The Starthorn Tree

by Kate Forsyth

  Somehow, though, the boys had evaded capture. Once a soldier had put his boot down upon Pedrin’s hand as he lay concealed in the mud and rushes by the side of the river, but Pedrin had not cried out and at last the soldier had moved away, leaving Pedrin’s hand sore and bruised. Another time a band of soldiers had sat down to eat their lunch under the very tree where the two boys lay concealed in the branches, too afraid to even breathe.

  The Perilous Forest was very close, now, though. Tier upon tier of dark towering trees stood close behind their campfire, reaching to the very flanks of the mountains. The trees rustled and whispered in the dusk breeze, and every now and again they heard the strange wailing cry of some unknown beast. The boys could have sought shelter in the forest but had baulked at entering in the gloom of dusk, making camp right at its verge instead. No matter how frightened they were of the soldiers, they were more frightened of the Perilous Forest at night.

  ‘What was that noise?’ Durrik’s head whipped round.

  ‘Just some animal,’ Pedrin comforted, passing him a slice of bread and bacon and toasted cheese.

  ‘It sounded like someone a-creeping up on us.’ Durrik’s voice was tremulous.

  ‘Thundercloud would warn us if it was,’ Pedrin said, indicating the contentedly grazing goats with a wave of his greasy sandwich.

  Just then a twig snapped loudly. Both Snowflake and Thundercloud lifted their heads and stared into the bushes, and the boys followed their gaze, tense as wound-up toys. Pedrin’s hand groped for his fishing knife, and Durrik sat up, clutching his father’s bell close to his chest.

  ‘Don’t be a-feared.’ A light little voice spoke from the shadows. ‘I’m sorry to make you jump—’tis just we saw your fire and smelt your food—and we’re so very hungry.’ The last words came out piteously.

  A girl stepped nervously out of the darkness. In the shifting light of the flames it was hard to see much of her face, but her very smallness and nervousness disarmed the boys.

  Pedrin lowered his knife. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

  ‘Please . . . I’m sorry—’tis just we’re so hungry, and your bacon smelt so good. Please . . . couldn’t we buy some from you? Me mistress can pay.’

  ‘Your mistress?’ Pedrin scanned the bushes all around suspiciously. He could see nothing but the soft wavering of dark leaves.

  ‘Yeah. She’s not far.’

  ‘Who else is there? What are you doing here?’

  ‘There’s no-one else, I swear. We’re all by our lonesome. Please, there’s no need for you to be a-feared of us. Indeed, ’tis us that should be a-feared of you, two big strong boys like you. If we warn’t so hungry we’d never have dared disturb you.’ She spoke in fits and bursts and they could see how her hands clenched and twisted in the dark stuff of her gown.

  Pedrin and Durrik exchanged quick glances. They did not have much food left themselves, but neither did they have any money. It could be useful to have a few coppers with which to barter. So Pedrin agreed gruffly and the girl melted back into the shadows.

  She was gone a long time, so long the boys began to think she did not mean to return. Then Thundercloud lifted his head, staring into the darkness with narrow eyes. Uttering a low guttural warning in his throat, he bounded forward, his horns low. Snowflake bleated in fright and pressed close to Pedrin’s side. He jumped up, ignoring the pain in his tender feet, his fishing knife clenched in his hand. Durrik struggled up too, clutching his father’s bell with both hands.

  Suddenly the darkness was split by a blaze of light. The boys both gave a little gasp and jump. Slowly the light came towards them, throwing all the intricate filigree of leaf and branch into sharp relief. Dazzled, all they could see were two dark figures coming slowly, awkwardly, through the bushes. One was little and thin, the young girl they had spoken to before. The other was much taller and leant heavily on the girl’s shoulder, moving with the slow painfulness of the very old. It was impossible to see anything of her face and figure, for she was all muffled up in a long cloak and hood. In her hand she carried the source of the light, a bright sphere of blazing white.

  Thundercloud charged them and both shrieked and cringed back. ‘We aren’t meaning no harm!’ the little girl cried. ‘Call back your billy-goat, we aren’t meaning no harm.’

