Taran Wanderer: Chapter 1

Taran rose to his feet. “I can bide my time no longer. It is in my heart to speak with him now.”
“Have a care,” warned Coll as Taran strode to the door of the shed. “His disposition rubs a little thin!”

Thwarted in her scheme to regain her ancient power from the ruined Castle of Llyr, the once-haughty Queen had accepted the refuge Dallben offered; though, by her own choice, she who had long ago ruled Prydain toiled now at the tasks Eilonwy had done before departing for Mona, and at day’s end silently vanished to her pallet of straw in the granary.

Thwarted in her scheme to regain her ancient power from the ruined Castle of Llyr, the once-haughty Queen had accepted the refuge Dallben offered; though, by her own choice, she who had long ago ruled Prydain toiled now at the tasks Eilonwy had done before departing for Mona, and at day’s end silently vanished to her pallet of straw in the granary.

Once, in boyhood, he dared touch the ancient, leather-bound tome, and his fingers smarted again at the memory.

“I never cease to wonder,” Dallben testily remarked, closing The Book of Three and glancing at Taran, “that the young, with all their pride of strength, should find their own concerns such a weighty burden they must be shared with the old. Whereas, the old”—he waived a frail, bony hand.

When Taran bowed his head and did not answer, the old enchanter smiled shrewdly at him.

“When Eilonwy returns it—it is in my heart to ask her to wed. But this I cannot do,” he burst out, “this I will not do until I learn who I am. An unknown foundling with a borrowed name cannot ask for the hand of a Princess, What is my parentage? I cannot rest until I know. Am I lowly born or nobly?”

“It would be my hope,” Taran admitted, a little abashed. “But no matter. If there is honor—yes, let me share it. If there is shame, let me face it.”

He turned his careworn face to Taran. “But alas,” he said, “what you ask I may not answer. Prince Gwydion knows no more than I,” he went on, sensing Taran’s thought. “Nor can the High King Math help you.”

“Gurgi’s staunchness and good sense I do not doubt,” he said to Taran.

Long before dawn Taran rose and saddled the gray, silver-maned stallion, Melynlas.

As though she had already sensed Taran’s decision, the white pig squealed dolefully as he knelt and put an arm around her.

In answer, however, the oracular pig only wheezed and grunted anxiously. Taran sighed and gave Hen Wen a last affectionate pat.

Bearing only his sword at his belt and the silver-bound battle horn Eilonwy had given him, Taran swung astride the impatient Melynlas, constraining himself not to glance backward, knowing if he did, his parting would grieve him the more deeply.

The two wayfarers rode steadily while the sun climbed higher above the rolling, tree-fringed hills.

Taran had spoken little, and Gurgi trotted quietly behind him, delving now and again into the leather wallet for a handful of food which he munched contentedly.

“Then to kingdom of Fflewddur Fflam? Yes, yes! Bold bard will welcome us with meetings and greetings, with merry hummings and strummings!”

No sooner had he spoken these words than he saw Gurgi’s face turn ashen. The creature’s jaw dropped; he clapped his hands to his shaggy head, and began gasping and choking frightfully.

“But kindly master is noble!” Gurgi cried. “Noble, generous, and good to humble Gurgi! No need to ask enchantresses!”

For some days after fording Great Avren they bore quickly westward along the green slopes of the riverbank, leaving it reluctantly to wend north across a fallow plain.

For some days after fording Great Avren they bore quickly westward along the green slopes of the riverbank, leaving it reluctantly to wend north across a fallow plain.

For some days after fording Great Avren they bore quickly westward along the green slopes of the riverbank, leaving it reluctantly to wend north across a fallow plain.

Gurgi’s face puckered anxiously, and Taran sensed the creature’s disquiet no less than his own.

His plan which had seemed so fitting in the safety of Caer Dallben now struck him as rash, a foolhardy venture.

Another day’s travel and the marshland stretched before them, bleak, ugly, untouched by spring.

The stallion faltered a sickening instant, then found footing on the chain of islands that lay beneath the brackish water.

Beyond the stunted trees at the end of a long gully, Taran halted.

The thatched roof, like a huge bird’s nest, straggled down to block the narrow windows; a spiderweb of mold covered the walls, which looked ready to tumble at any moment.

“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.

“Very well, Orwen, if it pleases you,” Orddu said indulgently.

“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....“

“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.”

It was as though there had risen in front of him a wall of ice which force could not breach nor pleading melt.

“Don’t tarry in the Marshes,” Orddu called, while from within the cottage Taran heard loud and angry noises.

With nothing to guide his search the journey might indeed prove useless. Gurgi looked imploringly at him. Taran patted the creature’s shoulder, then turned and strode to Melynlas.