The Starkin Crown

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘Is that all?’ Lord Grim sounded amused.

  ‘I … I’ve had poison thrown in my eyes. I’m blind, I cannot see. I’d like to use the magic of the spear to heal my eyes’.

  ‘You ask a great deal of me. Three boons you may have. What is your choice?’

  ‘Three? Three only?’ Peregrine clenched his fists upon the haft of the spear. ‘Very well. First, I want to master the power of the spear. Second, I wish to ride against Vernisha the Vile and rescue my parents. Third, I wish to throw down the throne of stars and win the crown for my father’.

  Lord Grim chuckled. ‘Well chosen. Somehow you’ve managed to cover all contingencies. Very well. Let us begin with the spear. Do you realise that the spear, like all magical artefacts, is only as powerful as the one who wields it? The spear draws upon your own strength and your own talents. You are only a boy, and a thin, weak one at that. Do you really hope to have the strength to smite down the starkin?’

  Anger flared in Peregrine. He was so sick of everyone telling him he was too young, too small, too weak. He hefted the spear high and flung it with all his strength towards the sound of Lord Grim’s voice, aiming a little to the left. In his mind, he thought, Smite that rock asunder!

  A moment later came the loud craaaack of rock splitting, then the echoing rumble of a giant boulder rolling and tumbling down the hill. Peregrine held up his hand and the spear returned swiftly to it.

  ‘Impressive,’ Lord Grim said, when the thunder at last died away. ‘Particularly for a blind boy’.

  Peregrine did not explain that he remembered exactly where everything was on the hill. ‘I have many gifts,’ he replied quietly.

  ‘I thought, when I saw that foul, fat spider Zander throw it into the bog, that the spear was gone forever and I would be enslaved eternally. How did you retrieve it?’

  Peregrine told him quickly, all the while conscious of Jack lying on the litter behind him, his breathing faint and laboured.

  ‘You do indeed have many gifts,’ Lord Grim said when he had finished. ‘Who would ever have thought that the spear could be found by a blind boy led by a lame girl? Very well. You wish to heal your friend? First wash the spear clean in the spring, and then dip its winged end into a cup of water. Use that water to let him drink and wash his wounds. Then do the same for yourself’.

  He stepped forward and gestured with his bony hand to the spring of water, which now burbled down the old stream bed. Molly blinked at it in surprise. She had been so focused on Lord Grim and Peregrine that she had not noticed the water begin to well. She glanced over her shoulder and saw, with amazement and joy, that the old oak had indeed put out a wealth of fresh green leaves.

  ‘Robin!’ she cried. ‘The old spring is running, the oak tree has turned green’.

  She knelt before it, hurriedly filling one of her horn cups with the cold, clear water. She brought it to Peregrine and helped him dip the handle of the spear into the water, then she limped to Jack’s side and lifted the cup to his lips. He managed to swallow a few mouthfuls, and she used the rest to wash his wounds. Twice more she filled the cup, and twice more Peregrine dipped the spear into it. The third time Molly brought the cup to his mouth, Jack swallowed greedily, leaning up on one elbow.

  ‘He’s awake!’ she cried. ‘Robin, he drinks! His eyes are open’.

  Peregrine squatted beside him, groping for Jack’s hand. ‘How could you be such an idiot? Didn’t you trust me? I wasn’t going to drink! I was trying to find out what her intentions were’.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jack croaked in shame.

  ‘You should be. You almost got yourself killed!’

  ‘Well, I think we found out what her intentions were,’ Molly said caustically, filling the horn cup again. She brought it to Peregrine and, when he had dipped the end of the spear in the water, gave it to him to drink. She waited, hands clasped tight before her to stop their trembling, as the prince swallowed a mouthful, then poured some water into his hand and washed his face and eyes. He looked up at her, his face clear of all blemishes, his eyelashes spiky. He smiled broadly. ‘I can see!’

  She laughed in delight. Jack grinned, leaning up on his elbow. Peregrine passed her the cup, smiling. She turned it so she could place her lips where his had touched, lifting it so she could drink deeply. The healing water tasted like summer. As it flowed down her throat, she felt all her bruises and scratches heal. The deep, grinding pain in her hip faded away. Jubilation filled her.