  ‘Turn off the light!’ To his dismay, Pedrin’s voice shook. Was this some mighty enchantress, to so carry light in her hand? Did she mean to cast a spell on them, enslaving them with her powers? And even if her little servant girl spoke the truth and the enchantress meant them no harm, what of those that might see the light and come to investigate? It was not just the soldiers whose attention Pedrin feared to attract, but the many strange wild creatures that inhabited the Perilous Forest. He controlled his voice with an effort, saying sharply, ‘Do you wish t’alert every living thing for miles that we’re here? Turn it off!’

  The girl spoke swiftly and softly to the tall figure. The light died, plunging them all into darkness again.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the girl said. ‘Me mistress is a-feared of the dark.’

  ‘At least in the darkness we can’t be seen,’ Pedrin said roughly. ‘A light like that will be a-rousing every man and beast for miles. Do you want to bring the starkin soldiers down upon us?’

  Even as he spoke he wished he could bite the words back, but it was too late, the words had escaped him. He went on hurriedly, ‘And we’re close to the Perilous Forest here, too close to be drawing attention. There are many strange and savage beasts in the Perilous Forest.’

  ‘None more strange and savage than those which walk the streets of towns,’ the girl said rather oddly, dropping the sack she carried by the fire. Solicitously she helped the tall cloaked figure lower herself painfully to the ground. ‘Please, can we have some food now? Me mistress can pay.’

  Casting a scared, suspicious look at the shrouded figure lying on the opposite side of the fire, Pedrin hurriedly cooked up some more rounds of toasted cheese and bacon. The two strangers ate ravenously. Then, jewels flashing on her fingers, the tall silent one tossed a handful of coins at Pedrin. He was unable to catch them all and had to scrabble in the dust to gather them up, colour rising angrily in his cheeks. The value of the coins made his eyes widen, however, and he stowed them away in his pocket with some excitement, never having seen so much money in all of his life. There was even a silver crown among them!

  ‘Can we rest by your fire?’ the girl asked rather tremulously. ‘We’re too tired to walk any further.’

  ‘Of course,’ Pedrin said, stirring his fingers in his pockets so he could hear the jingle of the coins. ‘You needn’t be a-feared. The goats’ll wake us if anyone comes near.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ she asked quietly. ‘Many a goat has been stolen away from the herd in the dead of night.’

  ‘Not a herd guarded by Thundercloud,’ Pedrin retorted stoutly.

  The girl looked uncertainly at the big black billy-goat, who narrowed his eyes at her, shaking his horns menacingly. ‘He does look fierce,’ she said.

  ‘His horns are very sharp,’ Pedrin said, ‘and he does not much like strangers.’

  ‘I see.’ She sounded rather sad. ‘Well, I hope he doesn’t mind us sharing your campfire, for me legs ache and me head is so heavy I can hardly hold it up anymore.’ She yawned so wide her jaws cracked.

  ‘Have you travelled far?’ Durrik asked curiously.

  ‘Far enough,’ she answered with a sigh. She wrapped a thin, grey shawl about her and curled up on the far side of the fire, a raggedy doll cuddled close to her cheek. Pedrin exchanged a frowning glance with Durrik, who gave a little shrug, then Pedrin stood abruptly and covered the little girl with his blanket. He and Durrik would take turns to keep watch this night, he decided, and it would be easier to stay awake if the watcher was cold.

  Pedrin was hunched miserably by the fire as the sun rose, having won the last watch with a toss of his new silver coin. He yawned and stretched and glanced across the
fire to examine their night visitors by the light of the day. His breath caught in surprise.

  The small one was much as she had seemed in the darkness of the night—a thin child of maybe thirteen or fourteen, her face pale and pointed beneath a black kerchief bound tightly about her head. She was dressed in a rough brown dress and pinafore, and cuddled an old ragdoll in her arms.

  The cloak had fallen away from the face of the tall one, revealing long, smooth ripples of pale golden hair, a round cheek all flushed with sleep and a white brow unmarred by a single line. No old crone this, no mighty enchantress. She was nothing but a girl, no older than Pedrin himself.

  Pedrin felt he knew that line of brow and cheek, the colour of that hair. He rose a little on his knees to see better and sucked in his breath with amazement. He had not been mistaken. It was Lady Lisandre who slept so peacefully by his campfire.

  He must have made some sound for she stirred again and sighed, and brought her hands up to her cheek. He saw she clutched something close, something which glittered between her fingers. Before he could see more her eyes opened, staring straight into his.

