The Book of Three

by Lloyd Alexander

  Something beyond the grating and out of Taran’s vision swooped down and the blue eyes disappeared suddenly. Taran heard what he took to be a scuffle, then a high-pitched little shriek, followed by a larger shriek and a moment or two of loud smacking.

  The blue eyes did not reappear. Taran flung himself back on the straw. After a time, in the dreadful silence and loneliness of the tiny cell, he began suddenly to wish Eilonwy would come back. She was the most confusing person he had ever met, and surely as wicked as everyone else in the castle—although he could not quite bring himself to believe it completely. Nevertheless, he longed for the sound of another voice, even Eilonwy’s prattling.

  The grating above his head darkened. Night poured into the cell in a black, chilly wave. The slot in the heavy portal rattled open. Taran heard something being slid into the cell and crawled toward it. It was a shallow bowl. He sniffed carefully and finally ventured to touch his tongue to it, fearing all the while that it might be poisoned food. It was not food at all, but only a little water, warm and musty. His throat was so parched that Taran disregarded the taste, thrust his face into the bowl, and drank it dry.

  He curled up and tried to sleep away his pain; the tight thongs pinched, but his swollen hands were mercifully numb. Sleep brought only nightmares and he roused to find himself shouting aloud. He settled down once more. Now there was a rasping sound under the straw.

  Taran stumbled to his feet. The rasping grew louder.

  “Move away!” cried a faint voice.

  Taran looked around him, dumbfounded.

  “Get off the stone!”

  He stepped backward. The voice was coming from the straw.

  “Well, I can’t lift it with you standing on it, you silly Assistant Pig-Keeper!” the muffled voice complained.

  Frightened and puzzled, Taran jumped to the wall. The pallet began rising upward. A loose flagstone was lifted, pushed aside, and a slender shadow emerged as if from the ground itself.

  “Who are you?” Taran shouted.

  “Who did you expect?” said the voice of Eilonwy. “And please don’t make such a racket. I told you I was coming back. Oh, there’s my bauble …” The shadow bent and picked up the luminous ball.

  “Where are you?” cried Taran. “I can see nothing …”

  “Is that what’s bothering you?” Eilonwy asked. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Instantly, a bright light filled the cell. It came from the golden sphere in the girl’s hand.

  Taran blinked with amazement. “What’s that?” he cried.

  “It’s my bauble,” said Eilonwy. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “But—but it lights up!”

  “What did you think it would do? Turn into a bird and fly away?”

  Eilonwy, as the bewildered Taran saw her for the first time, had, in addition to blue eyes, long hair of reddish gold reaching to her waist. Her face, though smudged, was delicate, elfin, with high cheekbones. Her short, white robe, mud-stained, was girdled with silver links. A crescent moon of silver hung from a fine chain around her neck. She was one or two years younger than he, but fully as tall. Eilonwy put the glowing sphere on the floor, went quickly to Taran, and unknotted the thongs that bound him.

  “I meant to come back sooner,” Eilonwy said. “But Achren caught me talking to you. She started to give me a whipping. I bit her.

  “Then she locked me in one of the chambers, deep underground,” Eilonwy went on, pointing to the flagstones. “There are hundreds of them under Spiral Castle, and all kinds of galleries and little passages, like a honeycomb. Achren didn’t build them; this castle, they say, once belonged to a great king. She thinks she knows all the passageways. But she doesn’t. She hasn’t been in half of them. Can you imagine Achren going through a tunnel? She’s older than she looks, you know.” Eilonwy giggled. “But I know every one, and most of them connect with each other. It took me longer in the dark, though, because I didn’t have my bauble.”

  “You mean you live in this terrible place?” Taran asked.

  “Naturally,” Eilonwy said. “You don’t imagine I’d want to visit here, do you?”

  “Is—is Achren your mother?” Taran gasped and drew back fearfully.

