"Gurgi will help! He will not voyage, no, no!" Gurgi wailed. "He stays always. He wants no gift that takes him from kindly master!"
Taran put a hand on the creature's arm. "You must journey with the others. Do you call me master? Obey me, then, in one last command. Find the wisdom you yearn for. It awaits you in the Summer Country. Whatever I may find, I must seek it here."
Eilonwy bowed her head. "You have chosen as you must, Taran of Caer Dallben."
"Nor will I gainsay you," Dallben said to Taran, "but only warn you. The tasks you set yourself are cruelly difficult. There is no certainty you will accomplish even one, and much risk you will fail in all of them. In either case, your efforts may well go unrewarded, unsung, forgotten. And at the end, like all mortals, you must face your death; perhaps without even a mound of honor to mark your resting place."
Taran nodded. "So be it," he said. "Long ago I yearned to be a hero without knowing, in truth, what a hero was. Now, perhaps, I understand it a little better. A grower of turnips or a shaper of clay, a Commot farmer or a king--- every man is a hero if he strives more for others than for himself alone. Once," he added, "you told me that the seeking counts more than the finding. So, too, must the striving count more than the gain.
"Once, I hoped for a glorious destiny," Taran went on, smiling at his own memory. "That dream has vanished with my childhood; and though a pleasant dream it was fit only for a child. I am well-content as an Assistant Pig-Keeper."
"Even that contentment shall not be yours," Dallben said. "No longer are you Assistant Pig-Keeper, but High King of Prydain."
Taran caught his breath and stared with disbelief at the enchanter. "You jest with me," he murmured. "Have I been prideful that you would mock me by calling me King?"
"Your worth was proved when you drew Dyrnwyn from its sheath," Dallben said, "and your kingliness when you chose to remain here. It is not a gift I offer you now, but a burden far heavier than any you have borne."
"Then why must I bear it?" cried Taran. "I am an Assistant Pig-Keeper and such have I always been."
"It has been written in The Book of Three," Dallben answered, and raised his hand for silence before Taran could speak again. "I dared not tell you this. To give you such knowledge would have defeated the prophecy itself. Until this very moment, I was not sure you were the one chosen to rule. Indeed, yesterday I feared you were not." "
"How then?" Taran asked. "Could The Book of Three deceive you?"
"No, it could not," Dallben said. "The book is thus called because it tells all three parts of our lives: the past, the present, and the future. But it could as well be called a book of 'if.' If you had failed at your tasks; if you had followed an evil path; if you had been slain; if you had not chosen as you did--- a thousand 'ifs,' my boy, and many times a thousand. The Book of Three can say no more than 'if' until at the end, of all things that might have been, one alone becomes what really is. For the deeds of a man, not the words of a prophecy, are what shape his destiny."
"I understand now why you kept my parentage a secret," Taran said. "But shall I never be given to know it?"
"I did not keep it secret from you entirely through my own wish," Dallben answered. "Nor do I keep it so now. Long ago, when The Book of Three first came into my hands, from its pages I learned that when the Sons of Don departed from Prydain the High King would be one who slew a serpent, who gained and lost a flaming sword, who chose a kingdom of sorrow over a kingdom of happiness. These prophecies were clouded, even to me; and darkest was the prophecy that he who would come to rule Prydair would be one of no station in life.
"Long did I ponder these things," Dallben continued. "At last, I left Caer Dallben to seek this future king and to hasten his coming. For many years I searched, yet all whom I questioned well knew their station, whether shepherd or war leader, cantrev lord or Commot farmer.
"The seasons turned; kings rose and fell, wars turned to peace, and peace to war. Indeed, on a certain time, as many years ago as you yourself have years, a grievous war was upon the land, and I despaired of my quest and turned my steps once more toward Caer Dallben. On that day I chanced to pass a field where a battle had raged. Many lay slain, noble as well as humble folk; even the women and children had not been spared.
"From the forest nearby I heard a piercing cry. An infant had been hidden among the trees, as though his mother had sought, at the last, to keep him safe. From his wrappings I could judge nothing of his parentage and only sensed with certainty that both mother and father lay upon that field of the slain.
"Here, surely, was one of no station in life, an unknown babe of unknown kin. I bore the child with me to Caer Dallben. The name I gave him was Taran.
"I could not have told you of your parentage, even had I wished to," Dallben continued, "for I knew it no more than you did. My secret hope I shared only with two others: Lord Gwydion and Coll. As you grew to manhood, so our hopes grew, though never could we be certain you were the child born to be High King.
"Until now, my boy," said Dallben, "you were always a great 'perhaps.' "
"What was written has come to pass," Gwydion said. "And now in truth we must say farewell."
The chamber was silent. Llyan, sensing the bard's distress, nuzzled him gently. The companions did not move. It was Glew who stepped forward and spoke first.
