The Starthorn Tree

by Kate Forsyth

  The river-roan hurrumphed disapprovingly and shook his mane, splashing them with water, which only made them laugh harder. Suddenly they saw a glimpse of something through the golden-red foliage which made all their laughter die in their throats. An incredibly huge, incredibly ugly creature stood beside the stream, an enormous war-axe held in its great fist. It was about eight feet tall, almost as wide as it was tall, with a horned helmet crammed onto its head. Below the helmet were a pair of deep-sunk eyes, set close to a squashed-looking nose and a crack of a mouth. It wore a battered and tarnished breast-plate, and beneath its skirt of rusted chain-mail were two of the thickest, hairiest legs anyone had ever seen. It roared at them and shook its war-axe.

  ‘Oh no, a hobhenky!’ Pedrin and Briony cried together.

  Sedgely reared back, threshing the water with his great hooves, then turned and galloped out of the water and into the forest. Through the thin white trees he raced, the children hanging on grimly. They could hear crashing behind them as the hobhenky lumbered in pursuit, but the river-roan was fleet and soon the din faded away. Sedgely did not slow, foam flecking his dappled sides. The children all stared back anxiously, but there was no sign of the hobhenky.

  Suddenly there was a roar from right in front of them. Sedgely neighed and reared in fright. Taken by surprise, Pedrin, Durrik and Lisandre all slid off, landing with a bone-jarring thump on the ground. The hobhenky roared again and swiped his mace at Sedgely, who leapt away over the children’s heads.

  ‘Jumping Jimjinny, how did he get here so fast!’ Pedrin breathed, even as he ducked down into the bracken. Automatically his hand sought for his slingshot, only to remember with a sinking heart that he had left it under the sleeping gibgoblin. His mind raced as he tried to think of some way to defend himself against the hobhenky now barging towards them through the bracken.

  Although Pedrin had only seen a hobhenky once before, he knew quite a lot about them. Of all the wildkin, hobhenkies were those most prone to attacking flocks of goats, or invading outlying villages. Though extremely strong, hobhenkies were also extremely stupid. They were easily tricked and tended to be rather cowardly, despite their huge size.

  Remembering how easily he had been able to drive away the big, simple-witted creature on his previous encounter with a hobhenky, Pedrin whispered hurriedly, ‘I’ll distract him, while you two get back on Sedgely! I’ll meet you back here later.’

  ‘But he’ll kill you!’ Lisandre was white to the lips, and she clutched Pedrin’s arm fearfully.

  ‘Don’t be a-worrying about me,’ Pedrin said gruffly, conscious of the admiration in the starkin girl’s eyes.

  ‘But—’ Durrik protested.

  ‘Don’t argue, just run!’ Pedrin ordered. ‘Look after milady.’

  Durrik raised an expressive eyebrow, but he nodded and jerked his head to Lisandre to follow him. Quickly they swarmed away through the bracken, as Pedrin leapt up right under the hobhenky’s huge, flat feet. The wildkin swiped at him with his mace, and Pedrin scrambled out of its way. He then ran swiftly back the way they had come, knowing the hobhenky would follow. Hampered by his heavy armour, the hobhenky was slow and rather cumbersome, and Pedrin was confident he could easily outrun and outwit him. He could hear crashing behind him as the hobhenky trampled down bushes and small trees, and Pedrin increased his pace, looking for somewhere to hide.

  Then, to his utter bemusement, he saw the hobhenky charging towards him, waving his war-axe. Pedrin skidded to a halt, panting, then glanced back over his shoulder. There was the hobhenky again, roaring with rage, the ground shuddering at every step, a cruel studded mace dwarfed by his enormous fist. For a second, Pedrin thought he was back in the Hall of Mirrors, seeing a double reality. Then, with a sickening drop of his stomach, he realised he was caught between twin hobhenkies, the only difference between them the weapons they wielded.

  Despairingly Pedrin looked one way, then the other. The hobhenkies were now only a few strides away from him. With a desperate effort, Pedrin leapt up in the air, caught the branch above him and swung his legs up. Below him the hobhenkies crashed into each other. Each fell down, roaring with pain. Sitting with their hairy legs splayed out, they held their heads in their beefy hands. Then, to Pedrin’s surprise, they both opened their mouths and began to wail, showing broken teeth of a most unsavoury brown colour.