  Pedrin blushed scarlet. He sat back on his heels, feeling his hands too big, his collar too tight. She flushed too, and sat up abruptly, saying very coldly, ‘You dare to ogle me while I sleep, sirrah? What kind of ill-mannered lout may you be?’

  Even if Pedrin did not understand the rudiments of Ziverian, he would have understood her meaning from her tone, which was full of contemptuous disdain. He tried to stammer some sort of apology, but his never perfect command of the starkin language deserted him, so that only strangled sounds issued from his lips. She paid him no heed, thrusting the glittering thing she held deep into the pocket of her purple velvet cloak and shaking awake the dark-haired girl with an imperious hand.

  ‘I pray thee, Briony, tell that imbecilic oaf to stop staring at me, and prepare me some repast to break my fast,’ she ordered. ‘It does not please me to be ogled by peasantry. Is the goat-boy lacking in wits as well as manners, do you think, the way he stares and stammers?’

  ‘Nay, milady, that is, I don’t know,’ the girl said in some bewilderment, sleep still heavy upon her.

  ‘Tell him to lower his eyes and act with proper respect, else I shall have him whipped!’

  ‘But, milady, who’d whip him?’ As Lisandre’s eyes narrowed in anger, the girl said rather hastily, ‘Aye, milady, of course. I’ll tell him.’ She turned to Pedrin and said rather diffidently, in the familiar language of the hearthkin, ‘I’m sorry, but—’

  ‘No need to tell me aught,’ Pedrin said sullenly. ‘I heard her.’

  ‘You speak Ziverian?’

  ‘Uh-uh.’ Pedrin felt no need to explain the limits of his knowledge.

  ‘Oh, well then . . . I’m sorry. She doesn’t mean to be rude. ’Tis just the starkin way. You mustn’t look at her directly, you know, she’s one of the Ziv.’

  ‘What are you saying? I was not rude!’ Lisandre cried. ‘I am near faint with hunger, Briony. Does the goat-boy mean to serve me any time this morn? Though on closer reflection I do not wish him to handle any food that I must then consume. Have you seen how black are his nails? You must cook for me, Briony. Scrub out all the pans and plates first. And tell those repulsive boys not to stand anywhere near me. I am sure their reek is enough to make me ill.’

  All Pedrin’s discomposure had turned to sullen rage but he said nothing, turning aside and kicking the charred log back into life. Snowflake bleated and butted him with her nose. He dug out his bucket and sat beside her, leaning his hot forehead against her flank and squeezing out his anger with her milk. To his chagrin he noticed his nails were black and his hands very grubby indeed. He decided he must have a bit of a scrub in the stream before they set off on their journey again. He suddenly remembered he had not thought to pack any soap or a comb, and felt his discomfiture grow.

  By the time the bucket was filled with frothy milk, Durrik had wakened and was sitting up in his blanket, his yellow hair all ruffled like a duckling’s down, his blue eyes bright with excitement.

  ‘Liah’s eyes, do you see who that is?’ Durrik whispered. ‘’Tis Lady Lisandre! What’s she a-doing here, you reckon?’

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t care. The sooner she goes on her way the better.’

  Durrik’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Why so rude, Pedrin? Do you fear she’ll betray us to the soldiers? I can’t think what she’s a-doing here, so far from Levanna-On-The-Lake, and with only one little girl to serve her.’

  ‘Whatever the reason, the faster we leave her behind, the safer we’ll be,’ Pedrin said shortly. ‘T’other starkin can’t be too far away. Let’s be a-packing now and on our way.’

  Durrik did as he was told, though his efforts were hampered by the fact that he never took his eyes off Lisandre, delicately dabbing the corners of her mouth with a cloth while Briony searched through her sack. She found a little pot plugged with a cork, then knelt before Lisandre, saying humbly, ‘Let me look at your blisters, milady.’

  Lisandre stared haughtily at Pedrin until he blushed and dropped his eyes, then stretched out one foot from under the folds of the purple velvet cloak. It was shod in a high-heeled slipper of red satin with an enormous buckle of rubies. More rubies flashed in the spindly heel, which was at last three inches high. As Briony gently removed the slipper, the starkin girl winced in pain and caught her breath. The skin of her foot was marred with huge red blisters on the heel and toes.

