his life he had regarded the wildkin as dangerous, unpredictable, and even evil. The last few weeks travelling through the Perilous Forest had caused a gradual stretching of this belief. The wood-sprites had been heedless and lawless, for sure, but they had been merry-hearted too, and had cared for their wounded with true compassion. He liked Sedgely and enjoyed his sly humour, and had tried to tell himself that such a kindly old man could not really be a wildkin. It now seemed certain that he was, and Briony too, and Pedrin had to come to grips with the idea that wildkin could look just like normal people, walking about and living amongst them without anyone ever knowing the difference.

  He stared at Briony and saw again how pale and pointed was her face. Her ears, usually hidden by her dark curls or by a kerchief, were now revealed by the wetness of her hair as being as long and pointed as the ears of a wood-sprite. He remembered how her eyes were always changing colour, reflecting her mood or the colour of the world around her. He thought about how she could turn a knotted loop of string into a hammock or a net, and a length of cotton into a rope. He remembered how loyal and brave she was, and how hard she worked to keep the peace between them. She had saved them again and again, and all with no
trace of conceit or demand for gratitude, that hardest of all debts to bear.

  Now Briony was looking tense and unhappy, waiting for them all to shrink from her as they had after the spider wood. Pedrin saw with a sudden flash of insight that she had lived all her life in fear of that instinctive recoil, yet a lifetime of enduring it had not hardened her to it. Although he was still troubled and a little repelled by the realisation that Briony was indeed wildkin and thus unknowable, he tried to smile at her in reassurance, though his cheeks felt stiff as if carved from stone.

  The smile on Durrik’s face was far more genuine and sympathetic. Pedrin realised with the same sudden shock of clarity that Durrik was feeling an eager kinship with Briony. Durrik had also lived his life with the fear of being reviled and rejected, an outcast hiding his secret nature under the mask of normality. This insight shook and disturbed Pedrin, revealing subterranean depths to his friend that Pedrin had never before recognised.

  Sedgely too was looking at Briony kindly, nodding at her and smiling a little. There was no such sympathy on Lisandre’s face. She was genuinely shocked and horrified. They could all see how she drew herself away so no part of her touched the wildkin girl, and how the mask of pride and disdain closed down over her face.

  Mags was looking from one face to another. ‘What are you all a-talking about?’ she asked rather shrilly. ‘What’s all this blather about wildkin? What does it matter that there’s now six of us?’

  They hesitated a moment, looking at each other, then Lisandre said coldly, ‘I do not see how that is any of your business, Rags.’

  ‘If ’tis not me business, why do you keep a-talking about me as if I warn’t here?’ she snapped back.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Briony said miserably. ‘’Tis just . . .’ She looked appealingly at Lisandre. The hope and longing on her face cut Pedrin like a knife. He felt a sudden hot shame and, though he could not smile, the stone of his face dissolved so she could see his very real and deep desire to understand and accept. It gave her strength. Her shoulders lifted a little and she said, with new ardency in her voice, ‘Can’t we tell her about the prophecy, milady, and what we’re a-doing here in the Perilous Forest? For it does seem too much like coincidence that we should just meet up with her like that, don’t you think?’

  Lisandre thrust out her jaw stubbornly. Briony added pleadingly, ‘And Mags did save you from the gibberhog, remember?’

  ‘Not that I’ve had any thanks,’ Mags said piously.

  Lisandre saw that Sedgely was about to add something and said coldly, ‘Very well, I thank you!’

  ‘I think Briony’s right,’ Durrik said. ‘I think you should tell Mags all about the prophecy, Lisandre—’

  ‘I am of the Ziv,’ Lisandre said icily. ‘Who gave you the right to call me by name, sirrah?’

  NINETEEN

  Durrik was taken aback. For a moment he stared at her, then his face burnt with colour. He could find nothing to say.

  ‘Briony, I am cold and wet still. Why have you not lit a fire to dry my clothes?’

  ‘I’m sorry, milady. I haven’t had a chance,’ Briony faltered. She looked about her, and made an effort to rise, though her face was white and pinched with tiredness and misery. ‘I don’t know . . . could we be a-lighting a fire in here, Pedrin? Surely it’d smoke us out?’

  ‘Indeed it would,’ Pedrin said shortly, looking angrily at the starkin girl, sitting very stiff and proud on the other side of the hollow tree. ‘I’d say we’d all better just be glad we’re out of the rain and make do as best we can. Though I must say I’m hungry,’ he finished in a plaintive rush, undermining the stiff righteousness of his previous words.

  ‘So am I. Fair gutfoundered,’ Mags agreed.

  ‘Now let me see,’ Sedgely murmured, thrusting his hand into first one pocket then another. He pulled out five small birds’ eggs, blue and speckled, a handful of mushrooms, a little bunch of spring onions, dirt still clinging to their bulbs, and finally, with an air of triumph, a long yellow marrow. ‘I picked up a few things along the way, a-knowing you young things are always hungry,’ he explained. ‘Now, a fire. I agree a fire would be nice. Though how we’re to manage it, I can’t say. We can’t be a-lighting one in here, for even if we could stand the smoke in our eyes, we’d be a-toasting our toes a little too warmly for me liking. Nah, nah, we’d best be a-thinking of summat else.’ He tugged his beard and then, finding it dripping wet, absent-mindedly wrung it out all over Pedrin’s bare feet. Luckily Pedrin’s feet were already so wet and cold he hardly noticed.

