Taran Wanderer (2 page)

Heart pounding, Taran swung from the saddle. Holding his head high, in a silence broken
only by the chattering of Gurgi's teeth, he strode slowly across the dooryard. Orddu was
watching him with sharp, black eyes. If she was surprised, the enchantress gave no sign
other than to bend forward a little and peer more closely at Taran. Her shapeless robe
flapped about her knees; the jeweled clasps and pins glittered in her weedy tangle of
disheveled hair as she nodded her head rapidly and with evident satisfaction.

“Yes, and so it is!” Orddu called out pleasantly. “The dear little fledgling and the---
whatever-you-call-it. But you've grown much taller, my duck. How troublesome it must be
should you ever want to climb down a rabbit hole. Come in, come in,” she hurried on,
beckoning. “So pale you are, poor thing. You've not been ill?”

Taran followed her not without uneasiness, while Gurgi, shuddering, clung to him. “Beware,
beware,” the creature whimpered. “Warm welcomings give Gurgi frosty chillings.”

The three enchantresses, so far as Taran could see, had been busy at household tasks.
Orgoch, her black hood shrouding her features, sat on a rickety stool, trying without
great success to tease cockleburs from a lapful of wool shearings. Orwen, if indeed it was
Orwen, was turning a rather lopsided spinning wheel; the milky white beads dangling from
her neck seemed in danger of catching in the spokes. Orddu herself, he guessed, had been
at the loom that stood amid piles of ancient, rusted weapons in a corner of the cottage.
The work on the frame had gone forward somewhat, but it was far from done; knotted,
twisted threads straggled in all directions, and what looked like some of Orgoch's
cockleburs were snagged in the warp and weft. Taran could make out nothing of the pattern,
though it seemed to him, as if by some trick of his eyes, that vague shapes, human and
animal, moved and shifted through the weaving.

But he had no chance to study the curious tapestry. Orwen, leaving the wheel, hastened to
him, clapping her hands delightedly.

“The wandering chicken and the gurgi!” she cried. “And how is dear little Dallben? Does he
still have
The Book of Three
? And his beard? How heavy it must be for him. The book, not the beard,” she added. “Did
he not come with you? More's the pity. But no matter. It's so charming to have visitors.”

“I don't care for visitors,” muttered Orgoch, irritably tossing the wool to the ground.
“They disagree with me.”

“Of course they do, greedy thing!” Orwen replied sharply. “And a wonder it is that we have
any at all.”

At this, Orgoch snorted and mumbled under her breath. Beneath her black hood Taran
glimpsed a shadowy grimace.

Orddu raised a hand. “Pay Orgoch no heed,” she said to Taran. “She's out of sorts today,
poor dear. It was Orwen's turn to be Orgoch, and Orgoch was so looking forward to being
Orwen. Now she's disappointed, since Orwen at the last moment simply refused--- not that I
blame her,” Orddu whispered. "I don't enjoy being Orgoch either. But we'll make it up to
her somehow.

“And you,” Orddu went on, a smile wrinkling her lumpy face, “you are the boldest of bold
goslings. Few in Prydain have been willing to brave the Marshes of Morva; and of those
few, not one has dared to return. Perhaps Orgoch disheartens them. You alone have done so,
my chick.”

“Oh, Orddu, he is a brave hero,” Orwen put in, looking at Taran with girlish admiration.

“Don't talk nonsense, Orwen,” Orddu replied. “There are heroes and heroes. I don't deny
he's acted bravely on occasion. He's fought beside Lord Gwydion and been proud of himself
as a chick wearing eagle's feathers. But that's only one kind of bravery. Has the darling
robin ever scratched for his own worms? That's bravery of another sort. And between the
two, dear Orwen, he might find the latter shows the greater courage.” The enchantress
turned to Taran. “But speak up, my fledgling. Why do you seek us again?”

“Don't tell us,” interrupted Orwen. “Let us guess. Oh, but I do love games, though Orgoch
always spoils them.” She giggled. “You shall give us a thousand and three guesses and I
shall be first to ask.”

“Very well, Orwen, if it pleases you,” Orddu said indulgently. “But are a thousand and
three enough? A young lamb can want for so much.”

“Your concern is with things as they are,” Taran said, forcing himself to look the
enchantress in the eyes, “and with things as they must be. I believe you know my quest
from its beginning to its end, and that I seek to learn my parentage.”

