The Starthorn Tree

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘Nah,’ Briony said quietly. ‘I thought it made perfect sense, the last bit. Say it all again, Durrik.’

  The shadow on Durrik’s face deepened. He hesitated, his face bent, then said gruffly:

  ‘If those long apart can together be spun

  Six separate threads woven into one,

  Two seeking destiny in heaven’s countless eyes,

  Two of the old blood, children of the wise,

  Two iron-bound, that tend the hearth’s red heat,

  Six brought together can the cruel bane defeat.’

  Lisandre shrugged contemptuously. ‘Very well then, Briony, tell me what it means.’

  ‘Well, “Two seeking destiny in heaven’s countless eyes”, that has to be two people of starkin blood, doesn’t it?’ Briony said. ‘“Heaven’s countless eyes” means the stars, don’t you see? And “Two of the old blood, children of the wise”, that means two of the wildkin. They are often called the Old Ones or the Wise Ones, didn’t you know? And “Two iron-bound, that tend the hearth’s red heat—”’

  ‘The hearthkin, of course,’ Pedrin said wonderingly. ‘But why “iron-bound”?’

  ‘Well, you are bound, aren’t you?’ Briony said. ‘Bound to the starkin’s service, by plough-share, spade and hoe.’

  ‘Yeah, I see,’ Pedrin said and felt his ears begin to burn.

  Lisandre said impatiently, ‘But that basically means it’s an impossibility, doesn’t it? Two starkin, two hearthkin and two wildkin, brought together as one? It’s like saying the curse will only be lifted when hens grow teeth, or when pigs fly. It can never happen.’

  ‘Yet here we all are,’ Briony said softly.

  Lisandre stared. ‘Whatever can you mean, Briony? There may be five of us here now but I am the only one of starkin blood, and I cannot see that changing, unless of course you expect Lord Zavion to join forces with us?’

  Briony looked at Durrik. Unaccountably he went red and looked away.

  ‘Shouldn’t you tell them?’ Briony said in her soft, gentle voice.

  ‘Tell us what?’ Pedrin felt a sullen rage take hold of him.

  Briony said nothing, just kept looking at Durrik, who was digging at the earth with the tip of his crutch, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

  ‘I s’pose she means I should tell you that my mother was one of the starkin,’ he said at last, raising his eyes to meet Pedrin’s. ‘I don’t see that ’tis of any real importance. I’m as much hearthkin as I am starkin, and I never knew her or any of her people. I was raised by my father. He was her music tutor, down in Zarissa, many years ago. They fell in love and eloped together, but my mother found it too hard to bear, all the whispers and sideways glances, and of course, a-giving up the life of the starkin to be with a mere hearthkin. They said it was her punishment, to bear a son who was crippled.’ There was real bitterness in his voice. ‘So she went back to her family and left me with my papa, which was just fine by me.’

  Pedrin stared at him as if he were a stranger. It explained many things, of course. The delicacy of Durrik’s hands and face, the fairness of his hair, the fluency with which he spoke Ziverian, the many precious things in his house. Now he looked, Pedrin could see how similar Durrik was to Lisandre, especially now the starkin girl’s fine blonde hair was cut so short. He marvelled that he had never noticed it before. Briony had, of course. Her changeable eyes saw everything. He found he was as angry with her as he was with Durrik. He could not have explained why he was angry, he could not separate the hurt and jealousy and resentment and disappointment that knotted themselves together into a hard lump in his throat. He just knew it infuriated him that she should see so quickly and easily what he himself had never noticed.

  Although Lisandre was not angry, she too was staring at Durrik with shocked and horrified eyes. ‘A half-breed!’ she whispered. Unconsciously she drew a little away from the crippled boy, even as Pedrin had done.

  Durrik gritted his teeth and looked down at his feet. His eyes glittered with angry tears.

  Briony said miserably, ‘’Tis not Durrik’s fault, Lisandre. He’s still the same boy, regardless of who his mother was. It wouldn’t matter a bit, except it shows there’s some truth to the prophecy. There’s two of starkin blood here, you and Durrik.’

  ‘Well, what about the wildkin then?’ Lisandre said coldly, still holding herself aloof. ‘You cannot tell me you expect us to make friends with a gibgoblin now? There might be five of us here together at the moment but I don’t see horns or scales or fangs on any of us!’

