The Starthorn Tree

by Kate Forsyth

  The Erlrune’s face had softened at Lisandre’s impulsive action and now she gave her shoulder a brisk pat. ‘You have the chance now to bring about a true change for the better, my dear. I hope you do not disappoint me.’

  ‘I’ll try not to,’ Lisandre whispered, swallowing hard. She hesitated, then said diffidently, ‘Erlrune . . . I mean, my lady . . . please, can you tell me—’

  ‘No, I cannot,’ the Erlrune answered sternly. ‘The Well of Fate has given you the answers. ’Tis not my place to interpret or elaborate on the visions you received. Remember, the Well of Fate is the third riddle that you must solve.’

  Lisandre nodded, unable to hide her disappointment.

  Sedgely had landed again and was craning his head around, trying to see as much of his wings as he could. The children all reached up their hands to stroke his feathers, marvelling at their softness and strength.

  ‘I have packed some supplies for you,’ the Erlrune said with a wave of her hand. Pedrin saw two enormous panniers leaning against the dais, with thick straps designed to buckle around the river-roan’s back. ‘There are warm blankets for you all as well, and a few other little gifts. Oh, and of course I sent Lash to retrieve all your belongings for you.’

  The gibgoblin bowed sardonically from the corner. ‘My pleasssure, my treasssuresss.’

  Pedrin and Durrik were rummaging through the pile of belongings piled neatly beside the panniers of food. ‘Look, Lisandre, your brush and mirror! You won’t be a-wanting to lose those,’ Pedrin said mockingly as he tucked his slingshot and bag of pebbles into his pocket. For some reason, Pedrin was angry. He would have liked to punch someone or, at the very least, to have spent an hour skimming stones into a pool and seeing how far they could skip. When Lisandre cast him a hurt, surprised look, he clenched his jaw and occupied himself with counting his newly regained coins.

  ‘Oh, Briony, look, here’s your little ragdoll. And your sewing basket,’ Durrik called.

  Briony took Mirabel eagerly and cradled her in her arm as she looked over her sewing kit, noting the many spools of coloured thread, the new pincushion in the shape of a rose, and the paper filled with bright new needles. With a little thrill, she saw also a bottle of elder-flower wine, the wooden box of silkworms and the book of magic. Quietly she packed them away in her sack and slung it over her shoulder.

  ‘You know you may return whenever you wish,’ the Erlrune said to her quietly.

  Briony nodded. ‘I know,’ she answered. ‘Thank you.’

  There was a corked jar of apple-ale for Sedgely, the golden-haired doll for Mags, a bottle of sweet-smelling ointment for Durrik, a lute for Pedrin and, rather surprisingly, the long silver dagger they had used to cut their hands for Lisandre. She took it warily, with a wide-eyed glance at the Erlrune’s impassive face, then bent her head, examining the magical runes engraved along its blade.

  ‘I thank you,’ she said in a rather hushed voice, her blue eyes very sombre, sliding the dagger back into its sheath and strapping it at her waist.

  Lisandre’s gift had made them all fall silent again, exchanging looks of foreboding. Even a flying river-roan was not going to make their task easy. Pedrin clenched his hands into fists and shoved them deep into his pockets. He felt an all too familiar curling and uncurling deep in his stomach, a combination of dread and longing.

  ‘I have warm coats for you too,’ the Erlrune said, indicating a pile of white wool and fur. ‘It will be very cold flying up in the air.’

  As the others thanked her and tried on the long, white coats, Pedrin went suddenly very still, sitting back on his heels with his bucket clasped on his lap. ‘What about Thundercloud and Snowflake?’ he said in a strained voice. ‘How are they meant to get home? They can’t fly. Oh, I hope they’re all right! A whole month . . .’ He got up, his mouth set grimly. ‘I can’t go with you,’ he said to Lisandre. ‘I have to go and see if me goats are all right. Aught could a-happened! Oh, me poor Snowflake! She must’ve been in such pain, with no-one a-milking her. She’ll have all dried up . . .’

  ‘Oh no, Pedrin,’ Lisandre cried, clasping his arm with both her hands. ‘You have to come with us! We need you. Please . . .’

  ‘I can’t. I can’t be a-leaving me goats.’ He held himself aloof, expecting her to offer to buy him a whole flock of goats when they had saved her brother, or to command him to accompany her.

