The Starthorn Tree

by Kate Forsyth

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Pedrin cried. ‘Not now, Snowflake! Me pa’s a-needing me!’

  Once more the little white goat butted him. Pedrin struck her hard across the face so that Snowflake yelped and leapt away. Pedrin hardly noticed. He was running forward, straining to pierce the gloaming with desperate eyes. ‘Pa!’ he cried. ‘Where are you?’

  TWENTY-SIX

  ‘Pedrin!’ his father called. ‘Help me. I can’t get away, they have me, they’re a-holding me back. Pedrin, only you can save me! Help me!’

  Pedrin had always hoped and wondered, deep down in the most secret chamber of his heart, if his father still lived. He had never been able to believe that the flesh-red carcass they had found on the mountain, peeled of his skin like an apple so that the convoluted mess of capillary and vein and artery could clearly be seen—Pedrin had never been able to believe that soft red pulp was all that remained of his strong-armed, quick-tempered, big-bearded, belly-laughing father.

  So now, hearing his father’s voice calling him through the lap-lap-lap of the waves, he struggled to see him, to find him. Was that his father, that beckoning arm, at the very edge of his vision? Was that his father, holding out two imploring hands, there where the glimmering shine of the water struck at his eyes, bedazzling him with tears? Where, oh where was he? Mortemer’s voice was growing more frantic yet ever more distant, as if he were struggling against hands that sought to drag him away.

  Hands were holding Pedrin back. He struggled against them wildly and then, when he could not break free, swung around with his clenched hand as hard as he could.

  His fist connected with a thin, bony shoulder. Sedgely cried out in pain and indignation. ‘Hey, young feller! No need to lam me! Come back, come back. ’Tis the lake-lorelei you’re a-hearing. You must come back else they’ll have you. I need your help, I can’t be a-saving them all!’

  Pedrin glared at him with hatred. He had never trusted Sedgely. What was the old man doing, a-coming along with them anyways? He must have some trickery up his sleeve, to face so much danger when he had naught to gain himself. He should’ve known better than to turn his back on a wildkin. Scowling ferociously, Pedrin punched the old man again, hard, right on his huge, hooked nose.

  Sedgely howled in pain and let go, grasping his nose with both hands. Pedrin turned and lunged away from him, a little surprised to find he was up to his armpits in water. He kicked out strongly, striking out across the water, but Sedgely caught hold of his foot, dragged him back and slapped him sharply across the face. The blow knocked Pedrin right under the water.

  He came up fighting but Sedgely seized his ear in a painful grip and bawled in it, ‘Whatever you’re a-hearing, young feller, ’tis not true! ’Tis a lie! ’Tis the lake-lorelei and they’re a-seeking to drown you. Stuff your fingers in your ears and look! Look! All your friends’re a-drowning . . .’

  At first Pedrin tried to hammer the old man with his fists but Sedgely kept that vice-like grip on his ear and kept on yelling in it, drowning out his father’s voice and the poignant, ethereal singing that filled his mind and his heart, echoing like nothing he had ever heard before. As the meaning of Sedgely’s words penetrated his brain, Pedrin stopped trying to punch him and then, feeling dazed and confused, did as he was told. With his fingers jammed hard in his ears, he looked about him.

  Mags was crouched on the shore, rocking back and forth, her hands clamped over her ears, muttering over and over to herself, ‘Shut up, shut up, shut up!’ As Pedrin stared, she lifted her face, ravaged with tears, and howled, ‘Shut up! You’re all dead, you’re all dead, you’re all dead! Shut up, I say!’

  Lisandre was up to her armpits in the water, forging forward, her face incandescent with joy. ‘Father! Where? Where are you?’ She stumbled and went under the water, but struggled up the very next instant, holding out her arms pleadingly. ‘Father!’

  Briony was even deeper, her curly hair floating out behind her like seaweed, splashing wildly as she struggled to swim out further into the moonlit lake. Durrik was so far out his head was just a dark shape against the glimmer of the water, his threshing arms only just managing to keep him afloat. As Pedrin watched in horror, he went under, only to struggle above the surface again a few seconds later. He was above water for only long enough to gasp a breath before going under again.