  Briony bit back a smile. ‘Not all wildkin have scales or fangs, milady,’ she said gently. She nodded at Sedgely, sleeping peacefully on the far side of the fire. His nose stuck up out of the white tangle of his hair like a mountain peak out of a snowy forest, and his leafy coat rose and fell with every snore. ‘Didn’t you realise?’

  Lisandre looked shaken. ‘He’s wildkin? Really? But I thought . . . he looks just like an old beggar-man! Are you sure?’

  ‘He told us so himself,’ Briony said. ‘You mustn’t have been a-listening very closely.’

  Something in her tone stung Pedrin. He said, ‘And what about you, Briony? You always say “you hearthkin”, never “we hearthkin”. So are you wildkin too?’

  All the amusement died out of Briony’s face. She hunched her shoulders, her arms wrapped close about her knees. Fire shadows danced over her face, making her eyes glint red. ‘I don’t know what I am,’ she replied unhappily.

  SIXTEEN

  The wind was brisk the next morning, the leaves sharp-edged against the crystal-cold sky. The children were glad to huddle round the fire, exchanging rather stilted remarks on the weather as they held their numb hands to the blaze. All found it difficult to meet anyone else’s eyes. Once again the confessions of the night had caused a chill, a constraint, to grow up between them.

  ‘Jumping Jimjinny, I’m hungry!’ Pedrin looked rather hopefully towards the pool, where Sedgely was wading, his ratty trousers rolled above the knee.

  Pedrin was not yet sure how he felt about the revelation that Sedgely was a wildkin. His own father had died horribly at the hands of a gibgoblin, so horribly that the very thought of it made Pedrin’s insides flinch and loosen. His fear and hatred of wildkin had been intense ever since, and the goatherd had only been able to sleep fitfully, waking several times to check that the old man still slept peacefully, his nose pointed to the stars. Not long before dawn, Pedrin’s overwrought mind had decided it was all rubbish and he had slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Now, in the bright light of morning, Pedrin found it even harder to believe. Apart from the preposterous size of his jutting nose and the wildness of his hair, Sedgely looked and talked just like any irascible old man who sat outside the village inn on a summer evening, complaining about the weather and the ache in his bones, and drinking a jug of apple-ale dry.

  He certainly did not seem feral, like the wildkin were supposed to be. Pedrin had been taught that the wildkin were the creatures that had first swarmed out of the ocean of tears that Tessula had wept in his bitter loneliness. His tears had fallen upon the dry, lifeless womb of Imala, the earth-goddess, and his intense longing had given his tears power. Imala had given birth to a myriad of creatures, great and small, all of them wild, dangerous and unpredictable, carrying within them the desperate grief of a god.

  This first creation of life had enthralled Tessula and Imala, however, and so they had come together to create six perfect children. Imala had taken the soil of her body and the salt-water of Tessula’s tears and, in the resulting clay, formed the shape of three girls and three boys. She had laboured long in their creation so they would be as slim and supple and shapely as possible. Tessula had then breathed his god-force into them, and thus Lullalita, Liah, Taramis, Marithos, Tallis and Chtatchka were born. Made in love and joy, these six children were radiant with beauty and strength. Tessula was so pleased and overjoyed at their birth that he gave a great exhalation of breath and, without
meaning to, animated the little, clumsy clay body that was Imala’s first attempt at creating form. Neither boy nor girl, this child was named Jerimy and he was to be the eternal child, never growing beyond the innocent years of mischief and self-absorption.

  The seven children of the gods played together happily, growing every day, and soon they too began to make shapes in the mud of the world and breathe life into them, and so all the birds and animals and reptiles of the world were made. But as the children of the gods grew older, they wanted new playmates and so they stopped experimenting with different shapes and forms and made a host of figures in their own shape. Each of the young gods and goddesses gave these figures a gift—Lullalita gave the capacity for grief, Liah the light of reason, Taramis the ability to dream and long for something beyond this world, Marithos the desire for order and the ability to create limits, and Chtatchka the power of anger. Jerimy the Eternal Child gave laughter and lies, and Tallis the moon god gave wisdom, the gift of the knowledge of death.

