Lloyd Alexander - The Castle of Llyr

"I shall," Taran began, then hesitated and turned to Prince Rhun. He bowed his head. "She will be your betrothed. It was your wish that you…"

"That I should prove my valor to the Princess? Yes," Rhun said slowly. "But it is my wish no longer. I'm quite content proving it to myself. And I rather guess you might really be the one Eilonwy would prefer to see first."

Taran glanced at Gwydion, who nodded and directed the others to move to the landward side of the castle. As Rhun went to join Gurgi and Fflewddur, Gwydion knelt and drew the book and golden sphere from his jacket.

"If aught should go amiss, these must not fall into Achren's hands," he said, setting the objects carefully beneath the loose stones. Deftly he replaced the rubble and smoothed the earth around it. "This must serve to guard them until we return."

Kaw had flown back to Taran. Gwydion rose and from his belt took a coil of slender rope, made a loop on the end and held it out to Kaw, murmuring softly to the crow. The bird snatched the line with his beak and flapped silently to the jagged pinnacle, hovered above a jutting stone, then dropped the loop securely over it.

Gwydion turned to Taran. "I know what is in your heart," he said gently. "Climb up, Assistant Pig-Keeper. I leave this task to you."

Taran raced to the bottom of the tower. The rope pulled taut under his weight and the mist swirled about him, as he sought a foothold in the rough wall. He tightened his grip on the cord and drew himself upward. A sharp gust of sea wind buffeted him. For an instant he swung free of the tower. Below, the waves dashed against the rocks. He dared not look down, bur desperately strove to halt the dizzying motion. His foot struck stone again. Bending all his strength to the rope, he climbed higher.

A casement opened just above him and Taran hoisted himself to the ledge. Within the small chamber a rush light burned fitfully. His heart leaped. Eilonwy was there.

The Princess lay motionless on a low couch.. She still wore the robe Teleria had given her, though now it was torn and mud-spattered. The red-gold hair tumbled about her shoulders and her face was pale and drawn.

Taran hurriedly swung himself over the ledge, dropped to the flagstones, and hastened to Eilonwy's side. He touched her shoulder. The girl stirred, turned her face away, and murmured in her sleep.

"Quickly!" Taran whispered. "Gwydion waits for us."

Eilonwy roused, passed a hand over her fore­head, and opened her eyes. At the sight of Taran she gave a cry of surprise.

"Gurgi is here, too," Taran said. "Fflewddur, Prince Rhun― all of us. You are safe. Hurry!"

"That's very interesting," said Eilonwy sleep­ily. "But who are they? And for the matter of that," she added, "who are you?"

I AM EILONWY DAUGHTERof Angharad Daughter of Regat," continued Eilonwy, putting her hand to the silver crescent at her throat. "But who are you?" she repeated. "I haven't the least idea in the world what you're talking about."

"Wake up," 'Faran cried, shaking her. "You're dreaming."

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact I was," Eilonwy answered, with a vague and sleepy smile. "But how did you guess? I don't believe dreaming actually shows when you're doing it." She paused, frowning. "Or does it? Sometime I shall haveto find out. The only way, I suppose, is to look at myself when I'm asleep. And how I might go about that, I can't imagine." Her voice faltered and trailed away; she seemed suddenly to forget Taran was even there and sank back to the couch. "Difficult― difficult," she murmured. "Like trying to turn yourself inside out. Or would it be outside in?"

"Eilonwy, look at me!" Taran tried to raise her, but Eilonwy, with a little cry of annoyance, drew away. "You must listen," Taran insisted.

"That's what I've been doing," she replied. "So far you've made no sense whatever. I was much more comfortable asleep. I'd rather dream than be shouted at. But what was I dreaming? A pleasant dream― with a pig in it― and someone who― no, it's gone now, faster than a butterfly. You've spoiled it."

Taran had forced the girl to sit upright once more. Now he stared at her with dread. Despite her travel-stained garments and disheveled hair, she appeared unharmed. But her eyes were strangely depthless. It was not sleep that filled her, and his hands trembled as he realized Eilonwy had been drugged or― his heart chilled at the thought of it― bewitched.

"Listen carefully," he pleaded. "There is no time…"

"I don't believe people should be allowed to come stamping into other people's dreams without asking first," Eilonwy said, with some vexation. "There's something impolite about it. Like walking into a spider web when the spider's still using it."

Taran ran to the casement. He could see nothing of the companions below, nor any sign of Kaw. The moon was down and the sky would soon lighten. Quickly he turned back to Eilonwy.

"Make haste, I beg you!" he cried.. "Climb down with me. The rope is strong enough for both of us."

"A rope?" exclaimed Eilonwy. "Me? Go sliding down with you? I've only known you these few moments, but it seems to me you make the silliest suggestions. No, thank you." She stifled a yawn. "You might try sliding down the rope yourself," she added with a certain sharpness, "and let me go back to sleep. I hope I can remember where I left off. That's the worst of having your dream broken into. You can never find it again."

Taran, sick with alarm, knelt beside her. "What holds you?" he whispered. "Fight against it. Can you not remember me? Taran, Assistant Pig-Keeper…"

"How interesting," remarked Eilonwy. "Sometime you must tell me more about yourself. But not now."

"Think," Taran urged. "Remember Caer Dall­ben― Coll― Hen Wen…"

Through the casement the sea wind carried trails of mist like tangled wines. Taran spoke the names again and the names of the companions.

Eilonwy's glance was so distant that she herself seemed far from the chamber. "Caer Dallben," she murmured. "How curious― I think that might have been part of my dream, too. There was an orchard; the trees were in blossom. I was climbing up, as high as I could go…"

"Yes, so it was," Taran pressed eagerly. "I, too, remember the day. You said you'd climb to the very top of the apple tree. I warned you not to, but you did anyway."

"I wanted to learn the trees," Eilonwy went on. "You must learn them anew every year," she said, "for they are always different. And in the dream I'd gone to the last branch."

"It was no dream," Taran urged, "but the life you know; your own life, not a shadow that vanishes in the sun. Indeed, you went to the highest branch. It snapped, as I feared it would."

"How should anyone know someone else's dream?" said Eilonwy, as though speaking to herself. "Yes, it broke and I was falling. There was someone below who caught me. Could it have been an Assist­ant Pig-Keeper? I wonder what became of him?"

"He is here now," Taran said quietly. "He has long sought you and in ways even he himself did not know. Now that he has found you, can you not find your path back to him?"

Eilonwy rose to her feet. Her eyes flickered and for the first time a light shone in them. Taran held out his hands to her. She hesitated, then took a step for­ward.

But even as she moved to him, her glance turned shallow and the light died. "It is a dream, no more than that," she whispered, and turned away.

"Achren has done this to you!" Taran cried. "She will harm you no longer." He seized the girl's arm and drew her toward the casement.

At the sound of Achren's name, Eilonwy stiff­ened and tore herself from him. She spun to face him. "You dare touch a Princess of the House of Llyr?"