"I've been carrying this with me ever since I was so shabbily hustled away from Mona," he said, drawing from his jacket a small blue crystal which he pressed into Taran's hand. "It reminded me of my cavern and those grand days when I was a giant. But for some reason I don't want to be reminded of them any longer. Since I don't want it--- here, take it as a small remembrance of me."
"He's still hardly the most generous spirit in the world," muttered Fflewddur, "but I've no doubt it's the first time he's ever given anybody anything. Great Belin, I swear the little fellow's actually grown' another inch!"
Doli had taken the handsomely crafted axe from his belt. "You'll need this," he told Taran, "and it should serve you well in many tasks. It's Fair Folk quality, my lad, and you'll not blunt it easily."
"It can serve me no better than did its owner," Taran replied, clasping the dwarf's hand, "and its metal cannot be as true as your own heart. Good old Doli..."
"Humph!" The dwarf snorted furiously. "Good old Doli! I've heard that somewhere before."
Kaw, on Doli's shoulder, bobbed up and down while Taran gently ran a finger over the crow's sleek feathers.
"Farewell," Kaw croaked. "Taran! Farewell!"
"Farewell to you," Taran answered, smiling. "If I have despaired of teaching you good manners, I have rejoiced in your bad ones. You are a rogue and a scamp, and a very, eagle among crows."
Llyan had padded up to rub her head affectionately against Taran's arm, which she did so vigorously that the enormous cat nearly knocked him off his feet.
"Bear my friend good company," Taran said, stroking Llyan's ears. "Cheer him with your purring when his spirits are low, as I wish you might cheer me. Stray not far from him, for even such a bold bard as Fflewddur Fflam is no stranger to loneliness."
Fflewddur himself had drawn near, and in his hand held the harp string he had taken from the fire. The heat of the flame had caused the string to curl and twine in a curious pattern that seemed without beginning or end, constantly changing as from one melody to another even as Taran looked at it.
"I'm afraid it's all that's left of the old pot," Fflewddur said, offering the string to Taran. "Truthfully, I'm just as well pleased. It was forever jangling and going out of tune..." He paused, glanced behind him nervously, and cleared his throat. "Ah--- what I meant to say was that I shall miss those snapping strings."
"No more than I shall miss them," Taran said. "Remember me as well and fondly as I remember you."
"Have no fear!" cried the bard. "There's still songs to be sung and tales to be told. A Fflam never forgets!"
"Alas, alas!" wailed Gurgi. "Poor Gurgi has nothing to give kindly master for fo
nd rememberings. Woe and misery! Even wallet of crunchings and munchings now is empty!"
The tearful creature suddenly clapped his hands together.
"Yes, yes! Forgetful Gurgi has one gift. Here, here it is. From burning treasure house of wicked Death-Lord, bold Gurgi seized it with catchings and snatchings. But his poor tender head was so filled with fearful spinnings that he forgot!"
With this, Gurgi drew from his leather pouch a small, flame scarred, battered coffer of unknown metal and held it out to Taran, who took it, studied it curiously, then broke the heavy seal which kept it locked.
The coffer held no more than a number of thin, closely written parchments. Taran's eyes widened as he scanned them, and he turned quickly to Gurgi.
"Do you know what you have found?" he whispered. "Here are the secrets of forging and tempering metals, of shaping and firing pottery, of planting and cultivating. This is what Arawn stole long ago and kept from the race of men. This knowledge is itself a priceless treasure."
"Perhaps the most precious of all," said Gwydion, who had come to study the parchments in Taran's hand. "The flames of Annuvin destroyed the enchanted tools that labored of themselves and would have given carefree idleness. These treasures are far worthier, for their use needs skill and strength of hand and mind."
Fflewddur gave a low whistle. "Who owns these secrets is truly master of Prydain. Taran, old friend, the proudest cantrev lord will be at your beck and call, begging for anything you choose to grant him.
"And Gurgi found it!" shouted Gurgi, springing into the air and madly whirling about. "Yes, oh yes! Bold, clever, faithful, valiant Gurgi always finds things! Once he found a lost piggy and once he found evil black cauldron! Now he finds mighty secrets for kindly master!"
Taran smiled at the excited Gurgi. "Indeed, you have found many mighty secrets. But they are not mine to keep. These will I share with all in Prydain, for by right they belong to all."
"Then share this, as well," said Dallben, who had been listening closely and now held out the heavy, leather-bound volume he had kept under his arm.
"The Book of Three?"
Taran said, looking wonderingly and questioningly at the enchanter. "I dare not..." "Take it, my boy," Dallben said. "It will not blister your fingers, as once it did with an over-curious Assistant Pig-Keeper. All its pages are open to you. The Book of Three no longer foretells what is to come, only what has been. But now can be set down the words of its last page."
The enchanter took a quill from the table, opened the book, and in it wrote with a bold, firm hand:
"And thus did an Assistant Pig-Keeper become High King o f Prydain."