  So the hearthkin were born, and soon spread and populated the world, giving the nine greater gods all the honour they deserved. Some mated with the gods and goddesses, giving rise to the ninety-nine lesser gods, and some, it was said, mated with those creatures called the Old Ones, for they were the first and oldest children of the gods, born without reason, imagination or the knowledge of death. Some said the Crafty was the product of this mating between hearthkin and wildkin, carrying within them the wild magic and the seven gifts of the gods. Others said such a union was impossible, and the Crafty were merely hearthkin that rejected the ordered life of village and guild, and studied their own arcane mysteries without the need to submit to law and tradition.

  Certainly that was the explanation most hearthkin accepted, because the idea of a coupling between hearthkin and wildkin seemed so abhorrent. Although the wildkin had always lived alongside the hearthkin, they were considered so very different, so very dangerous, that any other explanation threatened the harmonious order of the hearthkin’s society. This was why Pedrin had such difficulty believing Sedgely really was a wildkin, as Briony had said. Deep in his heart he thought he was probably just a crazy old man who had wandered into the forest as a child, and had managed to adapt and survive.

  At that very moment, Sedgely lunged forward and came up dripping wet, a fish flapping desperately in his hands. This evidence of skill impressed Pedrin greatly and he found the last vestiges of his fear dissolving away. Sedgely killed the fish with a dexterous slap on the stones and tossed it to a grinning Pedrin, before turning once again to scan the water. Soon three plump fish lay frying in the pan, the delicious smell working its magic on all of their spirits.

  ‘Good old Sedgely,’ Pedrin said. ‘Fried fish for brekkie. I could get used to that. I’m a-wondering if he means to come with us? I hope so, if he can catch fish as easy as a-snapping his fingers!’

  He asked the old man when he came to sit beside them by the fire.

  ‘Well now,’ Sedgely said, rubbing the side of his big, bent nose. ‘I gather you’re thinking of a-calling on the Erlrune?’

  The children exchanged uneasy glances, wondering how he knew their plans, and if his blissful snores of the night before had been spurious after all. Lisandre in particular looked edgy, pausing with a piece of fish halfway to her mouth, her fair brows drawn close together.

  ‘I can’t say I’m on visiting terms with the Erlrune,’ the old man went on. ‘She’s not the most cosy of acquaintances, if you catch me meaning. Still, I’ve eaten of your food and drunk of your drink, even though it was only goat’s milk and not a nice drop of apple-ale, like I might have hoped. And there’s no doubt you’re as innocent as the day you were born, with no idea of the dangers you might face. Not that you’d be likely to listen to me anyway. That’s the problem with the youth of today. Never a-taking the time to listen.’ He sighed and shook his wild white head. The children all sat silently, not liking to protest.

  ‘So can you show us the way to the Erlrune?’ Pedrin asked at last, when it seemed Sedgely had forgotten the question. ‘For we need to travel quickly, you know. Already the days are getting shorter.’

  ‘Yeah,’ the old man agreed miserably. ‘Me poor old bones ache as the weather turns cooler and they’re aching today, that I can promise you. There’ll be rain tonight, mark me words. If I were you, I’d be a-finding a nice cave to shelter in the next few days, instead of a-pushing on up the river, for the weather’s turning nasty, I can feel it in me bones.’

  The children glanced up at the bright clear sky, then at each other with little grimaces. Lisandre said impatiently, ‘Yes, but we have not got the leisure to be sitting around in a cave, twiddling our thumbs! The Erlrune is to be found at the source of the river, isn’t she? We need to find her, and with all haste.’

  ‘Yeah, the river flows down from the Evenlinn,’ Sedgely said. ‘Follow the river and you’ll reach the Erlrune, sure as the sun will rise tomorrow. If you survive. ’Tis not the easiest of ways to go, following the river.’

  ‘Do you mean there are easier?’ Pedrin asked quickly.

  ‘Sharp you are, sharp as a bee’s sting. Yeah, though ’tis true the Evenlode flows down from the Evenlinn, a-following her is not the best way to reach the lake. The Evenlode does not flow straight, she winds about like an adder. Follow her and you’ll be a-winding about too, and it’ll be midwinter before you reach the lake. If you cut through the forest, though, you can save a lot of time and bother.’