  Molly looked up and met Peregrine’s eyes. Her face burst into a smile. Gladly Peregrine held out two hands to her. She grasped them, and he whirled her away in a wild and joyous dance, Jack clapping and cheering them along. Lord Grim watched in amusement, his hood laid back so they could see his long-boned, weary face with its hooked nose and slanted eyes. Molly had never danced before, but she spun and leapt as gracefully as if she had danced all her life. At last, breathless and laughing, they came to a halt, Peregrine still gripping her hands. Molly blushed hotly and drew her hands away.

  ‘I can dance,’ she said, then blushed even redder at the thought of how idiotic she must sound.

  But Peregrine only smiled and said, ‘You’re cured! And Jack’s alive, and I can see. I can hardly believe it. The magic of the spear is amazing. To think we found it, after all these years’.

  ‘Sir … Robin … maybe if you drank a cupful of the enchanted water, you’d cure yourself of the falling sickness,’ Jack said eagerly.

  Peregrine looked troubled. ‘Do you really think so? Mam would never cure it; she said the lightning in my brain was as much a part of me as my blood and my bone. I’d like to be free of it … but then, sometimes, it seems to help me too. I see things … I understand things I don’t think I’d see or understand otherwise’.

  ‘You have lightning in your brain?’ Lord Grim asked urgently.

  ‘Yes,’ Peregrine answered briefly, bracing himself for the inevitable plea to be careful, to not do anything dangerous, to keep close like a child.

  Lord Grim smiled broadly. ‘So too did the Storm King. He told me himself it made his childhood a misery, yet he went on to become both the first Erlking of the Stormlinn and the first Erlrune. Perhaps it is because you too have lightning in your brain that the spear called to you and was able to be found?’

  ‘Maybe’. Peregrine gave Jack and Molly a crooked smile. ‘I don’t think I should drink any more of the enchanted water. What if I should cure myself of my Gifts at the same time? I think Mam is right, and the lightning in my brain is a necessary part of me. Without it, I’d be a different person’.

  ‘And we don’t want that,’ Molly said softly.

  Peregrine smiled brilliantly at her and took the spear in his hand, examining it closely, running his fingers over the runes carved along its length. Exalted, he could not keep still. He danced about, holding the spear in his hand, pretending to throw it. ‘I knew I’d find it! I knew it wasn’t lost!’

  Emotion overcame him. He stood still, his head bent over the spear. ‘So, at last, it is time’.

  He raised high the spear again, hefting it in his hand. ‘I, Prince Peregrine of the Stormlinn, claim the right to wield the spear of thunder. By the power of the blood and bone of my body, the light and life of my soul, the wit and wisdom of my mind, I swear I will wield the spear with truthfulness, compassion and courage. By the power of three, so let it be!’

  He turned and flung it at the oak tree, and it sped from his hand and buried itself deep in the trunk. Then Peregrine held out his hand to it, and the spear wrenched itself free of the wood and returned, swift and straight, to his hand. He shook his head in wonderment. Again and again he flung it, aiming at a different place each time, and each time the spear flew true and returned easily to his hand.

  ‘What a mighty weapon. To think I’ve found it, after it being lost for so many years’. His voice thickened with emotion.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you but I could do with a wash and a feed,’ Molly said, wanting to lighte
n the moment. Peregrine smiled radiantly at her, making her heart catch.

  ‘You know, you really are a very useful person to have around,’ he said as she brought out a muslin facecloth and a cake of homemade soap scented with honey.

  ‘Why, thank you, kind sir,’ she answered with a shy smile.

  Together they washed themselves in the bubbling spring, laughing and splashing each other. Jack came to join them, his legs rather wobbly, the scars on his throat and arm pink and shiny. They all drank deeply of the cold, delicious water and, feeling greatly refreshed, rubbed themselves dry on the Erlrune’s cloaks and dressed in clean clothes, Molly going behind the oak tree to change.

  Then she raided her pack, putting together a rough meal of bread, soft goat’s cheese, vinegary herrings and spiced pickled pear. To her surprise, Lord Grim sat down with them and ate with great enthusiasm.

  ‘Best meal I’ve had in eons,’ he said at last. ‘May I have that last pear? I’d hate it to go to waste’.

  At last nothing was left but crumbs. Molly heaved a deep breath. ‘All right then. What now?’