  Instead she nodded rather miserably, saying, ‘No, of course not, I see that. Oh, I hope nothing has happened to them.’

  He gave her a wan smile. ‘Thundercloud would have kept them safe. Not even a gibgoblin could catch Thundercloud!’

  ‘I detessst having to disssenchant you but I fear I mussst,’ Lash said with a sneering smile, playing with the end of his whip. ‘I had enormousss eassse ssseizzzing your goatsss.’

  Pedrin went very white, staring at the gibgoblin in horror. He swayed and had to put out a hand blindly for something to support him. His hand found Mags’s shoulder and gripped so hard she winced but stood her ground, giving him the support he needed.

  ‘Don’t tease the boy,’ the Erlrune said rather sternly. ‘No need to be a-feared, Pedrin, your goats are safe and well. Lash brought them here for me and they’re a-getting fat and lazy out in my stables.’

  Pedrin sat down rather limply. ‘Thank Liah!’

  ‘Thank Lassshhh,’ the gibgoblin sneered.

  ‘Come, you can see them if you like,’ the Erlrune said. ‘I will have them brought into the garden.’

  They all followed her out one of the great glass doors, Pedrin throwing the panniers across Sedgely’s back and then surreptitiously leaning on the river-roan to hide the fact that his legs were still shaking. The soft feathers of Sedgely’s wings warmed and comforted him, and he was soon able to recover his composure.

  Outside, the horizon was striped with pale citrus colours. It was cold and they were glad to snuggle into the heavy coats and pull on their new fur-lined boots. It surprised no-one that the boots and coats fitted them all perfectly.

  A wizened old man with long shaggy hair and beard came through the garden, leading the goats. They both looked very healthy, their coats thick and shiny, their hooves and horns trimmed and polished. They bleated joyfully at the sight of Pedrin and bounded around him, almost knocking him over. He knelt down, embracing them fervently.

  ‘Please,’ he said to the Erlrune, ‘can’t they have wings too? Then they could a-fly home with us. Please?’

  She regarded him silently, playing with the wand in her hand. ‘Do you not feel I have done enough to help you?’ she said at last, rather irritably. ‘I have quite enjoyed fresh milk every day. It would be a fitting parting gift, to leave them for me, don’t you think?’

  ‘Please?’ Pedrin begged. ‘I’ll do aught. I don’t want to leave them and I don’t want to stay behind. I must get home and save me ma and me little sister. Please?’

  ‘You’ll do aught, will you?’ the Erlrune said slowly.

  Pedrin lost his colour, having spoken without thought, but he gritted his teeth and said obstinately, ‘Yeah, I will. Even me first-born child, if that’s what you want!’

  The Erlrune smiled as if at some secret joke. ‘Your first-born child . . . well, why not? Tell him to bring me one of Snowflake’s great-great-grandkids too. I do enjoy a nice drop of fresh milk in the morning.’

  Before Pedrin could change his mind, she touched the goats with her wand. A pair of black wings sprouted from Thundercloud’s shaggy shoulders, and a pair of snowy-white ones from Snowflake’s. The goats had been cavorting about in their excitement and suddenly, to their surprise, found themselves soaring through the air. They bleated in amazement, but were soon darting about as swiftly and nimbly as any swallow.

  ‘I wish you well,’ the Erlrune said. ‘I shall a-watch and a-wait with great interest.’

  They nodded and tried to smile, but now it was time to leave all were filled with a deep apprehension that tied their stomachs in knots.

  ‘I l
ook forward to meeting your first-born child,’ the Erlrune said to Lisandre, with a nod and an odd sort of smile to Pedrin. ‘Don’t forget about the kid.’

  ‘I won’t!’ Pedrin called, climbing up on a low wall so he could mount Sedgely.

  ‘Thanks for the doll,’ Mags cried. ‘She’s real bully!’

  ‘Thank you . . . for everything,’ Briony said. She suddenly seized the old woman’s hands and gave her cheek a quick, shy kiss.

  ‘I am not sure you will all thank me in the end,’ the Erlrune said with a compression of her mouth that made all their hearts sink. ‘Few do.’