  Just beyond him, Pedrin could vaguely see slender, shapely forms with dark flowing hair and shining eyes, swimming lithely through the water. They held out their white arms to Durrik, beckoning, calling, trilling with musical laughter. Pedrin had dropped his hands in dismay and he once again heard the silvery song, weaving its enchantment under the moon. At once it began to work upon him, bemusing his senses, muddling his memories, filling him with a joy so intense and poignant it was like a stab of pain. But Pedrin was too filled with fear about his friends to listen. ‘Durrik!’ he screamed. ‘Briony!’

  They did not hear.

  ‘Young Durrik will be in their arms any instant,’ Sedgely said urgently in his ear. ‘You must help the little misses, I’ll get the young feller. Quick now! Once the lake-lorelei have you in their toils, ’tis too late to save you.’

  Pedrin nodded and struck out for Lisandre, having to whistle loudly to stop the echo of the lake-lorelei’s song from winding about his heart. It was hard, though. Every intake of breath was enough for the song to begin working its evil enticement and it took all Pedrin’s strength not to listen.

  Meanwhile, the old man gave a little hurrumph and shook himself all over. Somehow, he shook himself out of his skin and into the shape of a big old horse. He was a dappled roan colour, with a shaggy white mane and fetlocks and a flowing white tail, all knotted and snarled. He surged out into the water, moving with immense speed and creating such a strong wake that Pedrin was swept up into the air, coming down again with a slap that knocked all his breath out of him. He had no breath for whistling and so heard his father crying to him, ‘Pedrin, Pedrin! You must believe me! I’m here, I’m alive, Pedrin, I need you . . .’

  Though it cost him dearly, Pedrin refused to listen, muttering, as Mags had done, ‘Shut up, shut up, shut up!’ He reached Lisandre in a few swift strokes and seized her in his arms, treading water strongly. She hammered him with blows, screaming, ‘No, no, let me go, my father is here, he needs me . . .’

  Pedrin tried to reason with her but she was hysterical, slapping him, punching him, screaming at him to let her go. He shook her, yelling, but Lisandre brought her knee up sharply into his groin and, enveloped in a white flare of agony, Pedrin let go abruptly.

  She lunged past him, going under the water in her desperation. It was clear Lisandre could not swim, for despite a great deal of splashing and gulping, she kept on going under. Pedrin tried to straighten but his whole body was paralysed with pain. He dashed tears away from his eyes, reached out and caught Lisandre by her hair, dragging her to the surface. Then he grimly towed her towards the shore, though the starkin princess fought him every step of the way and he was still bent over like a very old man. When it was shallow enough for him to stand, he seized Lisandre and dragged her up, still struggling and crying, and pressed his hands over her ears as hard as he could. She tried to wrench her head away but he would not let go, wresting her around so that together they looked out into the lake.

  Briony was struggling feebly to keep her head above water as six pale, lissom shapes plunged and dived about her, rocking her with the waves of their motion, submerging her again and again. When Briony managed to raise her head above water, it was to gaze desperately about, calling a name the two watching children could not hear. Closer and closer the lake-lorelei swam, singing and mocking, then one reached out her hand and put it on Briony’s head, pushing her under the water. Briony went down in a great sucking splash, her arms and legs flailing, her mouth wide open in a scream. She bobbed up again a second later but she was clearly losing strength quickly, while the lake-lorelei smiled and sang and circled her ever more closely.

  Where Durrik had
been was now only thrashing water and foam. In the darkness it was hard to see more than the occasional upflung white arm, abnormally long and supple, sinuous as a snake, tensile as a tentacle. Towards this maelstrom swam the river-roan, head held high, a long wake arrowing behind him.

  The lake-lorelei’s song had deepened, built to a gleeful crescendo. Lisandre no longer struggled against Pedrin’s grasp, but stood stiff, her hands to her mouth in horror. He turned her back to him, and risked releasing her ears, though he cupped her face with his hands still.

  ‘Lake-lorelei . . . seek to drown us,’ he managed to say. ‘I must . . . Briony . . . Lisandre, cover your ears . . . go back to shore . . . in me bag . . . candle wax . . .’

  She nodded, her hands still covering her mouth. He took them, pressed them together between his own, and nodded urgently at the shore. She nodded again and began to wade towards the shore, her fingers jammed in her ears. Pedrin turned and dived into the water.