  ‘Boo hoo!’ one wept. ‘Smash crashed.’

  ‘Boo hoo!’ the other wept. ‘Crash smashed. Boo hoo!’

  The crying went on for some time, but eventually gave way to mere sniffles, the hobhenkies wiping their noses on their sleeves.

  ‘Crash smashed me,’ one said reproachfully. ‘Hurt head.’

  ‘Smash crashed me,’ the other said defensively. ‘Hurt me head.’

  Crash and Smash argued on for a few more minutes, then realised their prey was gone. For a while they searched for Pedrin, lifting up fronds of bracken and looking behind rocks, then stood around scratching their heads, perplexed. Meanwhile, Pedrin sat quietly at the very top of the tree, wishing there was another tree nearby that he could swing to, and that his branch was a little bit sturdier.

  If luck had been with him, the hobhenkies would have forgotten what they were looking for and wandered off into the forest. Luck was not with him, however. The branch Pedrin was crouched upon began to crack under his weight. The sound, although slight, was enough to cause Crash to look up and immediately he began to roar with excitement.

  As the hobhenkies jumped up and down, trying to reach him, Pedrin groped in his saddlebag for something to use as a weapon. He found the frying pan just as the hobhenkies began to lam into the tree-trunk with their axe and mace. The tree had only a slim trunk and even with such ham-fisted woodcutters, it did not take long to fell. Pedrin leapt desperately out of its falling branches and onto Smash’s massive shoulders. As the hobhenky swung around, shouting in fury, Pedrin repeatedly beat the wild-kin over the head with the frying pan. To his dismay, the hobhenky only shook his head as if shaking away a fly, and whammed him with one immense fist. Pedrin was flung across the clearing, landing so hard all his breath was knocked out of him.

  Pedrin felt as if all his ribs were broken. He held his side, wheezing, watching the hobhenkies lumber towards him with grim fatalism. There was nothing he could do.

  The goatherd had dropped his saddlebag when he had fallen and it lay half-open, spilling his belongings upon the ground. Pedrin managed to reach across and drag the saddlebag towards him, groping inside for something, anything, that might distract the hobhenkies. His fingers closed upon the cool, slender length of his flute.

  Amidst the welter of jostling, panicked thoughts, a memory suddenly crystallised in the very forefront of his brain. Pedrin remembered that he had been playing his flute the last time he had battled a hobhenky. He had been absorbed in his music when he had suddenly noticed the huge, hulking creature in the corner of his eye. The hobhenky had been crouched only a few feet away, listening intently, a beatific smile on his ugly face. Pedrin had screamed and dropped his flute, and the hobhenky had immediately lurched to his feet, scowling and roaring with rage. It was then Pedrin had pelted him with the first rock.

  He was having trouble catching his breath but, unable to think of anything else to do, Pedrin lifted his flute to his lips and began to play.

  Delicate music faltered into the air. It took a while for the sound to penetrate the hobhenkies’ skulls but when it did, the effect was astounding. Both the hobhenkies stopped mid-step, their mouths open. Their weapons dropped from their hands and one of them gave a high, gusting sigh. Encouraged, Pedrin played on, his song growing in strength and confidence. The other hobhenky sighed too, and then they sat down with an earth-shuddering thump, their hairy knees only a few inches from Pedrin’s head. Cradling their weapons in their laps, they swayed gently from side to side, humming tunelessly.

  Pedrin did not dare stop. One lilting tune followed another. The hobhenkies sighed and sniffled, occasionally wiping away a
tear from the corner of their eyes. The more melancholy the tune, the more they seemed affected, and so Pedrin played every lament, dirge and elegy he knew. When he reached the end of his repertoire, he began again. The hobhenkies did not seem to notice. They certainly did not seem to mind, if a rising crescendo of sobs and whimpers was any indication of their appreciation.

  When the hobhenkies were leaning on each other’s shoulders, weeping openly, Pedrin slowly and very gingerly rose to his feet. He did not dare stop playing to reach down and pick up his saddlebag, so he left it lying in the grass. Slowly he backed away.