  Sedgely put his head out of the crack in the tree-trunk. Outside the rain was still blowing in heavy sheets. They could hear him scuffling about outside. Then he pulled his head back inside. ‘Can I have your oilskins, young fellers?’

  A few minutes later he requested a handful of dry twigs and leaves from underfoot, and then Pedrin’s tinder and flint. Soon, incredulously, they smelt wood smoke and heard the merry crackle of a fire. The old man had draped the boys’ oilskins over some long sticks, making a little tent between the high tree-roots, before lighting a fire under its shelter.

  ‘The wood’s all damp, it’ll smoke,’ he said dubiously. ‘Still, we’ll at least be able to make a nice hot omelette and hang some of our clothes up to dry. It’ll help keep us warm too, though I daresay we’ll choke on the smoke if the wind turns.’

  Sedgely’s stream of ordinary, everyday conversation had calmed the overcharged atmosphere in the little room. Gratefully the children began to struggle out of their damp clothes, passing them out for Sedgely to hang on a little line he had rigged up. Under the red rags of her dress, Lisandre wore a white camisole and pantaloons, all trimmed with satin ribbons and lace, while both Briony and Mags wore nothing but drab cotton shifts, rather damp about the neck and hem. Durrik had stuffed his rolled-up blanket into his bag at the first hint of rain and he took it out now, and offered it to Briony. She tucked it around Lisandre’s shoulders but the starkin princess flinched away from the touch of her hand. Briony sat down as far away from everyone else as she could get, arms wrapped about her knees, her eyes as black and full of storms as the sky outside.

  ‘What about me?’ Mags said belligerently. ‘I’m cold too, but I can’t see anyone offering me a blanket.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Durrik said, his words rather muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head. ‘I only have the one.’ He handed the wet, tattered, stained rag of a shirt to Sedgely and turned back to find the three girls all staring at him in horror. They had all just seen his bare back for the first time, the white skin marred with great red welts, some still oozing pus.

  ‘Leeblimey!’ Mags said in great distress. ‘What happened to you? A gibgoblin?’

  Colour had scorched up Durrik’s face. He squatted down, his back hidden against the wall, and said with a bitter twist of his mouth, ‘A gibgoblin in human form. A delightful starkin guard, that had the charge of me and Pedrin at the glass factory.’

  ‘But why? Why would he flay you like that?’ Mags cried, her hands clenched into fists.

  ‘I stumbled,’ Durrik said and gave a deprecating little wave of his hand down at his thin, crooked left leg, the foot curled now in a cramp that he bent down and tried to massage away.

  ‘Starkin scum,’ Mags hissed, and cast a look of virulent hatred at Lisandre, who had gone first white, and then red, and now shut up her mouth tightly and raised her chin in a way they all knew well.

  ‘Does it hurt, Durrik?’ Briony asked anxiously. ‘I have some ointment that might help . . .’

  ‘I was a-rubbing it with some stuff me ma got from one of the Crafty,’ Pedrin said, ‘but we ran out a while back and all the running and climbing we do seems to keep opening up the sores.’

  ‘Let me rub some of me stuff in,’ Briony said. ‘I don’t know if ’tis as good as the stuff you had, ’cause I made this meself, but it’ll be better than naught.’

  ‘All right then,’ Durrik said reluctantly, and shifted round a little so B
riony could reach his back, yet not enough that Lisandre and Mags could see much of the ugly scars. Briony seemed to understand, for she knelt between them, shielding Durrik from everyone else’s sight.

  Pedrin hunched at the dripping end of the tent to milk a very wet and miserable Snowflake, passing the foaming bucket back to Sedgely so the old man could briskly whisk the milk together with the eggs. The mushrooms and marrow sizzled together in the pan, then Sedgely poured in the egg mixture, tilting the pan so it swirled about, turning a warm golden-brown. All the children leant in expectantly.

  The omelette was delicious. As Pedrin finished the last warm, luscious mouthful, he gazed at Sedgely in open admiration. ‘I’m mighty glad you decided to come along with us, Sedgely!’

  ‘Me too!’ Durrik and Briony echoed.

  ‘I’m full as a body louse,’ Mags said with pleasure.

  ‘I know what you young things are like,’ Sedgely answered tolerantly. ‘Always hungry, yet never worrit about where the next meal’s a-coming from.’ He lay back against the curved wall, pulling the brim of his reed cap over his eyes. ‘Lucky for you I felt a whim to come along,’ he said to no-one in particular.

  ‘I am grateful,’ Lisandre said stiffly, the first words she had spoken in some time. ‘Thank you.’ She then turned to Briony, drawing the blanket up to her chin. ‘Where is my mirror?’

  Briony drew the hand-mirror and the silver-backed comb and brush out of her sack. As Lisandre examined her face anxiously, Briony struggled to comb the knots out of her matted fair hair. Lisandre sat very stiffly indeed.

  ‘Heat me up some water so I may wash,’ Lisandre ordered. ‘I do not wish to go to sleep all muddy and smelling of the mire. In the morning, if it is fine, you shall help me bathe properly, but for now just wash my hands and face and feet. And you must do something about my dress. I cannot wear a dress all torn to rags.’

  Briony nodded and obeyed, her face unhappy.

  ‘What’s she meant to do?’ Durrik burst out. ‘How is Briony meant to mend your dress, Lisandre? We’re a-sitting inside a tree in the pouring rain, in the heart of the Perilous Forest, a million miles from anywhere.’