  Lisandre looked at Sedgely suspiciously. ‘But we could also get exceedingly lost,’ she pointed out. ‘The river is the only true landmark in this whole wide forest. If we leave the river, we shall have nothing to guide us, for all these trees look the same!’

  ‘I daresay that is true for a little missy that has never before set foot outside her castle gates,’ Sedgely said. ‘Luckily for you, I’ve been a-roaming this forest since I was naught but an unbroken colt. All I need do is follow me nose.’

  He tapped it knowingly. Durrik gave a little choke of laughter that he swallowed hastily when Sedgely turned reproachful dark eyes upon him.

  ‘Does that mean you’ll come with us?’ Briony asked anxiously.

  ‘Mebbe,’ Sedgely answered briefly, pulling his cap of reeds down over his eyes so all they could see of him was a wild halo of snarled white hair and the great jutting nose.

  ‘Please?’ Briony asked.

  Sedgely lifted his cap and peered at her from under his shaggy brows. ‘Well, at least one of you has some manners.’

  ‘Please, sir?’ Pedrin and Durrik chorused.

  Lisandre smiled at him winningly. ‘If you would agree to assist me in this venture, I would be most grateful, sirrah. I am sure my brother would reward you handsomely, once we have woken him from his accursed sleep.’

  ‘Indeed? What kind of reward?’

  Lisandre tilted her head graciously. ‘Whatever you desired, if you guided and protected us well.’

  ‘Such promises are easily made and easily broken,’ Sedgely said. ‘What if I desired your hand in marriage? Would your brother grant me that?’

  Lisandre was affronted. ‘Grant my hand in marriage to a ragged old man like you? A wildkin? I think not!’

  ‘And what if I asked for your first-born child? Would he agree to that?’

  All the colour drained from Lisandre’s cheeks. She tried to speak but her throat muscles had tightened so convulsively she could not find her voice.

  ‘I thought not,’ the old man said. ‘Luckily I don’t want your first-born child, nor to marry you, for that matter, as pert and unmannerly as you are. I like a peaceful life, I do.’

  After a long silence, Briony said wistfully, ‘Does that mean you won’t come with us and show us the way?’

  For the first time Pedrin realised that she found the responsibility of guiding them a heavy burden and felt a stirring of sympathy for her.

  Sedgely said reprovingly, ‘Now, did I say that? You shouldn’t be so hasty. Th
ough I s’pose that’s the way of the world. You young things, with all your life a-stretching in front of you, are always in a hurry, while we old ones, who have so little time left us, are content to sit and watch, a-pondering.’ He sighed heavily, and unconsciously all the children did too, their spirits quite depressed.

  No-one said anything for a while, though Lisandre stirred restlessly then held herself in check. At last, though, her impatience broke free and she said, ‘Well, then, sirrah? What is it you want? You say you will lead us to the Erlrune for a price. Name your price then.’

  Sedgely drew his shaggy brows together and stared at her. She flushed and said in a much more conciliatory tone, ‘If you please, sir.’

  ‘I need very little,’ the old man replied rather sadly. ‘A patch of sun to warm me poor old bones, a nice mess of fried fish every now and again, that’s all I need.’ He sighed and pulled his beard once or twice. ‘Though I must say I like that little singing egg. I’ve always liked a bit of music, to help while away the time.’

  Lisandre said angrily, ‘But the king himself gave that to Ziggy!’

  ‘Well, I daresay your brother would rather be alive and without his little trinket than dead and in the ground with it,’ Sedgely said. ‘Besides, finders keepers, losers weepers is what we always used to say as colts, and I daresay not much has changed. I could’ve just kept the little egg and never let you see I had it, you know. I always had a soft spot for young things, though, and it troubled me sorely to see you a-wandering about with no more sense than a newly born foal. Come now, you must admit you’d never have found the place where your father died if I’d not led you here, would you?’

  Lisandre had nothing to say. Sedgely tugged at his long snarled beard, the suspicion of a twinkle in his deep-set eyes. ‘Well, then, why are we all a-sitting here, miserable as crows at a wedding? If we don’t want to draw any more attention to ourselves, we should be on our way. The Perilous Forest is not the place to be a-sitting around in the sun, a-waiting for trouble.’