The Starthorn Tree

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘Does anyone have any idea where we are?’ Pedrin whispered at last.

  Briony shook her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I tried to watch where the bandits were a-taking us but they seemed to lead us in circles. I couldn’t keep me sense of direction straight.’

  Mags laughed bitterly, lifting her face. ‘They did. Lead you in circles, I mean. Me pa was good at that.’

  Briony gave her a little rub on the arm in sympathy but Mags shook her off irritably. ‘So that’s that,’ she said. ‘Pa’s gone too. I’m an orphan.’ She spoke in the same matter-of-fact tone as when she had spoken of her mother’s death.

  ‘I’m so very sorry,’ Lisandre said with awkward but heartfelt compassion.

  Mags shrugged, not returning her gaze. ‘’Twas me own fault. I was greedy. I wanted your little singing egg and your swishy red dress and so I got meself involved with a starkin. Should’ve known it’d lead to trouble.’

  ‘Not that kind of trouble, though,’ Lisandre said. ‘I never meant—I never wanted . . .’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Didn’t know I existed, did you, me and me pa? Had to happen one day. Can’t go a-pulling the Regent’s nose and a-trying to blackmail him and not get yourself into a pot of trouble. I knew it. That’s why I thought if I helped you . . . mebbe, just mebbe . . .’

  She buried her face again and her shoulders heaved. The others all exchanged glances of misery and compassion over her head. Snowflake thrust her nose into the crook of her arm, and Mags flung her arms about Snowflake’s neck, burying her head in the soft white coat.

  After a while she lifted her head and wiped her nose defiantly on her sleeve. ‘Mebbe you’d all better tell me what’s bin going on,’ she said. ‘Seems like I’m with you now, willy-nilly, and I feel I’ve a right to know what you’re all doing here, a-traipsing through the forest with a starkin princess and a-talking all the time about magic and wildkin and prophecies.’

  Pedrin was surprised. He had forgotten that Mags did not know their true purpose in journeying into the dark heart of the Perilous Forest. By the look on the others’ faces, they too had forgotten.

  So they told her how the count and his men had been poisoned; and how Lisandre’s brother had drunk only a mouthful and so had not died like the others but was sunk in this strange, unnatural sleep; and how they planned to seek out the Erlrune of Evenlinn and see if she knew the antidote; and how Durrik had foretold that only a party made up of six of the land’s ancient and irredeemable enemies could break the curse.

  By the time the whole story had been told it was fully light, though still very dank and gloomy with mist. Mags cast Durrik a look of frank admiration out of her bright hazel eyes. ‘So you be the one a-prophesying and a-telling the future? I knew you were summat special, the first time I saw you, I knew it.’

  Colour scorched up Durrik’s face. He shook his head. ‘I aren’t special,’ he said very gruffly. ‘I don’t know when ’tis a-coming or what I’m going to hear. It just comes and there’s naught I can do but listen and speak. It’s awful.’

  ‘What do you hear?’ Mags asked, wide-eyed.

  Durrik looked at her rather shyly. ‘’Tis just voices, sometimes very faint and far off, like voices a-crying in the wind, sometimes clear as a bell, right in my ear. That’s how it was in the crystal tower, I could hear it so loud it was almost talking through me. But I’d been a-hearing those words for a while then, mainly in my dreams. Or if I was really tired and sort of slipped off into a daze, then I’d hear the words, fragments really, a-floating past my ear.’ He paused, discomfited, but then, encouraged by her amazed interest, said shyly, ‘I thought I was a-going mad. I didn’t want anyone to know.’

  Briony was as intent and interested as Mags. ‘Nah, not mad. ’Tis the gods, a-talking through you. It must be.’ She spoke with awe in her voice.

  ‘But why? Why me?’ he demanded rather wildly. ‘I don’t want it! I want to be like other folks, just happy and quiet and without voices in my dreams all the time.’

  ‘Mebbe ’tis because you listen,’ Briony said gently.

  ‘But I don’t,’ Durrik said. ‘I cram my fists in my ears and refuse to listen. I hum and whistle and make up jokes so I don’t have to listen.’

  ‘You mustn’t,’ Briony said. ‘If the gods speak to you, you must hear what they have to say.’

