The Starthorn Tree

by Kate Forsyth

  Listening to Sedgely’s deep, melancholy voice helped Pedrin overcome the craving in his belly, but at his last words, he felt a surge of tears that swept over him with such intensity that he could only lie on the sand and weep. He felt a soft hand stroking his hair and realised Lisandre was kneeling beside him, stifling her own tears so that she could comfort him. He buried his face deeper into his arms and let the shuddering sobs subside.

  ‘He’s a-breathing!’ Mags cried. ‘Sedgely, he’s a-breathing on his own!’

  ‘Let him rest awhile and keep him warm,’ Sedgely said wearily, letting his hands drop. ‘We can’t tarry long, I feel ghouls a-breathing down me neck and the lake-lorelei will come back, a-singing and a-drowning if they can. We shall have to cross the lake tonight.’

  Pedrin sat up and rubbed his eyes roughly, and pushed his wet hair out of his face, aware now of a cramping cold that crept right into his very bones so that he could not stop shivering. He crawled forward so he could see Durrik, who had opened his eyes and was staring around blankly. ‘I’m alive,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘I’m not a-drowned?’

  ‘Sedgely saved you,’ Pedrin whispered, ‘and Mags.’

  Durrik shook his head in disbelief. ‘But I was a-drowning . . .’

  ‘Sedgely saved you, and me, and Briony, in fact he saved us all,’ Pedrin said gruffly. ‘And I punched him in the nose.’

  ‘I slapped and kicked you,’ Lisandre said remorsefully. ‘I am sorry.’

  Pedrin coloured hotly and muttered something incoherent. She knelt and put his blanket about his shoulders. ‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘Mags and I could see hardly a thing from the shore and we could hear nothing, for I’d put candle wax in our ears, like you said. All we could see was a lot of splashing, and then Sedgely swam up with Durrik draped over his back and dropped him on the sand and went galloping off into the lake again.’

  ‘I killed her,’ Pedrin said blankly. ‘She kissed me . . . and then I stuck me knife into her. It was horrible.’

  ‘She kissed you? A lake-lorelei kissed you?’ Lisandre said indignantly.

  Pedrin nodded.

  ‘What was it like?’ she asked after a moment’s pause, half-curious, half-cold.

  ‘Slimy,’ Pedrin answered without looking at her.

  ‘Urrgh!’ Lisandre said.

  ‘Exactly,’ Pedrin said and crossed his arms on his knees, his head pillowed upon them, the blanket pulled close.

  Sedgely woke him from an uneasy half-doze a few minutes later. ‘We must cross the lake now. Will you manage?’

  Pedrin looked at him sideways, wondering how much he knew. He nodded and got to his feet, shivering as the cold air struck through his wet clothes. He rolled up the damp blanket and stowed it in his saddlebag, rubbing his arms and stamping his bare feet.

  ‘Better be a-stuffing your ears,’ Sedgely said gloomily. ‘The lake-lorelei hate to lose their prey. They’ll be a-coming again, mark me words.’ Pedrin nodded numbly. ‘I’d tie the young feller to me, if I were you, and probably the little missy too. Once you’ve succumbed to the lake-lorelei’s song, often you’re eager to meet with them again, no matter how clearly you see their evil.’

  Heat washed up Pedrin’s face. ‘I’ll be a-tying us all on,’ he said gruffly.

  Sedgely nodded. ‘Wise decision. Glad you’re a-listening for a change, young feller. Let’s get a-going then, ’tis late and me poor old bones are weary indeed.’

  Pedrin nodded and gathered together the coil of rope. In the bright moonlight, he could see the goats lying together on the grass at the edge of the shore, Snowflake curled within the shelter of the billy-goat’s body. He remembered how he had struck her and was filled with shame and remorse. Slowly he went over towards them and was stricken when Thundercloud leapt to his feet and stood belligerently, horns lowered.

  Pedrin held out his hand and whistled gently. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, Snow-flake. I was . . . enchanted, I s’pose. Please forgive me.’

  She stood up and took a few tentative steps towards him, her nose outstretched. He sat down, his hand still held out pleadingly. She came and smelt his hand, and then nudged her soft nose into it. He wrapped his arms about her neck, burying his face in her white coat that smelt of sunshine and clover and milk, all good, wholesome things.

