Lloyd Alexander - The Book of Three

Taran felt a chill ripple at his heart. "Unless she has been killed," he murmured. "Do you think that has happened?"

"I do not know," Medwyn answered, "though I fear it may be so."

THAT NIGHT MEDWYNprepared a feast for the travelers. The disorder left by the breakfasting bears had been cleared away. The cottage was snug and neat, though even smaller than Caer Dallben. Taran could see that Medwyn was indeed unused to entertaining human visitors, for his table was barely long enough to seat them all; and for chairs he had been obliged to make do with benches and milking stools.

Medwyn sat at the head of the table. The fawn had gone to sleep, but the wolves crouched at his feet and grinned happily. On the back of his chair perched a gigantic, golden-plumed eagle, watching every movement with sharp, unblinking eyes. Fflewddur, though still apprehensive, did not allow his fear to affect his appetite. He ate enough for three, without showing the least sign of becoming full. But when he asked for another portion of venison, Medwyn gave a long chuckle and explained to the amazed Fflewddur it was not meat at all but vegetables prepared according to his own recipe.

"Of course it is," Eilonwy told the bard. "You wouldn't expect him to cook his guests, would you? That would be like asking someone to dinner and then roasting him. Really, I think bards are as muddled as Assistant Pig-Keepers; neither one of you seems to think very clearly."

As much as he welcomed food and the chance to rest, Taran was silent throughout the meal, and continued so when he retired to his nest of straw. Until now, he had never imagined Hen Wen might not be alive. He had spoken again with Medwyn, but the old man could give him no assurance.

Wakeful, Taran left the byre and stood outside, looking at the sky. In the clear air, the stars were blue-white, closer than he had ever seen them. He tried to turn his thoughts from Hen Wen; reaching Caer Dathyl was the task he had undertaken and that in itself would be difficult enough. An owl passed overhead, silent as ashes. The shadow appearing noiselessly beside him was Medwyn.

"Not asleep?" Medwyn asked. "A restless night is no way to begin a journey."

"It is a journey I am eager to end," Taran said. "There are times when I fear I shall not see Caer Dallben again."

"It is not given to men to know the ends of their journeys," Medwyn answered. "It may be that you will never return to the places dearest to you. But how can that matter, if what you must do is here and now?"

"I think," said Taran longingly, "that if I knew I were not to see my own home again, I would be happy to stay in this valley."

"Your heart is young and unformed," Medwyn said. "Yet, if I read it well, you are of the few I would welcome here. Indeed, you may stay if you so choose. Surely you can entrust your task to your friends."

"No," said Taran, after a long pause, "I have taken it on myself through my own choice."

"If that is so," answered Medwyn, "then you can give it up through your own choice."

From all over the valley it seemed to Taran there came voices urging him to remain. The hemlocks whispered of rest and peace; the lake spoke of sunlight lingering in its depths, the joy of otters at their games. He turned away.

"No," he said quickly, "my decision was made long before this."

"Then," Medwyn answered gently, "so be it." He put a hand on Taran's brow. "I grant you all that you will allow me to grant: a night's rest. Sleep well."

Taran remembered nothing of returning to the byre or falling asleep, but he rose in the morning sunlight refreshed and strengthened. Eilonwy and the bard had already finished their breakfast, and Taran was delighted to see that Gurgi had joined them. As Taran approached, Gurgi gave a yelp of joy and turned gleeful somersaults.

"Oh, joy!" he cried. "Gurgi is ready for new walkings and stalkings, oh, yes! And new seekings and peekings! Great lords have been kind to happy, jolly Gurgi!"

Taran noticed Medwyn had not only healed the creature's leg, he had also given him a bath and a good combing. Gurgi looked only half as twiggy and leafy as usual. In addition, as he saddled Melyngar, Taran found that Medwyn had packed the saddlebags with food, and had included warm cloaks for all of them.

The old man called the travelers around him and seated himself on the ground. "The armies of the Horned King are by now a day's march ahead of you," he said, "but if you follow the paths I shall reveal, and move quickly, you may regain the time you have lost. It is even possible for you to reach Caer Dathyl a day, perhaps two, before them. However, I warn you, the mountain ways are not easy. If you prefer, I shall set you on a path toward the valley of Ystrad once again."

"Then we would be following the Horned King," Taran said. "There would be less chance of overtaking him, and much danger, too."

"Do not think the mountains are not dangerous," Medwyn said. "Though it is danger of a different sort."

"A Fflam thrives on danger!" cried the bard. "Let it be the mountains or the Homed King's hosts, I fear neither― not to any great extent," he added quickly.

"We shall risk the mountains," Taran said.

"For once," Eilonwy interrupted, "you've decided the right thing. The mountains certainly aren't going to throw spears at us, no matter how dangerous they are. I really think you're improving."

"Listen carefully, then," Medwyn ordered. As he spoke, his hands moved deftly in the soft earth before him, molding a tiny model of the hills, which Taran found easier to follow than Fflewddur's map scratchings. When he finished, and the travelers' gear and weapons were secured on Melyngar's back, Medwyn led the group from the valley. As closely as Taran observed each step of the way, he knew the path to Medwyn's valley would be lost to him as soon as the ancient man left them.

In a little while Medwyn stopped. "Your path now lies to the north," he said, "and here we shall part. And you, Taran of Caer Dallben― whether you have chosen wisely, you will learn from your own heart. Perhaps we shall meet again, and you will tell me. Until then, farewell."

Before Taran could turn and thank Medwyn, the white bearded man disappeared, as if the hills had swallowed him up; and the travelers stood by themselves on a rocky, windswept plateau.

"Well," said Fflewddur, hitching up the harp behind him, "I somehow feel that if we meet any more wolves, they'll know we're friends of Medwyn."

THE FIRST DAY'S MARCHwas less difficult than Taran had feared. This time he led the way, for the bard admitted― after a number of harp strings had snapped― that he had not been able to keep all Medwyn's directions in his head.

They climbed steadily until long after the sun had turned westward; and, though the ground was rough and broken, the path Medwyn had indicated lay dearly before them. Mountain streams, whose water ran cold and clear, made winding lines of sparkling silver as they danced down the slopes into the distant valley lands. The air was bracing, yet with a cold edge which made the travelers grateful for the cloaks Medwyn had given them.

At a long cleft protected from the wind, Taran signaled a halt. They had made excellent progress during the day, far more than he had expected, and he saw no reason to exhaust themselves by forcing a march during the night. Tethering Melyngar to one of the stunted trees that grew in the heights, the travelers made camp. Since there was no further danger from the Cauldron-Born, and the hosts of the Horned King moved far below and to the west of the group, Taran deemed it safe to build a fire. Medwyn's provisions needed no cooking, but the blaze warmed and cheered them. As the night shadows drifted from the peaks, Eilonwy lit her golden sphere and set it in the crevice of a faulted rock.