  “Certainly not!” cried the girl. “I am Eilonwy Daughter of Angharad, Daughter of Regat Daughter of—oh, it’s such a bother going through all that. My ancestors,” she said proudly, “are the Sea People. I am of the blood of Llyr Half-Speech, the Sea King. Achren is my aunt, though sometimes I don’t think she’s really my aunt at all.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I said I live here,” Eilonwy answered. “It must take a lot of explaining before you understand anything. My parents died and my kinsmen sent me here so Achren could teach me to be an enchantress. It’s a family tradition, don’t you see? The boys are war-leaders, and the girls are enchantresses.”

  “Achren is leagued with Arawn of Annuvin,” cried Taran. “She is an evil, loathsome creature!”

  “Oh, everybody knows that,” said Eilonwy. “Sometimes I wish my kinsmen had sent me to someone else. But I think they must have forgotten about me by now.”

  She noticed a deep slash on his arm. “Where did you get that?” she asked. “I don’t think you know much about fighting if you let yourself get knocked about and cut up so badly. But I don’t imagine Assistant Pig-Keepers are often called on to do that sort of thing.” The girl tore a strip from the hem of her robe and began binding Taran’s wound.

  “I didn’t let myself be cut up,” Taran said angrily. “That’s Arawn’s doing, or your aunt’s—I don’t know which and I don’t care. One is no better than the other.”

  “I hate Achren!” Eilonwy burst out. “She is a mean, spiteful person. Of all the people who come here, you’re the only one who’s the least bit agreeable to talk to—and she had you damaged!”

  “That’s not the end of it,” Taran said. “She means to kill my friend.”

  “If she does that,” said Eilonwy, “I’m sure she’ll include you. Achren doesn’t do things by halves. It would be a shame if you were killed. I should be very sorry. I know I wouldn’t like it to happen to me …”

  “Eilonwy, listen,” Taran interrupted, “if there are tunnels and passages under the castle—can you get to the other cells? Is there a way outside?”

  “Of course there is,” Eilonwy said. “If there’s a way in, there has to be a way out, doesn’t there?”

  “Will you help us?” Taran asked. “It is important for us to be free of this place. Will you show us the passage?”

  “Let you escape?” Eilonwy giggled. “Wouldn’t Achren be furious at that!” She tossed her head. “It would serve her right for whipping me and trying to lock me up. Yes, yes,” she went on, her eyes dancing, “that’s a wonderful idea. I would love to see her face when she comes down to find you. Yes, that would be more fun than anything I could think of. Can you imagine …”

  “Listen carefully,” Taran said, “is there a way you can take me to my companion?”

  Eilonwy shook her head. “That would be very hard to do. You see, some of the galleries connect with the ones leading to the cells, but when you try to go across, what happens is that you start to run into passages that …”

  “Never mind, then,” Taran said. “Can I join him in one of the passageways?”

  “I don’t see why you want to do that,” said the girl. “It would be so much simpler if I just go and let him out and have him wait for you beyond the castle. I don’t understand why you want to complicate things; it’s bad enough for two people crawling about, but with three, you can imagine what that would be. And you can’t possibly find your way by yourself.”

  “Very well,” Taran said impatiently. “Free my companion first. I only hope he is well enough to move. If he isn’t, then you must come and tell me right away and I’ll think of some means of carrying him.

  “And there is a white horse, Melyngar,” Taran went on. “I don’t
know what’s been done with her.”

  “She would be in the stable,” Eilonwy said. “Isn’t that where you’d usually find a horse?”

  “Please,” Taran said, “you must get her, too. And weapons for us. Will you do that?”

  Eilonwy nodded quickly. “Yes, that should be very exciting.” She giggled again. She picked up the glowing ball, cupped it in her hands, and once again the cell was dark. The stone grated shut and only Eilonwy’s silvery laugh lingered behind.

  Taran paced back and forth. For the first time, he felt some hope; though he wondered how much he could count on this scatterbrained girl. She was likely to forget what she started out to do. Worse, she might betray him to Achren. It might be another trap, a new torment that promised him freedom only to snatch it away, but even so, Taran decided, they could be no worse off.