  ‘I have to leave you,’ he said in a muffled voice. ‘I’m sorry but I have to go. It doesn’t mean I’m not a-loving you. Please, please, stay safe and I will be back just as soon as I can.’

  She bleated unhappily and nudged him again, and he dried his tears on her coat as he had done so many times before. Then he stood up and made his way back to his friends on the lakeshore, feeling as if a great hole had been torn out of him.

  ‘They’ll be all right,’ Lisandre said sympathetically, and gave his arm a little rub. The others all made little murmurs too, though all were so shocked and weary and overwhelmed by the day’s events that it was as much as they could do to keep standing. They shouldered their bags and sacks and stood waiting by an old log for Sedgely to once again take on the form of a river-roan.

  Sedgely gave a little hurrumph, and shook himself all over. In a heartbeat, he transformed into the shape of a magnificent old horse, with powerful haunches, huge black hooves covered with a long fringe of white hair, a tail like a waterfall and a thick white mane, as knotted and snarled as his hair had been. His coat was dappled red, he had a long white beard like a billy-goat and his splayed hooves were split in three, almost like a duck’s webbed feet.

  The transformation was so quick and so absolute it was hard to take it in, though Pedrin was watching avidly, curious indeed about this magical ability of the old man’s. Although there were so many startling similarities between the two forms—the out-curving line of the great nose, the dark liquid eyes, the shaggy white hair and beard, the mingling of red and white hairs on his body—it did not seem as if one shape stretched to make room for the other. Sedgely just shook it off as if he was shaking away water.

  Astonishing as this was, the children hardly reacted at all, so numb were they with shock and exhaustion that they moved like sleepwalkers. One by one they climbed onto the log and then onto Sedgely’s back. Though they all had to cling close together, all five fitted easily upon his back.

  The river-roan turned and trotted down into the water. The last of the day had gone, the dark arch of sky overhead strewn with stars. The lake seemed to catch the starlight, glimmering with a silvery-blue light against the blackness of the shore. Into the water they rode. It flowed like silk along the river-roan’s sides, shocking them with its coldness. They were all wet to the waist, clinging tightly to Sedgely with their legs, their arms about each other’s waists. Beside them swam the lake-lorelei, laughing, seeking to drag them from the horse’s back. In the darkness, all that could be seen of them was their slim white arms and their pointed faces, though their eyes glittered with starlight.

  Pedrin kicked out angrily and the wildkin dived away with little flurries of foam, only to surface a few feet away, their arms held out imploringly. They were so beautiful and so strange that, despite his terror and revulsion, Pedrin found himself leaning towards them, wanting to see more, wanting to hear their song. Durrik would have fallen into their arms if it was not for Mags’s tight hold about his waist, so transfixed was he by the lake-lorelei’s beauty.

  Steadily the horse swam onwards. The dark pinnacle of the island slowly grew closer. Soon the lake-lorelei ceased swimming alongside, and the children no longer felt the sudden tug of malicious hands about their ankles or, worse, the sensuous stroke of their fingers up their legs.

  Sedgely’s webbed hooves found purchase. He rose out of the lake, water streaming from his hide, then they were upon the island, sand crunching under his hooves.

  Trees crowded close about the beach. Sedgely made his way forward slowly, the children crouching down low on his back as branches whipped their faces. Lisandre gave a little cry as her arms and legs
were scratched but Sedgely pushed on until the glimmer of the lake was far behind them. At last he came into a small clearing, the stars bright in the ragged hole of the trees’ branches. Exhausted, the children slid from his back and curled on the ground where they fell, too weary to do more than huddle together under their blankets and shawls and cloaks. In an instant, all were asleep.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Pedrin was rudely awoken by a cruel sting across his cheek. He recoiled with a cry, sitting up with his hand to his face. The sun fell through the branches in long, slanting rays, the dew upon the leaves sparkling. Pedrin looked around crossly, then froze into stillness, his throat closed with terror.

  A gibgoblin stood nonchalantly in the middle of the clearing, expertly coiling a long black whip into one claw. He was very tall and thin, and elegantly dressed in black leather. His skin was of very smooth, shiny green scales and he had narrow black eyes, set at a distinct angle in his tapered face. A long green tail snaked out from under his leather coat and his oily black hair was slicked off his face and combed into a little curl at the back of his head. In his other claw he held a slim cigar. He lifted it to his green, scaly lips and took a luxurious drag. Smoke curled lazily from its glowing end.