  ‘Have you always heard the gods?’ Mags whispered, so awestruck she could hardly speak.

  Durrik was unfolding under the warmth of her interest like bread dough rising by the fire. ‘Just scraps before that time in the crystal tower.’ He shot a look at Pedrin, who was staring at him as if he never knew him. ‘The first time was that time our raft capsized and I almost a-drowned in the river. I heard a deep, calm voice say to me, “He who was born under water shall under water die.” So I knew I was a-going to drown and was just resigning myself to it when Pedrin dived down and dragged me back up to the surface. I remember it every time I go near deep water and I heard it again, milady, on the log when you were a-hanging on and a-reaching up to me, I heard it clear as a bell in my ear. “He who was born under water shall under water die.”’

  ‘That’s why you didn’t try and help me,’ Lisandre exclaimed. ‘I thought it was because you hated the starkin, because they’d rejected you. I thought it was because you hated me and wished I was dead.’

  ‘I could never hate you, milady,’ Durrik said softly and blushed.

  Lisandre coloured too and looked away. For a moment there was an awkward silence and then Briony said, puzzled, ‘But how did you a-know the prophecy meant you’d die by drowning, Durrik? Were you born under water? ’Cause I never heard of anyone but a lake-lorelei being born under water before.’

  Durrik grew so hot and red and uncomfortable it was painful to watch. He dug at the ground with the rough end of his makeshift crutch and would not meet anyone’s eyes.

  At last he said, with a gulp of breath, ‘I was born under water, you see. My mother . . . when her family found out she and my father . . . they threw her out, she had to flee. Papa says she was very distraught. He could not comfort her, she wept and wept. They were a-travelling on a ship up the coast, and she was sick something terrible, he says. Anyway, one night it seemed she couldn’t stand it any longer and she . . . she threw herself off the ship. My father . . . he had awoken and known something was wrong, and he jumped in after her and managed to keep her afloat till they dropped a lifeboat in . . . but the shock of it all made me come early, and so I was born there in the sea, in the darkness, my father a-holding my mother up so she didn’t drown. He says they all thought I was dead, I was that blue and would not breathe, but there was a woman on the boat, he thinks she might have been one of the Crafty, she rubbed me and breathed her own breath into me and worked on me for a long time until I breathed for myself. So you see, that’s how I know I’m a-going to die by drowning, for I was born under water, just like the voice said.’

  There was a very long silence as they all absorbed the many ramifications of this story. Pedrin in particular was stricken. He had always thought rather vaguely that Durrik had made up his declaration in the crystal tower like he made up puns and riddles and silly rhymes. If Pedrin had ever really wondered if the prophecy was a true foretelling, he had pushed the thought away, uncomfortable with anything that smacked of the Crafty. He had been conscious of a widening gulf between him and his friend ever since the catastrophic events in the crystal tower, but had blamed it on their weariness, their preoccupation, their anxiety over the fate of their families. Every now and then he had been conscious of a pang of jealousy, because Durrik was so much better-looking than him, and always knew what to say, and could speak with Lisandre in flawless Ziverian while Pedrin mangled every word and made her laugh with his rough accent. He had stamped down these feelings too, not wanting to admit even to himself that he cared if Lisandre smiled at Durrik’s jokes or if she admired his fair delicate looks, so like the starkin men of her acquaintance.

  The r
evelation that Durrik was half-starkin had only widened the gulf between the two boys, for Pedrin had been hurt that his friend had never confided in him, and angry that Briony could see what he could not, and vaguely disgusted that Durrik was a half-breed and one of a race that Pedrin had learnt to hate with every fibre of his being. Paradoxically, Pedrin had been both angered and repelled by Durrik’s failure to help Lisandre during the crossing of the log bridge, not knowing whether to think him a cowardly weakling, too afraid to stretch out his crutch, or a ruthless knave that would rather watch a beautiful young girl drown than hold out a helping hand to one of the starkin.

  Pedrin’s emotions about Durrik and Lisandre had all been in such a tangle that he had not been able to sort them out, and so he had busied himself with practicalities like food and finding the path and keeping his pouch full of well-shaped stones and minding the goats. Now, all at once, he knew the pitiful story of Durrik’s birth and how deep the injury ran, and understood his terror of water and why he had failed to help Lisandre, and saw, with a little sinking feeling of shame, how he himself had helped to make Durrik fear and dread this uncanny ability of his to hear the future.