"This, too, is a treasure," said Gwydion. "The Book of Three is now both history and heritage. For my own gift, I could give you nothing greater. Nor do I offer you a crown, for a true king wears his crown in his heart." The tall warrior clasped Taran's hand. "Farewell. We shall not meet again."
"Take Dyrnwyn, then, in remembrance of me," Taran said.
"Dyrnwyn is yours," Gwydion said, "as it was meant to be."
"Yet Arawn is slain," Taran replied. "Evil is conquered and the blade's work done."
"Evil conquered?" said Gwydion. "You have learned much, but learn this last and hardest of lessons. You have conquered only the enchantments of evil. That was the easiest of your tasks, only a beginning, not an ending. Do you believe evil itself to be so quickly overcome? Not so long as men still hate and slay each other, when greed and anger goad them. Against these even a flaming sword cannot prevail, but only that portion of good in all men's hearts whose flame can never be quenched."
Eilonwy, who had been standing in silence, now drew close to Taran. The girl's eyes did not waver from his as she held out the golden sphere.
"Take this," she softly said, "though it does not glow as brightly as the love we might have shared. Farewell, Taran of Caer Dallben. Remember me."
Eilonwy was about to turn away, but suddenly her blue eyes flashed furiously and she stamped her foot. "It's not fair!" she cried. "It's not my fault I was born into a family of enchantresses. I didn't ask for magical powers. That's worse than being made to wear a pair of shoes that doesn't fit! I don't see why I have to keep them!"
"Princess of Llyr," said Dallben "I have waited for you yourself to say those words. Do you truly wish to give up your heritage of enchantment?"
"Of course I do!" Eilonwy cried. "If enchantments are what separates us, then I should be well rid of them!"
"This lies within your power," Dallben said, "within your grasp, and, for the matter of that, upon your finger. The ring you wear, the gift Lord Gwydion gave you long ago, will grant your wish."
"What?" Eilonwy burst out, in both surprise and indignation. "Do you mean to say that all the years I've worn my ring I could have used it to have a wish granted? You told me nothing of it! That's worse than unfair. Why, I could simply have wished to destroy the Black Cauldron! Or to find Dyrnwyn! I could have wished Arawn conquered! Without the least danger! And I never knew!"
"Child, child," Dallben interrupted, "your ring can indeed grant you a wish, and one wish alone. But evil cannot be conquered by wishing. The ring will serve only you, and grant only the deepest wish of your own heart. I did not tell you before because I was uncertain that you truly knew what you longed for.
"Turn the ring once upon your finger," Dallben said. "Wish with all your heart for your enchanted powers to vanish."
Wondering and almost fearful, Eilonwy closed her eyes and did the enchanter's bidding. The ring flared suddenly, but only for a moment. The girl gave a sharp cry of pain. And in Taran's hand the light of the golden bauble winked out.
"It is done," Dallben murmured.
Eilonwy blinked and looked around her. "I don't feel a bit different," she remarked. "Are my enchantments truly gone?"
Dallben nodded. "Yes," he said gently. "Yet you shall always keep the magic, and mystery all women share. And I fear that Taran, like all men, shall be often baffled by it. But, such is the way of it. Come, clasp hands the two of you, and pledge each other your troth."
When they had done so, the companions pressed around the wedded couple to wish them happiness. Then Gwydion and Taliesin went from the cottage and Dallben took up his ashwood staff.
"We can tarry no longer," the enchanter said, "and here our ways must part."
"But what of Hen Wen?" Taran asked. "Shall I not see her one last time?"
"As often as you please," answered Dallben. "Since she was free to go or stay, I know she will choose to remain with you. But I suggest you first let those visitors trampling about the fields see there is a new High King in Prydain, and a new Queen. Gwydion will have proclaimed the tidings and your subjects will be impatient to hail you."
The companions following, Taran and Eilonwy left the chamber. But at the cottage door, Taran drew back and turned to Dallben. "Can one such as I rule a kingdom? I remember a time when I jumped headfirst into a thorn bush and I fear kingship will be no different."
"Very likely more nettlesome," put in Eilonwy. "But should you have any difficulties, I'll be happy to give you my advice. Right now, there's only one question: Are you going in or out of this doorway?"
In the waiting throng beyond the cottage, Taran glimpsed Hevydd, Llassar, the folk of the Commots, Gast and Goryon side by side near the farmer Aeddan, King Smoit towering above them, his beard bright as flame. But many were the well-loved faces he saw clearly only with his heart. A sudden burst of cheering voices greeted him as he took Eilonwy's hand tightly in his own and stepped through the door.
And so they lived many happy years, and the promised tasks were accomplished. Yet long afterward, when all had passed away into distant memory, there were many who wondered whether King Taran, Queen Eilonwy, and their companions had indeed walked the earth, or whether they had been no more than dreams in a tale set down to beguile children. And, in time, only the bards knew the truth of it.
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The End :
The Chronicles of Prydain Book Five
The High King
and The End of
The Chronicles of Prydain
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The High King Page 20