  ‘Ah, ssso you’re awake at lassst,’ the gibgoblin said in a low, menacing hiss.

  His neck was so stiff, Pedrin could only look up at the gibgoblin with difficulty. Of all the possible dangers they might have had to face in the Perilous Forest, it was gibgoblins that Pedrin had dreaded the most. He had seen what a gibgoblin could do to a man. The sight haunted his dreams.

  Many times he had wondered what it must have felt like for his father, having his skin slowly, languorously, peeled away with flick after lick of the gibgoblin’s long whip. Many times he had wondered how long it had taken his father to die once his skin, the largest living organ, had been so dexterously removed.

  Now Pedrin was so paralysed with terror that the only thing that moved was his heart, threatening to hammer its way right out of his ribcage. He could not even swallow, though his mouth felt like a bucket of sand. He became aware of a creeping wetness down his leg and began to burn with shame and misery. His bitter humiliation was the spur that enabled him to move. Pedrin knew only that he did not intend to die like his father had. Very slowly he slid his hand into his pocket, seeking his slingshot.

  The others were all sitting or lying with the same rigidity, staring at the gibgoblin with the fascination of mice looking at a snake. Even Sedgely seemed mesmerised. The gibgoblin smoked his cigar affably, his other hand toying with the end of his whip.

  ‘I’m ssso glad. I had ssstarted to think you would sssleep all day which isss mossst monotonousss. I much prefer my victimsss to be consciousss when I ssscourge the ssskin from their flesh. Ssso much more amusssing.’

  Pedrin tried to swallow. A boulder seemed to have lodged itself in his throat. His fingers had touched the familiar shape of his slingshot, delicately hooking about it. Slowly he began to draw it out, his other hand groping through the grass for a stone.

  ‘However, I mussst not amussse myssself yet. I mussst ask you firssst what your busssinessssss here isss. The Erlrune mossst dissslikesss unsssolicited visssitorsss.’

  Suddenly the gibgoblin turned and, quick and graceful as a striking snake, lashed out with his whip. Pedrin screamed and sucked his hand, and deftly the gibgoblin caught his slingshot in his claw.

  ‘Ssso, the boy thinksss to ssstrike me with ssstonesss. How amusssing. I am sssorry to disssappoint you, my child, but being ssstoned would not sssuit me at all.’

  Pedrin looked down at his hand in chagrin. A thin red welt was oozing blood. He sucked it again and tried not to show how very frightened he was. He was shivering, though, and the brightness of the day seemed to have dimmed.

  ‘Ssso once again I mussst asssk you to ssstate what your busssinessssss upon the island of the Erlrune issssssss . . .’ The gibgoblin’s malevolent hiss drawled away. He yawned, lifting one claw politely. It was very cold now. The dew had all turned to frost. Mist crept along the ground and writhed up the gibgoblin’s leather-clad legs. Pedrin shivered and rubbed his arms. He saw Lisandre was huddling into her purple velvet cloak, and Briony had dragged the rough old blanket up about her shoulders. Suddenly he realised the mist was flowing out of Sedgely’s enormous, high-boned nose. Two long, steady plumes of fog that gusted and whirled and eddied, as cold as the iciest winter blast. The gibgoblin yawned again.

  ‘Ssstrange, I feel sssleepy . . . ’tisss grown ssso chilly . . . time for a sssiesssta, perhapsss . . .’ Slowly and gracefully, the gibgoblin sank down into the mist and disappeared. Then they heard thin, hissing snores.

  The children sat, too terrified to move. Sedgely had no such hesitation, however. He bounded up, showing no sign of age or infirmity, and hustled them all to their feet. ‘I can’t be sure how long the fog’ll last, never having waited around to see,’ he said. ‘Let’s get out of here!’

  Pedrin risked one quick look at the gibgoblin, who slept all coiled up like a snake, his green eyelids fluttering slightly. Pedrin’s slingshot was half underneath him but Pedrin did not even consider trying to ease it out. He hurried away from the clearing just as fast as he could, feeling rather light-headed.