  He had never swum with so much desperate speed in his life. The water was silky-cool and the moonlight gleamed all about him, so that every arc of his arm sent a spray of quicksilver through the air. In the great arch of the sky above, stars glittered and the round-bellied moon rode, haloed with a dim radiance. On the shore, invisible trees rustled and murmured in a black assembly, gathered at the foot of the lofty mountains, so tall and sombre with their silvered heads and implacable bulk. The air was filled with the most bewitching of music, airy and silver as the wind on the water.

  It was all so beautiful, this moonlit swim should have been the most wondrous experience of his life. Instead it was nightmarish. His body could not answer his need. Every stroke of his arms and kick of his legs was too slow, too weak. He could see the lake-lorelei’s sinuous white arms closing about Briony’s dark head. The wildkin girl was able to keep her face above water for only a few scant seconds before she sank again, and the circle of plunging bodies was now so tight she was buffeted by rocking waves and cruel hands from all sides.

  Pedrin kicked mightily, and reached the circle. He seized one of the lake-lorelei’s arms. To his disgust it was slimy. He dragged her away from Briony but immediately the lake-lorelei coiled herself about him, pressing her slim, white, naked body so close against him he could feel her with every inch of his skin, so cold she was like fire, so close it was as if their bodies were fused. He could see her face laughing up at him, only a breath away, a face of wild, cruel beauty. Her eyes were filled with cold fire. Her hair was a living thing, black snakes that coiled about his arms and legs, dragging him ever closer to her. She raised her mouth to his and kissed him as if seeking to devour him. His body was already quivering and aroused with the feel of her cold, wet, writhing body. The shock of the kiss went through him like a bolt of lightning. He could not move. He could not breathe. His ears were filled with a roaring blackness. He jerked as she bit him, tasting the sweet gush of blood, and felt her whole body move with him. Pedrin tried to wrench his mouth away but could not. His limbs were bound tightly by her hair, her arms and legs twining about him like tentacles, their mouths, hearts, groins, legs, all pressed together, swaying, quivering, igniting.

  His fingers found the hilt of his knife, still strapped to his belt. Awkwardly he eased the knife out of its sheath and into her. It did not need much movement, she was so close. At once she jerked away. He could feel long, slimy limbs flailing madly about him, then she turned and shot away at speed, hunched around her wound.

  Suddenly he could breathe. Instead of air, Pedrin swallowed water. Black, swampy, foul, tasting of mud and weeds. He choked, kicking out with his feet, feeling below him the slimy ooze of the lake bottom. She had dragged him deep, that lake-lorelei with her cold eyes and passionate mouth, she had dragged him right to the very depths of the lake.

  Pedrin pushed off, thrusting towards the surface. His legs were leaden, his head was bursting, he felt a dangerous trembling inside, but doggedly he kicked his legs. At last his head broke through the water’s surface. He took deep, gulping breaths, his heart hammering horribly, and vomited up the slime of the lake’s deep waters till his body was as scoured clean and empty as a clamshell.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Briony was lying limply within the tight circle of the lake-lorelei’s arms. They were crooning soothingly like a mother rocking her child to sleep, the black eels of their hair winding about her and slowly strangling the breath from her body.

  Pedrin felt like a whole lifetime had passed, but it could only have been a few minutes. He still had his knife in his hand. He dogpaddled forward, as weakly as a young child. One of the lake-lorelei smiled enticingly and held out her arms to him. He swam into her embrace, and brought the knife up, ramming it into her breast with all his strength. She screamed, showing a mouth full of fangs, and fought against him, but Pedrin hung on to the knife wearily, all his weight pressed against her so that her own struggles forced the knife deeper and deeper into her breast. At last she hung as limply as he. They began to sink, but Pedrin put forth a great effort and dragged his knife free. She sank. He managed to keep his legs moving.

  They all came at him them, four black-haired women of bewitching beauty, their fangs white in their smiling mouths. The knife and his hand were all sticky with something black, and Pedrin was so tired he could hardly keep himself afloat. He saw Briony sink away under the water, her eyes closed, and made another stupendous effort, lifting the knife and lunging forward. They laughed and moved easily out of his reach, holding out their hands to him and singing. They did not sing to him with his father’s voice this time, but with their own dark, mysterious, alluring voices that spoke of a pleasure so exquisite, so profound, it was worth drowning to experience. Pedrin felt himself stir in response, a wave of heat scorching through him, all his nerves coming thrillingly alive. He could not forget the feel of the lake-lorelei’s body against him, the shock of her hungry mouth. He shook his head dazedly and gripped the knife tighter.