  Briony took the bare foot upon her lap and bathed it carefully, then rubbed some salve into the red-raw welts.

  ‘No wonder your feet pained you so much, milady,’ she said, tending the other foot. ‘You won’t be able to wear your shoes today.’

  ‘But I cannot walk barefoot,’ the starkin girl cried. ‘You know I removed my shoes yesterday and could not walk one step for the stones and thistles.’

  Briony reached up and unknotted the black kerchief bound about her head. A thick brown plait fell down, its unbound end as curly as a corkscrew. More curls sprang about her face and she pushed them back with one hand, then tore the kerchief in two. ‘I’ll wrap your feet, milady. ’Twill help a little, at least till your feet toughen up.’

  Lisandre sighed. ‘I suppose it must do. I simply cannot bear to put my shoes on again, they hurt my feet so grievously.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Pedrin muttered.

  She heard him and turned his way, flushing. ‘What did the goat-boy say?’ she demanded.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Pedrin repeated, in Ziverian this time and loudly. ‘What foolish shoes to wear in the rough!’

  Lisandre flushed even redder but did not deign to reply, turning away with her nose in the air.

  ‘I beg your pardon, milady, but perhaps you would care to wear my shoes?’ Durrik said with a low bow, indicating his brogues with a courtly wave. ‘They are of very soft leather and would protect your feet far better than mere cloth.’

  Lisandre had not until this moment spared Durrik so much as a glance, but at the sound of his flawless Ziverian she looked up at him in surprise. Her eyes widened in instant recognition.

  ‘Are you not the boy who leapt into Lord Zavion’s circle of power the day of the summer solstice?’ she asked. ‘The one who prophesied my brother’s death?’

  Durrik blushed. ‘Aye, milady. Though I thought it was his salvation I spoke of, not his death.’

  ‘But all that nonsensical poetry you quoted, about time turned inverse—all that is an impossibility. It means naught, surely?’

  ‘I don’t know, milady. I don’t understand what it means. I don’t know where the words came from. They just came.’

  Lisandre gave a little snort of disbelief. ‘Fiddlefaddles will not save my brother,’ she said firmly. ‘You are as bad as Lord Zavion with his crystal towers and mage sophistry. What did he do but sizzle my brother’s brains and mine, and send my mother into a fit of vapours that I fear she will not recover from easily.’ She he
ld out her hand imperiously. ‘I will take your shoes. If I am to save my brother, I shall need to be able to walk.’

  ‘What do you mean, if you are to save your brother?’ Pedrin asked suspiciously. ‘What do you do here, so far from Levanna-On-The-Lake?’

  ‘Who are you, sirrah, to question what I do?’ she asked haughtily, drawing her stockings up over her bandaged feet and gingerly thrusting them into Durrik’s brogues.

  Pedrin coloured deeply once again but stood his ground sturdily, his arms crossed over his chest. He was just thinking what to say when Snowflake gave a bleat of warning. Thundercloud was pawing the ground, his horned head lowered, his golden eyes narrowed. Durrik pointed up into the sky, his voice rising into a squeak. ‘Look! Sisikas!’

  They all saw a flock of the great white birds flying swiftly towards them, starkin lords mounted upon their backs. Pedrin bent and grabbed the saddlebags, crying angrily, ‘See, I knew she’d bring the soldiers down on us. Run, Durrik!’

  ‘Do you think the soldiers pursue you?’ Lisandre said regally, holding out one hand for Briony to assist her to her feet. ‘A couple of grubby goat-boys? You are mistaken. It is me they pursue. You may rest here in peace. They will not disturb you. I, however, must flee, and quickly. Come, Briony! Let us run.’

  And with those disdainful words, the starkin girl broke into a most undignified stumbling run, her faithful maid doing her best to help her. Pedrin and Durrik exchanged one incredulous glance then ran after them, as the shadow of enormous wings fell upon them.

  NINE

  Aaaark! Aaaark!

  The sisikas’ screech filled the air. Pedrin dived forward, rolling under the shelter of an enormous spreading thorn tree. Ahead of him he saw a flash of red silk as Lisandre crawled forward on her hands and knees, her long veil of hair hampering every movement. Then he heard Durrik shriek and looked back.