“Parentage?” said Orddu. “Nothing easier. Choose any parents you please. Since none of you
has ever known each other, what difference can it possibly make--- to them or to you?
Believe what you like. You'll be surprised how comforting it is.”

“I ask no comfort,” Taran replied, “but the truth, be it harsh or happy.”

“Ah, my sweet robin,” said- Orddu, "for the finding of that, nothing is harder. There are
those who have spent lifetimes at it, and many in worse plight than yours.

“There was a frog, some time ago,” Orddu went on cheerfully. “I remember him well, poor
dear; never sure whether he was a land creature, who liked swimming under water, or a
water creature, who liked sunning himself on logs. We turned him into a stork with a keen
appetite for frogs, and from then on he had no doubts as to who he was--- nor did the
other frogs, for the matter of that. We would gladly do the same for you.”

“For both of you,” said Orgoch.

“No!” yelled Gurgi, ducking behind Taran. “Oh, kindly master, Gurgi warned of fearsome
changings and arrangings!”

“Don't forget the serpent,” Orwen told Orddu, “all fretted and perplexed because he didn't
know if he was green with brown spots or brown with green ones. We made him an invisible
serpent,” she added, “with brown and green spots, so he could be clearly seen and not
trodden on. He was so grateful and much easier in his mind after that.”

“And I recall,” croaked Orgoch, huskily clearing her throat, “there was a...”

“Do be still, Orgoch,” Orwen interrupted. “Your tales always have such--- such untidy
endings.”

“You see, my pullet,” Orddu said, “we can help you in many ways, all quickerand simpler
than any you might think of. What would you rather be? If you want my opinion, I suggest a
hedgehog; it's a safer life than most. But don't let me sway your choice; it's entirely up
to you.”

“On the contrary, let's surprise them,” cried Orwen in happy excitement. “We'll decide
among ourselves and spare them the tedious business of making up their minds. They'll be
all the more pleased. How charming it will be to see the look on their little faces--- or
beaks or whatever it is they finally have.”

“No fowls,” grumbled Orgoch. “No fowls, in any case. Can't abide them. Feathers make me
cough.”

Gurgi's fright had so mounted he could only babble wordlessly. Taran felt his own blood
run cold. Orddu had taken a step forward and Taran defensively reached for his sword.

“Now, now, my chicken,” Orddu cheerily remarked, “don't lose your temper, or you may lose
considerably more. You know your blade is useless here, and waving swords is no way to set
anyone in a proper frame of mind. It was you who chose to put yourselves in our hands.”

“Hands?” growled Orgoch. From the depths of the hood her eyes flashed redly and her mouth
began twitching.

Taran stood firm. “Orddu,” he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could, “will you
tell me what I ask? If not, we will go our way.”

“We were only trying to make things easier for you,” said Orwen, pouting and fingering her
beads. “You needn't take offense.”

“Of course we shall tell you, my brave tadpole,” Orddu said. “You shall know all you seek
to know, directly we've settled another matter: the price to be paid. Since what you ask
is of such importance--- to yourself, at least--- the cost may be rather high. But I'm
sure you thought of that before you came.”

“When we sought the Black Cauldron,” Taran began, “you took Adaon's enchanted brooch in
fee, the one thing I treasured most. Since then I have found nothing I have prized more.”

“But, my chicken,” said Orddu, “we struck that bargain long ago; it is over and done. Are
you saying you brought nothing with you? Why, count yourself lucky to become a hedgehog,
since you can afford little else.”

“Last time,” Orgoch hoarsely whispered in Orddu's ear, “you would have taken one of the
young lamb's summer days, and a tasty morsel it would have been.”

“You are always thinking of your own pleasures, Orgoch,” replied Orddu. “You might at
least try to think of what we all would like.”

“There was a golden-haired girl with him then,” Orwen put in, “a pretty little creature.
He surely has lovely memories of her. Could we not take them?” She went on eagerly. “How
delightful it would be to spread them out and look at them during long winter evenings.
Alas, he would have none for himself, but I think it would be an excellent bargain.”

Taran caught his breath. “Even you would not be so pitiless.”

“Would we not?” answered Orddu, smiling. “Pity, dear gosling--- as you know it, at
least--- simply doesn't enter into the question as far as we're concerned. However,” she
went on, turning to Orwen, “that won't answer either. We already have quite enough
memories.”