  Suddenly a large, dark, warm body came surging up through the circle of lake-lorelei, scattering them with a neigh like thunder. They laughed and dived away, and Pedrin flung out a trembling hand and gripped hold of the river-roan’s mane. His fingers met another hand, clenched as tight as his on the coarse white mane. He opened his eyes and dimly saw Briony, her face buried in the river-roan’s shoulder, her great mass of dark wet hair streaming down her shoulders. She managed to look at him before burying her face again. Sedgely neighed reassuringly and swam strongly for shore.

  Pedrin allowed himself to be towed along, his eyes closed, his hands still clenched on his knife. It seemed he felt the knife’s odd halt of resistance, the sudden quick slide inside, the writhing of the wounded lake-lorelei again and again. It made him feel nauseous, yet he could not stop his mind from replaying the scene, or from remembering the ecstasy of the lake-lorelei’s kiss. Pedrin had not known it was possible to feel such things. One part of his mind wanted to dwell on it, to relive the sensations again and again. The rest of him flinched away, sick with revulsion. He tried hard not to think at all. He wished he could just drift away into sleep, floating dreamless upon the cool, dark water.

  There was to be no rest, however. Mags and Lisandre were crouched on the sand in the windy darkness, leaning over Durrik and weeping.

  ‘He’s dead, he’s dead,’ Mags screamed. ‘Oh, Pedrin, he’s dead!’

  The world seemed to stop moving. Pedrin let go of Sedgely’s mane and fell to his knees in the shallows, retching. Briony was beside him, floundering weakly out of the water on her hands and knees. Sedgely shook himself out of his horse-shape, seemingly mid-stride, and back into the shape of an old man. Naked, his skinny limbs gleaming in the moonlight, he knelt beside Durrik, feeling for his heart, listening for his breath. He rolled him over and leant his weight on Durrik’s back, pumping the water out of his lungs as he had pumped the water out of Lisandre after she had fallen into the river. Though water gushed out of Durrik’s mouth, there was no other response. He lay slack, loose-lim
bed, his head lolling.

  ‘You must breathe your own breath into him,’ Sedgely ordered. ‘Cover his mouth with yours so that all your air goes into him.’

  The children stared at him uncomprehendingly. Sedgely hurrumphed impatiently. ‘Breathe your air into him now else we have no chance of saving him. I can’t be a-doing it, a river-roan’s breath is cold. Your breath is warm.’

  ‘He who was born under water, shall under water die,’ Briony said fatalistically, sounding as if she was talking in her sleep. She stood stiff and still, her hands hanging by her sides. Pedrin felt the same numbness, as if he was watching from a very long distance. Mags gave a little whimper and threw herself on the sand beside Durrik’s unmoving body. ‘Show me what to do!’ she cried.

  Following Sedgely’s instructions, the little bandit girl knelt and pressed her mouth against Durrik’s, breathing her own breath into his lungs, lifting her head, pressing her mouth to Durrik’s again. Watching her, Pedrin felt an unbearable coiling of lust and grief deep in his groin. He retched again, coughing up bile that tasted of slime. He spat it as far from him as he could, wiping his mouth again and again, then he hid his face in his hands. He could hear the uneven pant of Mags’s breathing, though, and it had the same erotic effect on him, so that he had to press himself into the sand, trying without success to control his agitation.

  Sedgely began to speak, very softly, alternating Mags’s breaths with the firm pumping of his clenched hands on Durrik’s chest. ‘’Tis a cruel enchantment, the beguiling of the lake-lorelei. They sing of your deepest longings, they get you all a-twisted up inside, so that whatever you most want to be true, you start a-thinking is true. They can fill you with such a yearning that you almost wish to be dead, once you realise ’tis all a lie. Oh, we river-roans, we hate the lake-lorelei, for we have longings and desires just like you young things do, and we know ’tis uncommon cruel to sing a man his deepest longings and then show ’tis all a mockery and a sham. And the worse thing about a lake-lorelei’s song? ’Tis so beautiful you wish all your life you could be a-hearing it again, even though you know ’tis enticing you to death.’