  When all five were safely mounted and Sedgely was tossing his mane and pawing the ground, eager to test his wings against the wind, the Erlrune suddenly stepped forward and chanted in a low, deep voice that sent a thrill of holy fear down their spines:

  ‘Deep peace, I breathe into you,

  Deep peace, an end of strife for you

  Deep peace, a soft white dove to you,

  Deep peace, a quiet rain to you,

  Deep peace, an ebbing wave to you,

  Deep peace, the pure red flame to you,

  Deep peace, the pure white moon to you,

  Deep peace, the pure green trees to you,

  Deep peace, the pure brown earth to you,

  Deep peace, the pure grey dew to you,

  Deep peace, the pure blue sky to you,

  Deep peace of the running wave to you,

  Deep peace of the flowing air to you,

  Deep peace of the sleeping stones to you,

  Deep peace, the cold fire of the stars to you,

  Deep peace, the balm of a loving heart to you,

  Deep peace, deep peace, deep peace!’

  When the toll of her blessing had died away, the silence seemed more absolute than ever. The children, clutching each other with their arms and Sedgely with their legs, called out a rather shaky farewell. Then the big river-roan wheeled, galloped down the garden and launched off into the air, the goats flying close behind. The children waved until the Erlrune and her small grey house had dwindled away into darkness. Then they turned, clinging tightly to each other, looking down at the undulating landscape with mingled delight and terror.

  The sun was a molten curve above the horizon. Far below them the dark forest rolled away on either side of the glimmering Evenlinn. The wind stung their eyes, and they had to blink away tears, drawing up their fur-trimmed hoods against the biting cold. Only a few stars still glowed in the sky and, as the sun slowly rose, they faded and flickered out. The sky blazed with vivid colour, red and gold and violet, and Sedgely’s wings glowed like the shade of a lantern. Ahead of them were great mountains of soft billowing cloud that mounted up to the very heavens. They too glowed, rose-pink, lavender-blue, molten-gold.

  Lisandre’s arms tightened about Pedrin’s waist. ‘I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in all my life!’

  He turned. ‘What?’

  ‘Never seen . . . anything . . . so beautiful.’ Her voice and her eyes were full of tears.

  Suddenly choking with tears himself, Pedrin smiled, nodded, and turned back, his hands gripping Sedgely’s flowing white mane tightly.

  On they flew, the day brightening about them. Ahead were the mountains that ringed the Evenlinn. Sedgely had to beat his great wings hard to rise high enough to clear the peaks. The air was so thin it burnt their lungs. They saw plumes of snow blown from the highest spires. Pedrin looked back anxiously, and saw the goats cavorting about the pinnacle playfully. He called them sternly and they spread their wings and darted in pursuit.

  Down the far side they glided, plunging into fog. Buffeted by strong winds, their faces lashed by sleet, Sedgely spiralled down. Lightning flashed by, reeking of sulphur. Lisandre shrieked and clung even tighter to Pedrin’s waist. Then they slipped below the cloud, finding themselves flying only a few feet above the forest canopy. Treetops brushed their feet. Sedgely swerved to avoid a tall fir tree, and Mags yelped and clutched at Durrik’s waist.

  Up Sedgely soared again, filling their mouths with clouds. All they could see was greyness; all they could feel was the damp clutch of foggy fingers on their faces. Then they burst out above the cloud, flying in the brilliant sunshine above. Below lay billowing fields of cloud, occasionally broken by the dark spear of a fir tree.

  At last Sedgely’s strength began to falter. He descended slowly, landing lightly in a misty clearing. The children slid off, stiff and sore, and stretched thankfully. They all felt tired and rather numb, as if their hearts and minds simply could not deal with anything more. So it was a relief to make lame jokes about saddle-sores and Sedgely’s bony spine, and to remark on the difference in the weather down on the ground, and to wonder what there was to eat, poking fun at Pedrin’s hollow legs.

  With great interest they delved into the panniers and found all sorts of delicacies to eat—cold chicken legs, pork pies, gingerbread men with candied cherry eyes, an egg-and-bacon flan, jam tarts, a bag of apples and another of carrots. Sedgely snorted mournfully, cropping at the grass with a most melancholy air as the children thankfully tucked in. He did not dare change shape in case he lost his magical wings. Briony took pity on him and poured some apple-ale into the bucket. At once the river-roan’s ears pricked forward and he drank thirstily, then delicately took a carrot from Mags’s outstretched hand, crunching it up with relish.