  The hobhenky Crash wiped his nose on his sleeve, scrubbed his eyes with the backs of both hands, and lumbered to his feet. Smash did the same. Pedrin stopped moving, and both the hobhenkies stopped too. Pedrin took a few more steps back, and Crash and Smash ambled after him. Watching them intently, Pedrin kept walking backwards and the two hobhenkies followed after him like enormous, clumsy puppies.

  When it seemed clear the hobhenkies were going to follow him as long as he kept playing, Pedrin risked turning around so he could see where he was going. The hobhenkies did not seem to mind. They trudged along behind him, weapons over their shoulders, only stopping to wipe their eyes. Growing tired of being splashed by huge hobhenky tears, Pedrin changed his tune to a rather martial march but that meant he had to run to avoid being crushed by huge hobhenky feet, so he settled on gentle lullabies and love songs.

  The sound of his music preceded him and so, when Pedrin came into the clearing where the others were waiting anxiously, they came running towards him with their arms outstretched, exclaiming with joy and relief. The expressions on their faces when they saw the two hobhenkies were ludicrous. Pedrin dared not lift the flute away from his lips to explain, but the others were quick to understand. They had a hurried conference among themselves while Pedrin began yet another tune, his arms aching, his lips numb, his lungs labouring. The hobhenkies were swaying from side to side, drumming their thick fingers on their weapon hilts and humming contentedly.

  ‘Pedrin,’ Durrik said rather carefully, ‘we think mebbe we’d best just head to the Erlrune’s house as fast as we can. We can see the top of the tower through the trees. ’Tis not far. Can you keep a-playing that long?’

  Pedrin managed to jerk his head up and down and began walking again, following the direction of Durrik’s pointed finger. Smash and Crash followed along happily, and all the others fell into place behind, torn between grinning in amusement and shaking their heads in wonder.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Built of silvery-grey stone, the Erlrune’s house stood tranquilly in a garden of apple trees, roses, foxgloves and herbs. It was an old, low house with peaked gables and one round tower, only just high enough to peek out above the forest canopy. It was topped with a lichen-green pointed roof and three rows of tall, arched windows. There was no glass in the windows, of course, but shutters could be drawn against the winter storms and they could see white curtains billowing in the breeze. Behind the house towered the bare stone pinnacle, cutting dramatically into the sky.

  Outside the narrow lychgate into the garden, the six companions stopped and made some effort to tidy themselves. All were nervous and rather apprehensive about the forthcoming meeting with the Erlrune. They had come so far and suffered so much, but now they were filled with foreboding, remembering all the tales they had heard about the Erlrune’s mysterious powers. So they washed their hands and faces and necks and combed their hair with Lisandre’s silver comb, struggling to get it through the knots. Briony washed Pedrin’s face for him as best she could with the flute still lifted to his mouth.

  Their clothes were all filthy and torn, so they brushed them off with Lisandre’s silver-backed brush and Briony went down on her knees and effected a few rapid repairs with her needle and thread. Sedgely was once again dressed in his willow coat and cap of reeds, as fresh and green as if they had just been picked, and he had tucked a yellow daisy in his buttonhole.

  Mags took out the red silk dress and shook it out, admiring the way the skirt shone in the sun. Lisandre looked at it longingly, biting her lip as she glanced down at her shabby old pinafore and heavy black brogues. She said nothing, however, smoothing the pinafore down and then taking out her purple velvet cloak to hang about her shoulders.

  Mags held the dress against her, twirling about a little, then abruptly held it out to Lisandre. ‘Here. You take it.’

  Lisandre reached for it eagerly, then dropped her hands. ‘Are you certain? It’s yours. I gave it to you.’

  ‘Briony fixed it for you, so you could be a-wearing it when we saw the Erlrune. You said you couldn’t be a-calling upon her in rags. Well, I’m used to rags.’ She gave a little grin, saying with mock-pride, ‘Mags-in-Rags, that’s who I am.’

  Lisandre flushed. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure. You can give it back to me later. Here, take the shoes too. I’ll be happy to be a-wearing a flashy diamond ring, that’ll do me.’

  So, the two girls quickly swapped clothes behind a bush. When they finally came out, Lisandre was once again wearing her red silk dress and ruby-heeled shoes, with her jewelled christening egg hanging from her girdle. Her high heels sank so deep into the ground that she could hardly walk and she said irritably, ‘Stupid shoes! I’ve always hated them.’

