Lloyd Alexander - Taran Wanderer

"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."

"Hasten!" Gurgi pleaded. "Gurgi has his fill of questings. Now he is ready for returnings to safe and happy Caer Dallben, yes, yes! Oh, do not make useless peekings and seekings!"

Taran hesitated a moment longer. Of the Llawgadarn Mountains he knew only that they rose far to the east. 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.

"The Mirror of Llunet is the only hope Orddu has given me," Taran said. "I must find it."

While Gurgi hastily mounted his pony, Taran swung astride Melynlas. He glanced once again at the cottage, his heart suddenly uneasy. "Given me?" he murmured. "Does Orddu give anything for nothing?"

THE TWO COMPANIONS LEFT the Marshes of Morva, pressing southeastward to the Valley Cantrevs along the Ystrad River, for Taran had decided to break his journey at Caer Cadarn, fortress of King Smoit, and ask the red-bearded King to refit them with gear sturdier than what they had brought from Caer Dallben. "From there," Taran told Gurgi, "we can only search as the moment guides us. My poor tender head is full of questions," he sighed, with a wry and regretful smile, "but of plans, alas, none at all."