Lloyd Alexander - Taran Wanderer

Built against the side of a high mound, half-hidden by sod and branches, it seemed in even greater disrepair than Taran had remembered. The thatched roof, like a huge bird's nest, straggled down to block the narrow windows; a spider web of mold covered the walls, which looked ready to tumble at any moment. In the crooked doorway stood Orddu herself.

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."