Lloyd Alexander - Chronicles of Prydain 4 - Taran Wanderer

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2001-11-29

The Chronicles of Prydain

Book Four

TARAN WANDERER

Lloyd Alexander

ISBN No. 0-440-48483-9

Published by

Bantam Doubleday

Dell Books for Young Readers

April, 1990

Author's Note

THIS FOURTH CHRONICLE of Prydain begins

as a gallant, high-hearted quest, which soon

becomes more intense and perhaps more

essentially heroic than the preceding adventures.

For here, Taran comes to grips with a merciless

opponent: the truth about himself. No longer as

Taran Assistant Pig-Keeper but as Taran Wanderer,

he learns to reshape his life out of his own inner

resources; for there must not only be an end to

childhood but also a beginning of manhood. This is

meant to be a serious tale--- in the way that all

humor is serious and all fantasy true--- and if there

is no conventionally happy ending in fairy-tale

terms, there is still a most hopeful ending in

human terms.

This does not imply any less humor or variety

in the story. There is possibly more, as Taran's

journey takes him from one end of Prydain to the

other, from the Marshes of Morva to the Free

Commots. However, instead of a clash of battle

hosts, the underlying conflict between good and

evil is stated in individual encounters: King Smoit,

boisterous with being alive; Morda, deathlike,

scornful of all humanity; Dorath the amoral;

Annlaw Clay-Shaper the creator; Craddoc, in whose

desolate valley Taran suffers the anguish of shame.

The Princess Eilonwy, alas, is present only in

memory, though it is hoped readers will miss her

as much as Taran does--- and the author himself,

for that matter.

While certain inhabitants of Prydain were born

of Welsh legend, in Taran Wanderer they have

acquired characteristics more universal than

specific. Morda's life secret, for example, is familiar

in many mythologies. Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch

have appeared in other guises (as might well be

expected of them): the Three Norns, the Moirae,

the Triple Goddess, and very likely some other

transformations they decline to admit. Prydain, of

course, is part-memory and part-dream, the

balance favoring the latter.

The Companions have gained many more

friends than I had ever hoped, who are willing to

follow these tales both as self-contained chronicles

and as part of a larger pattern; and to them I

promise in time all questions will be answered and

all secrets revealed. To some friends of the

Companions (especially Gypsy Reeves) I address a

plea for clemency; to others, my sincere thanks for

their hard but invaluable labor, insight, and

encouragement when the straits seemed even

more dire to an author than to an Assistant Pig-

Keeper; and to all, my warmest affection.

-L.A.

Chapter 1

Who am I?

IT WAS FULL SPRINGTIME, with promise of

the richest summer the farm had ever seen. The

orchard was white with fragrant blossoms; the

newly planted fields lay light as green mist. Yet the

sights and scents gave Taran little joy. To him,

Caer Dallben was empty. Though he helped Coll

with the weeding and cultivating, and tended the

white pig, Hen Wen, with as much care as ever, he

went about his tasks distractedly. One thought

alone was in his mind.

"Now, my boy," Coll said good-naturedly, as

they finished the morning's milking, "I've seen you

restless as a wolf on a tether ever since you came

back from the Isle of Mona. Pine for the Princess

Eilonwy if you must, but don't upset the milk pail."

The stout old warrior clapped Taran on the

shoulder. "Come, cheer up. I'll teach you the high

secrets of planting turnips. Or raising cabbages. Or

whatever you might want to know."

Taran shook his head. "What I would know only

Dallben can tell me."

"Take my counsel, then," said Coll. "Trouble

Dallben with none of your questions. His thoughts

are on deeper matter. Have patience and bide your

time."

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!"

Taran made his way through the cluster of low-

roofed farm buildings. In the cottage, at the

hearthside, a black-robed woman crouched and

tended the cooking fire. She did not raise her head

or speak. It was Achren. 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.

Before Dallben's chamber Taran paused

uneasily, then rapped quickly on the door. Entering

at the enchanter's command, he found Dallben

bent over The Book of Three, which lay open on

the cluttered table. Much as he longed for a

glimpse at even one page of this secret volume,

Taran kept his distance from it. Once, in boyhood,

he had 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 waved a frail, bony hand.

"But no matter, no matter. For the sake of my

temper I hope your purpose in interrupting me is

an excellent one.

"First, before you ask," Dallben went on, "I

assure you the Princess Eilonwy is well and no

more unhappy than any pretty young madcap

obliged to turn a hand to sewing instead of sword-

play. Second, you are as aware as I am that Kaw

has not yet returned. By now, I daresay he has

borne my potion to Glew's cavern, and the giant-

by-accident who troubled you so much on Mona

will shrink to the small stature he once had. But

you also know your crow for a rascal and one to

linger wherever he finds sport. Finally, an Assistant

Pig-Keeper should have tasks enough to busy

himself outdoors. What, then, brings you here?"

"One thing only," Taran said. "All that I have I

owe to your kindness. You have given me a home

and a name, and let me live as a son in your

household. Yet who am I, in truth? Who are my

parents? You have taught me much, but kept this

always from me."