  ‘We strike the throne of stars asunder!’ Jack and Peregrine said together, grinning at one another.

  Deep within his hood, Lord Grim smiled. He reached under his cloak and pulled out an ornately decorated hunting horn made from bone, lifting it to his lips. When he blew, the most extraordinary sound rang out, high and sweet and long. It made Molly shiver, her skin rising in goose-bumps all over her body.

  On and on the note rang out. Birds rose, shrieking, and wheeled about the cloud-smeared sky. All over the marsh, bitterns bellowed. Molly could not tell if it was the true call of the marsh bird or the warning signal of her father’s men.

  Blitz screamed and launched himself away, soaring so high he was soon a mere speck in the sky.

  To the north, a smut of darkness on the horizon swelled until it was a fierce thunderhead. Its shadow fell over the fenlands, dousing the dawn colours reflected in the endless maze of stream and pool and creek and puddle. Closer and closer the dark cloud raced, until Molly realised it was not a thundercloud, not a storm, not an eclipse.

  The Wild Hunt galloped towards Grimsfell, neighing and barking, shouting and hullabalooing. Giants with icicles in their beards and lightning in their fists strode on the flanks. Ghouls with black holes for eyes and icy bones for fingers crept below. Tall winged horses with fiery eyes and sharp horns hurtled in front, steam gusting from their red-rimmed nostrils. Giant hounds raced before and grey, shaggy wolves slunk behind, their ears laid flat, their eyes like coals, their fangs like ivory daggers. Giant birds wheeled overhead, leathery wings flapping with a sound like a thousand ancient, creaky bellows. Occasionally they screamed. The sound made Molly cower.

  ‘Do not fear,’ Lord Grim said softly in her ear. The chill of his breath, the graveyard smell of his skin made her shudder, but slowly she forced her spine to straighten, forced her eyelids to open, forced herself to look at him. He smiled at her jubilantly. ‘Once again we shall ride! How I have longed for this day! At last I am to be free of my living death and allowed to return to my home’.

  ‘My lord!’ a woman’s voice called. Molly looked up and saw a tall, statuesque woman riding a black-winged horse. Her face was dark and haughty, and her long dark hair whipped wildly about her, her coal-black eyes glowing with triumph. ‘The day has come at last!’

  ‘My lady,’ he called and held out his hand to her. ‘A glad day indeed’.

  She bent and kissed him, embracing him close. When at last they moved apart, there were tears on the tall woman’s dark face.

  Ten broad-shouldered, black-haired men rode behind her, armed with heavy swords and clubs. They bowed from the waist, calling greetings. ‘My lord father! Well met!’

  ‘Well met, my sons! We ride now at the prince’s command. Let us wreak what havoc we can and then I shall ride home with you at last!’

  ‘At last!’ his sons cried. ‘Let us ride!’

  Lord Grim reached up and seized the writhing mane of a gigantic horse with twin horns as sharp as scorn. With a single, swift motion, he was astride the beast and once again blowing on his horn. Molly flinched, despite herself, for the sound pierced her to her very entrails.

  ‘Take my bow and arrows,’ Peregrine said, thrusting them into her hand. ‘Do you know how to shoot?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I’ll teach you one day,’ he promised, making her heart glow. She swung the quiver over one shoulder, and the longbow over the other. He gripped the spear in one hand and then reached up. By standing on tiptoe, he was just able to seize the mane of one of the black-winged horses. He leapt up and managed to get his leg astride. Swapping his spear to his other hand, he reached down for Molly.

  She did not hesitate for a second. Grasping his hand, Molly scrambled up behind him, wrapping her arms tightly about his waist. The quiver dragged at her shoulder.

  Jack was seconds behind them, jumping onto the back of another giant winged beast, his square face alight with excitement. He had unsheathed his sword.

  ‘Let’s ride!’ Peregrine shouted.

  What a noise! What a racket! Shrieking and screeching and yelling and yelping, the Wild Hunt rode through the sky, hail rattling behind them, bolts of lightning sizzling ahead. Blitz screamed with joy, riding the tumultuous winds, his sickle-shaped wings spread wide. Molly laughed. In a scant few strides, Grimsfell was lost behind them. Before them spread the curving panorama of the fenlands, the shining waterways slowly being engulfed by the shadow of the Wild Hunt.

