by Kate Forsyth
‘But the future has not happened yet, how can she possibly know?’
Peregrine hesitated. ‘Aunty Briony … I mean, the Erlrune … says that we can never truly know what is to happen, that visions in the Well of Fates or prophecies uttered by a Teller only forewarn us of what may happen. Often it is impossible to tell the future until some action has been taken that will set off the chain of consequences leading to a particular future’.
He paused for a moment, thinking. This was why the Erlrune had never been able to tell him if he would find the spear of thunder or not. Even though they had looked for the spear in the Well of Fates, the whirl of possible futures had been too difficult to read. There had been blood and poison and death, and a wild ride of storm-racked creatures, and a blazing crown, and his mother, sobbing. The memory of the visions he had seen made Peregrine shudder.
‘But?’ Grizelda prompted.
‘But … a Teller’s words have weight. Once spoken, they tip the balance of fate in that direction’. He spoke slowly, trying to explain the inexplicable.
‘So their words are like a curse’.
‘Yes’. Peregrine was quiet for a long moment.
‘So tell me about this spear. Who was the Storm King?’ Grizelda asked.
‘It’s an old, old story. The Storm King was the first king of the wildkin, hundreds of years ago. It was a time when dark magic and wild magic still stalked the land, battling each other for supremacy. But the Storm King made a magic spear and used it to bring peace. His spear never misses its mark. It returns to your hand once you’ve thrown it, and it can be used to heal as well as to kill. It also has power over the storm, raising it or quelling it, and it can unbind Lord Grim and call up the Wild Hunt, or bind him again under the hill’.
‘Who is Lord Grim?’ asked Grizelda.
‘One of the great lords of wild magic,’ Peregrine answered. ‘The Storm King made the spear to overcome Lord Grim, for he refused to abide by any law or rule and caused much grief and havoc in the land’.
‘And this is the spear you intend to find?’ Grizelda raised one well-shaped eyebrow sardonically.
Riding silently behind, Jack was filled with a fierce gladness. If she knew Peregrine better, she would never mock him like that.
His prince nodded. ‘Yes. I don’t believe it can have been destroyed, it’s magic. And Aunty Briony says magical objects hate to lie unused, that it will want me to find it’.
Grizelda laughed disbelievingly. ‘The spear wants you to find it?’
‘Mock me all you like. It makes no difference to me. I know the spear wants me to find it, I feel it in my heart’. Peregrine urged Sable into a canter, riding ahead. Grizelda glanced back at Jack quizzically. He said nothing, just kicked Snapdragon into a canter to follow his prince.
Grizelda frowned and urged her horse forward. She thundered past Jack, calling, ‘Your Highness, stop! I’m sorry. Please stop’.
Eventually Peregrine slowed and turned his horse to wait for them. His eyes were stormy.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just … well, we starkin are taught differently. I’ve never heard of anyone speaking about a spear as though it was … I don’t know, a person. Please, don’t be angry. Tell me more’.
Jack had to admit Grizelda was very beguiling when she wanted to be. Peregrine nodded and let Grizelda fall into place beside him. They rode on through the forest, the sky the colour of old pewter. Stiga flew on ahead, almost invisible in the gloom.
‘The Storm King’s spear was always wielded by the Erlking or Erlqueen—’ Peregrine began.
‘Women could wield the spear?’ Grizelda interrupted, surprised.
‘Of course. Why not?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never heard of women being allowed to use a weapon’.
‘That’s just your peculiar starkin custom,’ Peregrine teased her. ‘Wildkin women can do anything a man does. Well, almost. They can’t have peeing competitions’.
Grizelda laughed despite herself. ‘I doubt they want to!’
‘Anyway, the spear was passed down through the generations until the day Prince Zander came to Stormlinn Castle’. Peregrine’s expression sobered. ‘Do you know the story of the massacre at Stormlinn Castle?’
Grizelda shifted uncomfortably in her saddle. ‘Well, I know the wildkin queen insulted him and he took the castle in retaliation’.
‘Queen Avannia fed her baby when it was hungry,’ Peregrine said quietly. ‘Some insult’.
‘Surely it was more than that? Though I must admit I think she could have had the manners or the sense to retire somewhere private. We of the starkin do not do such things in public’.