  Pedrin could not grin because he was still blowing fervently into his flute, but he saw the rueful glance she cast him and gave her a little nod and twinkle of acknowledgement.

  Briony was looking about, a troubled frown on her face. She held her ragdoll clutched close to her chest.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Durrik asked apprehensively. ‘Can you sense danger?’

  ‘Are we being watched?’ Mags cried shrilly. ‘It’s not the gibgoblin, is it?’

  Briony shook her head, her frown deepening. ‘Nah,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I don’t think so. Everything seems still and quiet. I can sense . . . naught at all.’

  ‘Then what’s the problem?’ Mags asked.

  ‘Naught,’ Briony answered, more hesitantly still. ‘Except . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Surely it’s too quiet? There’s no guards, no sentry, nobody around at all.’

  Sedgely gave a hurrumph of heartfelt agreement, his shaggy brows knitting together as he stared around suspiciously. ‘Yeah, you’re right, little missy. Too quiet, far too quiet.’

  Lisandre said, ‘Obviously the gibgoblin and hobhenkies were the guards, Briony, but we’ve managed to out-wit them, haven’t we? Why look for trouble when we don’t need to?’

  ‘I can’t help a-wondering, though . . .’ Briony faltered.

  ‘What, Briony?’ Lisandre said impatiently.

  ‘Naught,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I know the Erlrune is meant to be a mighty enchantress and I feel we should be on our guard.’

  ‘We shall be,’ Lisandre said. ‘But surely, if you can’t sense anyone watching us now, all must be safe. We’ll just make sure we keep a close ear and eye out. All right?’

  Briony nodded unhappily.

  Bunched close together, they approached the gate, Pedrin still valiantly playing his flute. Made wary by Briony’s unease, they stared at the gate rather apprehensively then Sedgely stepped forward and pushed it open with his walking stick. At once he leapt back as if stung by a bee.

  ‘What? What’s wrong?’ the children cried in fright.

  ‘Naught, naught,’ Sedgely replied sheepishly. ‘Can’t be too careful, you know.’

  They all looked through the narrow gate into the garden. All that could be seen were peaceful stretches of grass scattered with flowers, and the gnarled trunks of ancient fruit trees. A few tiny white butterflies fluttered above the clover, and a bird sang cheerfully.

  ‘It looks peaceful enough,’ Lisandre said hopefully.

  ‘Too peaceful,’ Sedgely muttered.

  ‘We’ve come this far, no point a-hanging about, jumping at shadows,’ Mags said and walked swiftl
y through the gate and into the garden. She turned back to them smiling. ‘See? Naught to it!’

  One by one the others followed, all rather hesitantly. Pedrin came last, the hobhenkies having to bend almost double to avoid banging their heads on the lintel. Once inside the green serenity of the garden, they all relaxed, smiling and murmuring with pleasure. It was cool and quiet under the trees, and the breeze was soft and sweet-scented, caressing their faces. The apple trees were all heavy with fruit, and apples lay scattered through the long grass. Bumblebees buzzed contentedly in the herbs, and blundered about the heavy heads of the roses. Even though winter was only just around the corner, flowers still bloomed in the sheltered corners of the garden and many shrubs were bright with berries or fruit. The only sound was the faltering song of Pedrin’s flute.

  Looking about them with delight, the children’s steps quickened as they made their way through the green hush under the trees. The hobhenkies blundered along behind Pedrin, smiling rather foolishly, knocking the trees with their heads and shoulders so apples rained in their wake.

  They came along an avenue of flowering shrubs, breathing in their heady perfume with great enjoyment. There was a pool filled with water-lilies and the children all leant on its rim, dabbling their hands in the warm water and laughing as enormous golden fish came swimming up lazily to try to nibble their fingers.

  An archway in the tall green hedge led them to a wide expanse of lawn before the house. They could see a number of inviting-looking paths running away through other archways, and the children would have liked to explore further, but Sedgely shook his head and said mournfully, ‘Best get it over with quickly, is what I always say.’

  So they came through clouds of daisies to a square courtyard before the house, and there they stopped, their voices dying in their throats.

  A grogoyle lay sleeping in the sun, his grotesque head pillowed on his paws. His leathery wings were folded against his fur and the barbed tail was coiled neatly about his hindquarters. Little tendrils of smoke rose from his nostrils, which flared red as he breathed.