"Since it has been always thus," Dallben

replied, "why should it trouble you now?"

When Taran bowed his head and did not

answer, the old enchanter smiled shrewdly at him.

"Speak up, my boy. If you want truth, you should

begin by giving it. Behind your question I think I

see the shadow of a certain golden-haired Princess.

Is that not so?"

Taran's face flushed. "It is so," he murmured.

He raised his eyes to meet Dallben's. "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?"

"To my mind," Dallben said softly, "the latter

would please you better."

"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."

"It takes as much strength of heart to share

the one as to face the other," Dallben replied

gently. 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."

"Then let me learn for myself," Taran cried.

"Give me leave to seek my own answer."

Dallben studied him carefully. The enchanter's

eyes fell on The Book of Three and he gazed long

at it, as though his glance penetrated deep into the

worn leather volume.

"Once the apple is ripe," he murmured to

himself, "no man can turn it back to a greening."

His voice grew heavy with sorrow as he said to

Taran, "Is this indeed your wish?"

Taran's heart quickened. "I ask nothing more."

Dallben nodded. "So it must be. Journey, then,

wherever you choose. Learn what lies in your

power to learn."

"You have all my thanks," Taran cried joyfully,

bowing deeply. "Let me start without delay. I am

ready..."

Before he could finish the door burst open and

a shaggy figure sped across the chamber and flung

itself at Taran's feet. "No, no, no!" howled Gurgi at

the top of his voice, rocking back and forth and

waving his hairy arms. "Sharp-eared Gurgi hears

all! Oh, yes, with listenings behind the door!" His

face wrinkled in misery and he shook his matted

head so violently he nearly sprawled flat on the

floor. "Poor Gurgi will be lone and lorn with

whinings and pinings!" he moaned. "Oh, he must

go with master, yes, yes!"

Taran put a hand on Gurgi's shoulder. "It would

sadden me to leave you, old friend. But my road, I

fear, may be a long one."

"Faithful Gurgi will follow!" pleaded Gurgi. "He

is strong, bold, and clever to keep kindly master

from harmful hurtings!"

Gurgi began snuffling loudly, whimpering and

moaning more desperately than before; and Taran,

who could not bring himself to deny the unhappy

creature, looked questioningly at Dallben.

A strange glance of pity crossed the

enchanter's face. "Gurgi's staunchness and good

sense I do not doubt," he said to Taran. "Though

before your search is ended, the comfort of his

kindly heart may stand you in better stead. Yes,"

he added slowly, "if Gurgi is willing, let him journey

with you."

Gurgi gave a joyous yelp, and Taran bowed

gratefully to the enchanter.

"So be it," Dallben said. "Your road indeed will

not be easy, but set out on it as you choose.

Though you may not find what you seek, you will

surely return a little wiser--- and perhaps even

grown to manhood in your own right."

That night Taran lay restless. Dallben had

agreed the two companions could depart in the

morning, but for Taran the hours until sunrise

weighed like the links of a heavy chain. A plan had

formed in his mind, but he had said nothing of it to

Dallben, Coll, or Gurgi; for he was half fearful of

what he had decided. While his heart ached at the

thought of leaving Caer Dallben, it ached the more

with impatience to begin his journey; and it was as

though his yearning for Eilonwy, the love he had

often hidden or even denied, now swelled like a

flood, driving him before it.

Long before dawn Taran rose and saddled the

gray, silver-maned stallion, Melynlas. While Gurgi,

blinking and yawning, readied his own mount, a

short, stocky pony almost as shaggy as himself,

Taran went alone to Hen Wen's enclosure. As

though she had already sensed Taran's decision,

the white pig squealed dolefully as he knelt and put

an arm around her.

"Farewell, Hen," Taran said, scratching her

bristly chin. "Remember me kindly. Coll will care

for you until I... Oh, Hen," he murmured, "shall I

come happily to the end of my quest? Can you tell

me? Can you give me some sign of good hope?"

In answer, however, the oracular pig only

wheezed and grunted anxiously. Taran sighed and

gave Hen Wen a last affectionate pat. Dallben had

hobbled into the dooryard, and beside him Coll

raised a torch, for the morning still was dark. Like

Dallben's, the old warrior's face in the wavering

light was filled with fond concern. Taran embraced

them, and to him it seemed his love for both had

never been greater than at this leave-taking as

they said their farewells.

Gurgi sat hunched atop the pony. Slung from

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Scannedandfullyproofedby:*¤*nihua*¤*2001-11-29TheChroniclesofPrydainBookFourTARANWANDERERLloydAlexanderCopyright©1967ISBNNo.0-440-48483-9PublishedbyBantamDoubledayDellBooksforYoungReadersApril,1990Author'sNoteTHISFOURTHCHRONICLEofPrydainbeginsasagallant,high-heartedquest,whichsoonbecomesmoreintensea...

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Lloyd Alexander - Chronicles of Prydain 4 - Taran Wanderer

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