‘We of the wildkin do’. Peregrine’s voice was cold.
She shrugged one shoulder. ‘Oh well, I’m sure that was not the only thing that sparked the battle’.
‘There was no battle!’ Jack spoke up, startling her. She looked back at him as he went on, ‘The starkin scum waited till all were sleeping and then they murdered them in cold blood, every man, woman and child. Do you wonder you were not welcome at Stormlinn Castle?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, faltering. ‘I didn’t know. Are you sure?’
‘Sure as eggs,’ Jack replied coldly.
‘No wonder the wildkin hate us starkin so much’. Grizelda gazed at him with tear-bright eyes and Jack swallowed and looked away.
‘That’s all right,’ he answered gruffly. ‘You’re not responsible for all that your people did. It was a long time ago’.
‘I can try to make things better, though, can’t I?’ she said. ‘That’s why I’m here, really’.
Jack nodded, smiling faintly.
‘So what happened to the spear?’ Grizelda turned back to Peregrine.
‘Prince Zander took it when he left. He took Princess Shoshanna too, Aunty Rozalina’s mother, and made her his concubine. He threw the spear into a bog and woke Lord Grim and hung him in bells, knowing those of wild magic cannot bear the sound. It must’ve been torture for Lord Grim, tied up with bells for so many years. My parents freed him from the starkin palace when they rescued Aunty Rozalina’.
‘But why would Prince Zander throw the spear into the bog if it is such a thing of power?’ Grizelda frowned in puzzlement.
‘I guess he meant to prove to Shoshanna that he was stronger than the wildkin and that it was no use resisting him. Or perhaps he did it to make sure the prophecy would never come true’.
‘What prophecy?’
Together Jack and Peregrine chanted: ‘A child of storm shall raise high the spear of thunder and by the power of three, smite the throne of stars asunder’. They glanced at each other and laughed.
Jack’s heart warmed. How many times had he and Peregrine pretended they had found the spear? They had battled each other all through the halls, up and down the stairs and onto the battlements, Peregrine always being the valiant prince and Jack taking whatever role he was given. For the first time Jack forgot his doubts and worries about this quixotic quest of Peregrine’s and thought that perhaps he really did have a chance of finding the lost spear.
‘Aunty Briony has looked in the Well of Fates and seen where Prince Zander was when he threw away the spear. She says he was near a tall hill with an oak tree on top’.
‘Well, I’m guessing there’s only a few thousand of those in the land,’ Grizelda said caustically. ‘That really helps narrow things down’.
‘The oak tree had been blasted by lightning’.
‘Still!’
‘And mistletoe hung in its branches. Do you know how rare that is?’
‘So how come no-one has been able to find this rare oak tree?’
Peregrine shrugged, making Blitz’s bells chime out. ‘Maybe it was not yet time? Maybe the spear is waiting for me’.
Grizelda said nothing for a moment, then flashed him a smile. ‘Maybe!’
The road stretched before them, straight as an arrow, immaculate as a newly washed sheet. Glancing behi
nd them, Jack saw the deep tracks made by their horses’ hooves, punctuated by the small tracks of the white hound Oskar, who ran tirelessly at Argent’s heels.
‘I wish it would snow again, your Highness,’ he said uneasily. ‘I’m worried about leaving such a clear trail through the forest. Do you think that hunter is still on our trail?’
Peregrine glanced back and frowned. He put Blitz onto his wooden perch and took out his flute, playing a few sweet, soaring notes.
Grizelda watched him in surprise. ‘What are you doing?’
Peregrine did not answer her, too busy playing his flute. After a minute or two, Jack heard a rattle of twigs and a rustle of fir needles. Oskar growled, lifting one foot and staring into the forest. Wood-sprites came swinging through the trees. Tall, slim and agile, they had long supple limbs and wild hair all matted into elflocks. Oskar barked and, wide-eyed, Grizelda silenced him with a gesture. The wood-sprites called to Peregrine in their own tongue and he called back, waving his hand towards the tracks behind him. Laughing, the wood-sprites seized the snow-laden branches of the trees and shook them till the snow showered down and filled in the hoof prints. Peregrine called out his thanks, and they swung close to him, hanging upside-down from the branches or leaning out from the trees, grinning wickedly and pointing at Grizelda, who shrank close to Peregrine. One leant down and tried to tug her ring off her finger, and she slapped him away. He slapped her back, but not hard enough to knock her from her horse. She gasped and put her hand to her cheek, and the wood-sprite swung away, laughing mockingly.