  The miles melted away below them. In hours they covered all the long, weary distance that Peregrine and Jack had ridden so doggedly. By midafternoon, the fenlands were far behind and the Wild Hunt was flying above the river, following its sinuous curves through the Swartwood Forest, dark, tangled, brooding. Sometimes Lord Grim would swoop down close enough to the rushing water for his heel or the hem of his cloak to touch. At once ice spread out across the water, turning the cataracts hard and white. Lord Grim would laugh and soar high into the sky, hailstones clattering behind him.

  It was a wild, exhilarating ride. Molly had never experienced anything like it. Her breath quickened, her heart pounded. Occasionally she let out an exultant cry that made Peregrine turn and grin at her.

  By sunset, they could see the white towers of Swartburg Castle rising on its hill. Peregrine had begun to play his flute of swan bone, calling, calling. Hearthkin labouring in the fields looked up at the sound. With their shovels and axes and billhooks held like weapons, they began to run after the Wild Hunt. Horses tore free of their traces, galloping in their shadow. Pigs broke free of their pens, goats leapt the walls of their gardens, hens and geese were swept up in the whirlwind. The sound of bleating and neighing and honking added to the hullabaloo.

  The sky darkened. Thunderclouds filled the sky, growling and rumbling with rage, their undersides flickering with lightning. From a small gap in the west, the last rays of the sun glared upon the river, turning it red as gushing blood, even as the sun was swallowed whole by the weird shadow of the Wild Hunt.

  ‘The rivers will run red and the sun shall turn black,’ Peregrine cried gleefully. Molly laughed and squeezed his waist, pressing her face against his back.

  ‘Look!’ said Peregrine. ‘The castle! We’re almost there’.

  CHAPTER 26

  The Gallows

  DRUMS ROLLED OMINOUSLY.

  Slowly King Merrik and Queen Liliana hobbled through the great oaken door and into the inner bailey, the shackles about their ankles clanking. Queen Rozalina and Lord Zedrin stumbled behind. All four were now dressed in the loose red robes of convicted criminals. Donkey’s ears were set upon King Merrik’s head.

  The courtyard was filled with people, all richly dressed in heavy furs against the bitter cold. Although it was sunset, the gloom under the storm clouds was so intense that flaming torches had been lit all round the square. Liliana swept her eyes over the crowd, recognising many
of the starkin lords. She met their gaze defiantly, determined to show no weakness. Inside, she prayed: Let the Erlrune come! Let an army of wildkin rescue us! But she was afraid it was impossible for help to arrive in time.

  Vernisha sat on her throne, wrapped in leopard fur, her pug dog sitting splay-legged and panting on her lap. He too was bundled up in leopard fur, with matching leopard-fur booties on his tiny feet.

  A scaffold had been set up in the middle of the courtyard, with two pillories standing on either side of a gallows where two hangman’s nooses dangled. Men in black leather hoods and breast plates were busy heating up tools in an orange-glowing brazier. The smell of the smoke made Liliana feel sick. She swallowed and tried to lift her head proudly, but her knees trembled so much it was difficult.

  Then she saw a tall, fair girl standing near the back of the crowd. She was gorgeously dressed in turquoise-coloured brocade, which deepened the extraordinary hue of her eyes. Her face was as pale as the white fur of her muff; her pale golden hair cascaded down her back from beneath a tall, conical hat.

  ‘Look, Merry, Lady Grizelda,’ she whispered through stiff lips.

  Her husband scanned the crowd and saw Grizelda shrinking behind the broad figure of Lord Goldwin, her brother. The two lean white hound dogs were at his feet, as usual, and a tall, grey-clad man with hair and beard the colour of dust stood by his shoulder, whispering in his ear. At his feet were two more hounds, great slobbering beasts with red-rimmed eyes and drooping ears.

  Liliana felt Merry stiffen.

  ‘If Lady Grizelda is here,’ Liliana managed to say, ‘where is Robin?’

  ‘If Vernisha had got her claws on him, we would know,’ he said quietly. ‘She’d have paraded him for the court to see, like she did us’.

  ‘Maybe she’s been saving him up as a last-minute surprise,’ she whispered back, hunching over the agony of fear in her stomach. ‘Oh, Merry! Where is he? I should never have let him out of my sight!’