  These revelations should have made Pedrin feel even more tangled up and confused but instead they acted like a knife, cutting through the snarl of his feelings like his own knife had once slashed through Lisandre’s hair, emancipating him in one quick, ruthless cut. He saw that the gulf between him and Durrik was of his own making, and that it had caused his friend grief; and he saw that being born of a starkin mother and having the power to hear the gods were what made Durrik what he was. His eyes smarted and his throat closed up and he tried to smile, but could not, so leant over and gave his friend a hard punch on the shoulder.

  ‘You’re such a cabbage-head, Durrik,’ he said.

  Durrik looked at him in surprise and grinned, and the chasm between them closed without a single grind or shudder and everything was as it had always been.

  The other three children had been making their own adjustments. Briony’s eyes were soft and grey with sympathy and understanding, Mags was gazing at Durrik with a look of fierce protectiveness mingled with wonder, and Lisandre was once again grappling with a world that was very different from what she had imagined.

  ‘What about me?’ she asked then, with her voice full of stifled longing. ‘What do you hear about me?’

  Durrik gave her a troubled look, and drew a little pattern in the mud with the tip of his crutch. ‘Next shall be the king-breaker, the king-maker, though broken himself he shall be . . .’ he whispered.

  ‘What does that mean?’ she asked blankly.

  Durrik shook his head. ‘I don’t know. How could I know? ’Tis what I hear when I think of you. Sometimes I hear more, but ’tis only fragments . . . mebbe I will hear more later, but now . . . naught is clear.’

  ‘What about me?’ Mags demanded.

  He smiled at her dreamily. ‘A crutch for the crippled, a shield for the meek . . .’

  ‘Naught about a nice house with glass in its windows and a chimbley and rose-coloured curtains?’ Mags said with bitter disappointment in her voice. ‘Mebbe you’re a-hearing wrong?’

  ‘A voice for the speechless, a sword for the weak .. .’

  ‘Surely you don’t be a-hearing all of that?’

  Durrik nodded, looking sad. ‘I do.’

  Mags scowled and clenched her fists together. ‘Well, I must say, there’s need for someone to be a-doing some loud talking and fighting in Estelliana,’ she said. ‘’Tis uncommon cruel that a little girl like me can be left all lonesome in the world, with not one bit of family left anywheres and no home of me own. ’Tis mighty mean, that’s all I can say.’

  Everyone had to agree, even Lisandre, who nodded her head in sympathy.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about the rest of you but I’m mighty hungry,’ Pedrin said. ‘Does anyone have a bit of food about them, for me sides are fair flapping together?’

  Forlornly they all shook their heads.

  ‘Thank Liah we’ve got Snowflake,’ Pedrin said. ‘Though I’m beginning to feel a mite of sympathy with Sedgely and think milk just does not quench a man’s thirst.’

  He called the little nanny-goat to him and sat before her, leaning his head against her warm flank and milking her swiftly and expertly, as always soothed by the sound of the squirting milk and by her sweet, clover smell. She turned her head and nudged him with her nose, and he kissed her on the little whorl of hair between her horns.

  ‘You coddle that nanny-goat,’ Durrik said, surreptitiously rubbing his leg. ‘What’s the only thing you’ll get from a pampered goat?’

  ‘What then?’ Pedrin asked, glad for once that Durrik was asking riddles.

  ‘Spoilt milk,’ Durrik answered with a grin, stretching his toes to try and relieve the cramp in his calf.

  ‘Very funny,’ Pedrin replied. ‘I s’pose that means you don’t want none.’

  ‘Yeah, please,’ Durrik said. ‘I’m starving too.’

  They were taking turns to dip the cup into the bucket when suddenly there was a rustle in the bushes right behind them, then a tall, bent shape loomed up out of the mist. Lisandre screamed.

  ‘Whist, no need to be a-screaming,’ Sedgely whispered. ‘’Tis only me.’

  Lisandre had her hand to her chest. ‘Do not creep up on people like that,’ she said sternly. ‘I almost expired of heart failure.’

  ‘No need to bite me nose off,’ he said reproachfully. ‘I thought you’d be glad to see me, little missy.’