‘It hit me! Do something! Shoot it!’ she cried.
‘Shoot a wood-sprite? I’d not be so stupid!’
‘But he hit me!’
‘You hit him first’.
‘He was trying to steal my ring!’
‘Wood-sprites like flashy things. All you had to do was tell him no and he’d have let you be’.
Grizelda breathed quickly, holding her reins so tightly her mare shied and cavorted. ‘You … you …’ She sucked in a breath. ‘You are the crown prince! You must not put up with such insolence’.
Peregrine shook his head, his mouth set firmly. ‘I’m not a murderer! I’m sorry he slapped you but you did hit him first. The wood-sprites have helped us by hiding our trail. How could I possibly repay them by shooting one of them?’
‘But … but it’s just a wildkin’. Grizelda’s cheek flamed red and her eyes shone brilliantly. ‘Would you put a creature like that before me?’
Peregrine took a moment to answer. ‘I’m grateful to you for warning us about the ambush, but the wood-sprites are faithful subjects of the Erlkings of Stormlinn and have helped my family more times than I could count. I know they are undisciplined and, well, wild’. He grinned briefly. ‘I guess that’s why they’re called wildkin! But I could not shoot one’.
Grizelda stared at him, her breast rising and falling rapidly with her angry pants. ‘I’m sorry. Of course you couldn’t shoot it … him, I mean. I’m afraid I have rather a quick temper. I do hope you’ll forgive me’.
‘Of course,’ Peregrine said courteously, though his guarded expression did not relax.
She nodded curtly and wheeled her horse about, whacking Argent’s neck with her reins. Argent took off like a bolt from a crossbow. Peregrine grinned at Jack. ‘She is rather testy, isn’t she?’
‘That’s an understatement,’ Jack replied with a grin, adding belatedly, ‘sir’.
‘Stop with the “sirs”,’ Peregrine cried, giving Sable his head. ‘We’ll be away from the forest soon! We’ll have to travel in disguise. Call me Robin!’
Then he was gone, his stallion’s hooves churning up great chunks of snow. Jack sighed and once again spurred his trusty old gelding to follow. Prince Peregrine seemed to be revelling in his newfound freedom, but did he not realise the danger? How could Jack ever keep his Highness safe?
Behind him the wood-sprites whooped with glee as they threw snowballs at each other, obliterating the marks of horses’ hooves in the snow.
CHAPTER 11
Nightmare
IT WAS DUSK WHEN STIGA FLOATED DOWN FROM THE SKY LIKE a great soft snowflake. She landed lightly before the exhausted horses and shook off her feathers. In a second the owl was gone and a small hunchbacked woman was in her place, her heart-shaped face lifted to Peregrine’s enquiringly. ‘Sun is gone, shadows creep, time to find a place to sleep?’
‘Yes’. Peregrine dismounted and led his horse to Stiga. ‘Is there somewhere safe where we can sleep?’
‘Somewhere deep and hollow, where no-one can follow,’ Stiga murmured, waving one small hand towards the thick evergreen shrubbery crowding close on the side of the road.
Peregrine parted the branches and looked through. ‘There’s a kind of depression here where we could sleep,’ he reported. ‘It’s so thickly sheltered there’s no snow on the ground at all’.
‘Is someone still following us?’ Jack asked anxiously, dismounting and leading Snapdragon off the road.
Stiga nodded. ‘Sniffing and snuffling behind, seeking and searching to find’.
Jack screwed up his face. It was almost dark and the horses were barely able to plod any further. They had to rest. Prince Peregrine would fall sick if he got too tired.
‘I guess we’d better stop for the night,’ he said. ‘We can’t light a fire, though, it’s too dangerous’.
‘But it’s freezing!’ Grizelda clambered awkwardly down from her horse’s back, scowling at Jack who had made no move to help her. ‘And I’m hungry. What are we meant to eat?’
‘I think I have some cheese left,’ Jack said dubiously.
‘This is not how I expected to be treated!’ Grizelda cried.