  Once they had eaten and rested awhile, they quickly ran out of banter, for all of them felt the shadow that pressed on their spirits. Lisandre was particularly edgy and fidgety and, when she asked rather gruffly if they could fly on, no-one argued or protested. Everyone got up at once and packed up the remains of their lunch and pulled on their coats, all with hardly a word spoken.

  Sedgely flew on until the sun was merely a red smear on the horizon. They found a safe place to camp and, after eating another hotchpotch meal, hunched about the warmth and comfort of their fire, all very subdued and preoccupied with their own thoughts.

  Durrik broke the silence. ‘Milady,’ he said timidly, ‘I don’t know if this will make any difference but . . . I thought mebbe you should know . . . I’ve been a-hearing stuff about you.’

  ‘Hearing stuff!’. Lisandre cried with a return of her old hauteur. ‘What kind of stuff?’

  Durrik flushed uncomfortably. ‘In my dreams sometimes . . . and when I look at you or think of you . . .’ His face grew so hot and red he could not meet her indignant, questioning gaze. He busied himself poking the fire with a stick. ‘I heard it the clearest at the Erlrune’s house,’ he mumbled to the fire. ‘When we all slept a month, I had many dreams, full of rhymes and riddles and strange paradoxes I couldn’t decipher . . . most of it I’ve forgotten but the words about you I remembered.’

  ‘Why?’ she cried. ‘What did you hear about me?’

  He sent a gust of sparks whirling into the sky. ‘What I’m a-trying to say is, would I be a-hearing anything if you were about to die?’

  Lisandre gripped her hands together. ‘I don’t know. Would you? I suppose it depends on what sort of thing you hear.’

  ‘If you were a-going to die, surely I’d be a-hearing about your death, but I’m not, I’m a-hearing about your life . . . or not your life, but what comes after you, your son . . .’

  ‘What do you hear?’ Lisandre screamed.

  There was a long pause. Durrik stirred the glowing coals and gave a strange, sad, secretive smile. He said, very softly:

  ‘Three times a babe shall be born,

  Between star-crowned and iron-bound.

  First, the sower of seeds, the soothsayer,

  Though lame, he must travel afar.

  Next shall be the king-breaker, the king-maker,

  Though broken himself he shall be.

  Last, the smallest and the greatest—

  In him, the blood of wise and wild,

  Farseeing ones and starseeing ones.

  Though he must be lost before he can find,

  Though, before he s
ees, he must be blind,

  If he can find and if he can see,

  The true king of all he shall be.’

  There was a long, daunted silence.

  ‘I really have had enough of riddles,’ Lisandre said faintly. ‘What has this to do with me, Durrik? I don’t understand.’

  ‘I hear this when I think of you . . . when I think of what’s a-going to happen to you,’ Durrik said stumblingly, the glow fading from his face. ‘You’re one of the star-crowned, one of the ones who will have a child one day, a son . . . who’s going to be important somehow . . . the king-breaker, the king-maker. I’ve a-heard it dim and I’ve a-heard it loud and I know it to be true.’ He cast a quick, shy glance at Lisandre and returned his eyes to the fire. ‘I thought at first . . . I knew it was connected to words I’d heard about myself and I thought . . . I hoped . . . but now I’ve a-heard the whole riddle, I know I’m the first of the babes, the soothsayer, the one who must travel afar. It’ll be someone else who’s “iron-bound”, some other hearthkin boy . . .’

  Although Durrik looked at no-one and his voice was flat, without expression or implication, Pedrin heard a roaring in his ears as if his skull was suddenly filled with churning water. A scorching-hot wave swept up his body, all the way to the very tips of his ears. He could only be thankful it was night-time and all was dark. Through the churning in his ears he heard Lisandre say in a bewildered voice, ‘I still don’t understand what you mean, Durrik.’

  ‘If you’re to one day bear a child who’s going to be some kind of king-maker, like the gods have been a-telling me, well, then you can’t be a-going to die, can you?’ Durrik said fiercely.

  ‘Except that what you hear, your riddles of the future, they’re just like the visions in the Well of Fate, aren’t they?’ Briony said, apology in her voice. ‘I mean, they tell what might happen, not what will happen.’

  Lisandre’s shoulders fell. ‘So I could still cut myself on the thorns and die,’ she said miserably.