  ‘Oh, Sedgely, I am—we all are—so glad to see you!’ Briony said and embraced the old man affectionately. ‘What ever a-happened to you?’

  Sedgely blushed and rubbed his nose in pleased embarrassment. ‘Oh, I didn’t much feel like being poked and prodded by a bunch of bandits, little missy. They have very sharp swords, you know. Besides, I thought it might be useful to have one of us still at liberty, so to speak. So I just sat down in the undergrowth and then when you all went a-blundering off down the path, I just followed along behind, quiet like.’

  ‘But why didn’t you come and rescue us when the bandits were all asleep?’ Pedrin demanded. ‘We were stuck in that cage thing for hours.’

  ‘They warn’t all asleep,’ Sedgely said simply. He nodded his snarled white head at Mags. ‘This one here was still wide awake and a-creeping about, and forgive me if I mistook the matter, but she didn’t seem to be that kindly disposed towards you all. So I just nosed about the forest for a while, breathed up a little mist to provide some cover, and a-waited me chance. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw Missy Mags let you all out.’

  ‘What do you mean, you breathed up some mist?’ Pedrin asked curiously.

  ‘Oh, that’s just a little trick I know,’ Sedgely said. He breathed in deeply, held it for a long moment, then breathed out through his nose. Two long streamers of mist flowed out and roiled into the air.

  ‘Jumping Jimjinny!’ Pedrin cried. ‘That’s a useful trick to have. How do you do it? Could I learn?’

  Sedgely tugged his beard. ‘I don’t rightly know,’ he said cautiously. ‘Mebbe.’

  ‘Sedgely, did you see what happened at the bandits’ camp?’ Briony said very seriously.

  ‘I heard,’ Sedgely replied. ‘Didn’t want to get close enough to be seeing.’

  ‘Do you know . . . how did things fare for the bandits?’ Mags said anxiously.

  Sedgely blew out through his nostrils noisily. ‘Not good,’ he admitted. ‘They put up a good fight, though, for men half-addled with the apple-ale. It’ll be a while before the soldiers’ heads stop a-ringing, I’d say.’

  Tears ran down Mags’s face. She sniffed defiantly, scrubbing her eyes with her sleeve.

  ‘Sedgely, do you know where we are?’ Lisandre asked. ‘I’m afraid we are lost.’

  ‘Yeah, I think I might know whereabouts we be,’ the old man answered, without any real conviction in his voice. ‘We’ve come a long w
ay out of our way.’

  ‘Do you know how to get to the Evenlinn from here? Every day brings Ziggy closer to death. We must get to that witch just as soon as we can.’

  ‘Well, yeah, I do know the way from here, though ’tis not a way I’d ever choose to go meself. The hills are steep this way, too steep to climb, even for your goats. There is one pass through the hills, only a few days’ march from here. That would bring us right to the shore of the Evenlinn, but indeed, I do not think you want to be a-going that way.’

  ‘Why not?’ Lisandre demanded. ‘If it brings us right to the shores of the Evenlinn, I think we should go that way.’

  Sedgely tugged his beard. ‘’Tis not a way I’d be a-choosing, little missy.’

  ‘Why not?’ she said again. ‘What’s wrong with it?’

  ‘Boo-bogeys,’ he said succinctly.

  ‘Boo-bogeys? Boo-bogeys are nothing but stories made up to frighten small children.’

  ‘Is that so, little missy? Well, no doubt you would know best, having spent all your life within the safety of your castle walls while I’m naught but a poor wildkin who has lived nowhere but the Perilous Forest.’

  Lisandre had the grace to blush.

  ‘What kind of boo-bogeys, Sedgely?’ Briony asked anxiously, knowing it was a term used to describe a wide array of different spirits and ghosts, both mischievous and malevolent.

  Sedgely looked unhappy. ‘They call it the Gorge of Ghouls.’

  TWENTY-FIVE

  In the warmth of the midday sun, the six companions stood at the mouth of the ravine in real trepidation. The Gorge of Ghouls was a deep, narrow chasm that cut its way through the rock. Although the sun was high overhead, the ravine was black with shadow so that they could only see ahead a few feet.

  ‘So do we still want to go through there?’ Pedrin said, scowling ferociously to hide his fear.