  ‘Oh, that’s an old river-roan trick, that one,’ Sedgely was saying. ‘Gibgoblins hibernate in winter, you know. They hate the cold. He’ll be spitting poison when he wakes. We’ll have to find running water so we can drown our scent. Gibgoblins have an excellent sense of smell. Why don’t you all ride, so we can get along a little faster?’

  The children were only too glad to comply, being tired still and rather shaken by their encounter with the gibgoblin. They were glad to cling to Sedgely’s back as he galloped through the forest, all the leaves above them stained with brilliant autumn colour. They came to a clear, sparkling brook and he plunged in, swimming strongly upstream. Pedrin was glad to let the water wash up over his legs, hoping no-one had noticed the telltale stain on his breeches. He bent and grasped the water with his cupped hand, drinking thirstily and splashing away the nightmares of the night.

  He had not slept well, despite his bone-dense weariness. The song of the lake-lorelei wove its way all through his dreams, keeping him in a fever of horror and shameful desire. Again and again Pedrin had seen the black coils of hair and starshine eyes laughing at him, had bent his head to kiss that fanged mouth, had drowned again in her embrace. Again and again he relived the easy way his knife had slid into her, with no more than a little catch, like a gasp of breath. Pedrin had killed fish before, and birds, rabbits, chickens, kids. He had even helped an old doe to death, when her pain had grown so intense he could bear it no longer. Killing the lake-lorelei did not feel like killing a chicken for his supper. It felt like murder.

  He had not been the only one to suffer nightmares. Half-rousing through the night, he had heard Briony sob in her sleep and turn convulsively, hunching herself into a ball, and he had heard Durrik muttering and calling out. Much later, he half-roused as he felt Mags grow agitated in her sleep. She had sat up, crying aloud for her father, her hands stretched out imploringly. They had all felt her jerk as she woke and realised where she was, then heard her little despairing sob as she flung herself down again, burrowing under the blanket. Dumbly they all pressed close about her, offering what little warmth and comfort they could. She was very subdued this morning, her mouth set in an expression of misery and anger.

  Briony’s pointed face was also tense and strained, and she flinched at every rattle of twig or susurration of wind in the dry leaves.

  Durrik was sunk so deep in a miserable abstraction that he noticed nothing, not even the crack of a branch breaking that had all of them startling violently. His cheeks were like chalk, and his eyes glittered with a feverish light. He did not answer when Pedrin asked him how he was, and had said not a single word all morning. Pedrin tried hard to think of something to say that would rouse him from his preoccupation, but his s
kull felt like it was stuffed with wool. He could think of nothing.

  So Pedrin could have kissed Mags when she turned around and said, with a determined attempt at her usual cheeky grin, ‘Hey, what kind of wildkin thinks life’s a laugh?’

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘Guess.’

  ‘I can’t. Tell us!’ Briony begged.

  ‘Can you guess, Durrik?’ Pedrin said.

  Durrik smiled rather faintly and shook his head. ‘It has to be something to do with a gibgoblin.’

  ‘Go on, guess. What kind of wildkin thinks life’s a laugh?’

  ‘Tell us, Rags,’ Lisandre demanded.

  ‘A giggling gibgoblin,’ Mags answered, grinning.

  They all laughed, and then began to try to make up other jokes. ‘What kind of wildkin is always hungry? A gobbling gibgoblin!’ Pedrin said.

  ‘What kind of wildkin talks too much? A babbling gibgoblin,’ Lisandre offered.

  ‘A gibbering gibgoblin would be a better answer,’ Mags objected.

  ‘Gibbering does not mean to talk too much,’ Lisandre said haughtily.

  ‘Yeah, it does!’

  ‘No, it doesn’t.’

  ‘Yeah, it does!’

  ‘Well, you ought to know,’ Lisandre said crushingly.

  ‘Babbling gibgoblin’s not funny at all, gibbering gibgoblin is much better.’

  ‘Well, what kind of wildkin always wants to argue?’ Durrik suddenly said.

  ‘What?’ Pedrin said encouragingly.

  ‘A squabbling gibgoblin!’

  All five of them laughed, and once they started, could not stop. Clinging to each other, they laughed hysterically. Whenever one began to stop, someone would call out, ‘squabbling gibgoblin’ or ‘gibbering gibgoblin’, setting them all off again. They were all so weak with laughter they would have fallen off Sedgely’s back if it had not been for the tight hold they had on each other.