“Hear me then,” cried Taran, drawing himself to his full height. He clenched his hands to
keep them from trembling. “It is true I own little to treasure, not even my name. Is there
nothing you will have of me? This I offer you,” he went on quickly in a low voice. He felt
his brow dampen. Though he had taken this decision at Caer Dallben and weighed it
carefully, with the moment upon him, he nearly, faltered and longed to turn from it.

“Whatever thing of value I may find in all my life to come,” Taran said, “the greatest
treasure that may come into my hands--- I pledge it to you now. It shall be yours, and you
shall claim it when you please.”

Orddu did not answer, only looked at him curiously. The other enchantresses were silent.
Even Gurgi had ceased his whimpering. The shapes on the loom seemed to writhe before
Taran's eyes as he waited for Orddu to speak.

The enchantress smiled. “Does your quest mean so much that you will spend what you have
not yet gained?”

“Or may never gain,” croaked Orgoch.

“No more can I offer,” Taran cried. “You cannot refuse me.”

“The kind of bargain you propose,” said Orddu in a pleasant but matter-of-fact tone, “is a
chancy thing at best, and really satisfies no one. Nothing is all that certain, and very
often we've found the poor sparrow who makes such a pledge never lives long enough to
fulfill it. When he does, there is always the risk of his turning--- well, shall we say---
a little stubborn? It usually ends with unhappy feelings all around. Once, we might have
accepted. But sad experience made us put a stop to it altogether. No, my fledgling, it
won't do. We're sorry; that is, sorry as much as we can feel sorrow for anything.”

Taran's voice caught in his throat. For an instant the features of the enchantress
shifted; he could not be sure whether it was Orddu, Orwen, or Orgoch whom he faced. It was
as though there had risen in front of him a wall of ice which force could not breach nor
pleading melt. Despair choked him. He bowed his head and turned away.

“But my dear gosling,” Orddu called cheerily, “that's not to say there aren't others to
answer your question.”

“Of course there are,” added Orwen, “and the finding takes no more than the looking.”

“Who, then?” Taran asked urgently, seizing on this new hope.

“I recall a brown-and-orange ousel that comes once a year to sharpen his beak on Mount
Kilgwyry,” said Orwen. “He knows all that has ever happened. If you're patient you might
wait and ask him.”

“Oh, Orwen,” Orddu interrupted with some impatience, "sometimes I do believe you dwell too
much in the past. Mount Kilgwyry has been worn down long ago with his pecking and the
little darling has flown elsewhere.

“You're so right, dear Orddu,” replied Orwen. “It had slipped my mind for a moment. But
what of the salmon of Lake Llew? I've never met a wiser fish.”

“Gone,” muttered Orgoch, sucking a tooth. “Long gone.”

“In any case, ousels and fishes are flighty and slippery,” Orddu said. “Something more
reliable would serve better. You might, for example, try the Mirror of Llunet.”

“The Mirror of Llunet?” Taran repeated. “I have never heard it spoken of. What is it?
Where...”

“Best yet,” Orgoch broke in, “he could stay with us. And the gurgi, too.”

“Do try to control yourself, dear Orgoch, when I'm explaining something,” Orddu remarked,
then turned back to Taran. “Yes, perhaps if you looked into it, the Mirror of Llunet would
show you something of interest.”

“But where,” Taran began again.

“Too far,” grumbled Orgoch. “Stay, by all means.”

“In the Llawgadarn Mountains,” replied Orddu, taking him by the arm, “if it hasn't been
moved. But come along, my gosling. Orgoch is growing restless. I know she'd enjoy having
you here, and with two disappointments in the same day I shouldn't want to account for her
behavior.”

“But how may I find it?” Taran could do no more than stammer his question before he was
outside the cottage, with Gurgi trembling at his side.

“Don't tarry in the Marshes,” Orddu called, while from within the cottage Taran heard loud
and angry noises. “Else you may regret your foolish boldness--- or bold foolishness,
whichever. Farewell, my robin.”

The crooked door closed tightly, even as Taran cried out for Orddu to wait.

“Flee!” Gurgi yelped. “Flee, kindly master, while Gurgi's poor tender head is still on his
shoulders!”

Despite the creature's frantic tugging at his arm, Taran stood staring at the door. His
thoughts were confused, a strange heaviness had settled upon him.

“Why did she mock my bravery?” he said, frowning. “Courage to scratch for worms? That task
would be far easier than seeking the Mirror of Llunet.”