‘Mmmm, let me think about that. Was his Highness expecting to have all his bodyguards murdered and our supplies lost? I don’t think so!’ Jack snapped back.
‘Was that my fault?’
Jack opened his mouth to answer and Grizelda pointed her finger at him. ‘Don’t say it, I’ll scream!’
He shut his mouth ostentatiously and spread his hands.
‘I wish it would stop snowing,’ Peregrine said, huddling his arms about him. ‘I feel as though I’ll never be warm again’.
‘I don’t want you getting sick,’ said Jack with a worried frown. ‘It’s just, well, a fire out here in the forest would guide the hunter straight to us’.
‘Light us a fire! I swear I’m dying of cold’. Grizelda lifted her gloved hands to her mouth and blew in them, then tucked them back in her white fur muff. ‘We’ve ridden so fast we must’ve left that hunter far behind us’.
‘Tell you what,’ Peregrine said. ‘I’ve got some rabbit that Blitz hunted today. Why don’t we make just a little fire, roast up the rabbit, and have something hot to eat, then douse the fire to sleep? Our cloaks will keep us warm’.
‘If you so command, your Highness,’ Jack said stiffly.
‘It’ll only be a little fire, Jack. I’ll make it, I need to practise my fire-making. Maybe you could find us some acorns we can grind up for meal. It’d be good to make some bread’.
‘Guess who’ll be doing the grinding,’ Jack muttered under his breath.
They ate a sketchy meal. All were tired and cold and cross. They smothered the small glow of the fire with snow, then wrapped themselves in their cloaks to sleep. Jack’s breath puffed white before his face; his nose felt like an icicle. He buried his head in his cloak and was instantly warmed. Blessing the Erlrune’s magic, he fell asleep.
At some time during the night, Jack woke from sleep and raised himself up on his elbow, looking about uneasily. All was dark and bitterly cold. Snow was blowing through the branches, dusting their cloaks with frost like icing sugar. Beside him, Peregrine was crying out, ‘No, no, Mam! Watch out’.
‘Shhhh’. Jack knelt beside him, trying to comfort him. ‘It’s all right, sir. Go back to sleep. Shh now’.
Peregrine twisted restlessly in his sleep then cried out, ‘No!’ He sat up
abruptly, his eyes wide and staring. ‘The castle! The castle has fallen!’
At the same moment Jack heard an unearthly shriek. Again and again it echoed through the night. He stumbled to his feet. A great white shape swooped down, screaming in his ear. Jack ducked, arms over his head, and felt icy air whoosh past him. ‘Stiga?’ he called, but the owl was gone, soaring away into the night. ‘Stiga?’ Jack called again.
‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Grizelda’s voice sounded scared.
‘Stiga,’ Peregrine sobbed.
‘I don’t know what’s wrong,’ Jack said. ‘His Highness had some kind of nightmare and then Stiga began shrieking and flew off’.
‘Something’s wrong,’ Peregrine said. ‘Terribly, terribly wrong’.
‘It was just a dream, sir,’ Jack said. ‘You just frightened Stiga, crying out like that’.
‘It was the most dreadful dream,’ Peregrine said, his voice shaking. ‘I dreamt the enemy was inside Stormlinn Castle, soldiers pouring through, and hacking and killing …’ His voice broke and he pressed his arm across his eyes.
‘It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a nightmare,’ Jack said, though his insides were knotted with fear.
‘A dream is never just a dream,’ Peregrine said. ‘You should know that, Jack! Oh, what can have happened? Has Stormlinn Castle fallen? What should I do?’
‘You’re cold. Let me light a fire’. Jack began to grope in one of his pockets for his box of tinder.
‘What about the hunter? He might see the glow,’ Peregrine protested.
‘We’ve not heard the dogs for days now,’ Grizelda said.
Jack thought he could hear her teeth chattering.
‘All right. Just a little one. We’ll get warm and wait for Stiga to come back,’ Peregrine said.
But the owl did not come back. The three companions sat shivering by their little fire till dawn.
‘I say we go on,’ Grizelda said.
‘But you didn’t want to go looking for the spear in the first place!’ Jack objected.
‘Well, I didn’t know what the spear was,’ she said. ‘And I’m sick of this forest. You said we were almost into Zavaria. We could go home, have a bath, sleep in a real bed, get some supplies’.