  To save his energy, he lay down on the straw and tried to relax. His bandaged arm no longer pained him, and while he was still hungry and thirsty, the water he had drunk had taken some of the edge from his discomfort.

  He had no idea how long it would take to travel through the underground galleries. But as time passed, he grew more anxious. He worked at the flagstone the girl had used. It would not move, though Taran’s efforts bloodied his fingers. He sank again into dark, endless waiting. Eilonwy did not return.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Trap

  From the corridor, a faint sound grew louder. Taran hastened to press his ear against the slot in the portal. He heard the heavy tread of marching feet, the rattle of weapons. He straightened and stood with his back to the wall. The girl had betrayed him. He cast about for some means to defend himself, for he had determined they would not take him easily. For the sake of having something in his hands, Taran picked up the dirty straw and held it ready to fling; it was a pitiable defense, and he wished desperately for Gwydion’s power to set it ablaze.

  The footsteps continued. He feared, then, they would enter the other cell. He breathed a sigh of relief when they did not stop but faded away toward what he imagined to be the far end of the corridor. Perhaps the guard was being changed.

  He turned away, certain Eilonwy would not be back, and furious with her and her false promises. She was a rattlebrained fool who would undoubtedly giggle and take it as a great joke when the Cauldron-Born came for him. He buried his face in his hands. He could hear her chatter even now. Taran started up again. The voice he heard was real.

  “Must you always sit on the wrong stone?” it said. “You’re too heavy to lift.”

  Taran jumped up and hurriedly cleared the straw away. The flagstone was raised. The light from the golden ball was dim now, but enough for him to see that Eilonwy looked pleased with herself.

  “Your companion is free,” she whispered. “And I took Melyngar from the stable. They are hidden in the woods outside the castle. It’s all done now,” Eilonwy said gleefully. “They’re waiting for you. So if you get a move on and stop looking as if you’d forgotten your own name, we can go and meet them.”

  “Did you find weapons?” Taran asked.

  “Well, no. I didn’t have a chance to look,” Eilonwy said. “Really,” she added, “you can’t expect me to do everything, can you?”

  Eilonwy held the glowing sphere close to the stone floor. “Go first,” she said. “Then I’ll come down after, so I can put the stone back in place. Then, when Achren sends to have you killed, there won’t be any trace at all. She’ll think you disappeared into thin air—and that will make it all the more vexing. I know it isn’t nice to vex people on purpose—it’s like handing them a toad—but this is much too good to miss and I may never have another chance at it.”

  “Achren will know you let us escape,” Taran said.

  “No, she won’t,” said Eilonwy, “because she’ll think I’m still locked up. And if she doesn’t know I can get out, she can’t know I was here. But it’s very thoughtful of you to say that. It shows a kind heart, and I think that’s so much more important than being clever.”

  While Eilonwy continued to chatter away, Taran lowered himself into the narrow opening. The passage was low, he discovered, and he was obliged to crouch almost on hands and knees.

  Eilonwy moved the stone into place and then began to lead the way. The glow from the sphere showed walls of hard-packed earth. As Taran hunched along, other galleries opened up on either side.

  “Be sure you follow me,” Eilonwy called. “Don’t go into any of those. Some of them branch off and some of them don’t go anywhere at all. You’d get lost, and that would be a useless thing to do if you’re trying to escape.”

  The girl moved so quickly Taran had difficulty keeping up with her. Twice he stumbled over loose stones in the passage, clutched at the ground, and pitched forward. The little light bobbed ahead, while behind him long fingers of darkness grasped his heels. He could understand why Achren’s fortress was called Spiral Castle. The narrow, stifling galleries turned endlessly; he could not be sure whether they were making real progress or whether the tunnel was merely doubling back on itself.

  The earthen ceiling trembled with racing footsteps.

  “We’re just below the guardroom,” Eilonwy whispered. “Something’s happening up there. Achren doesn’t usually turn out the guard in the middle of the night.”

  “They must have gone to the cells,” Taran said. “There was a lot of commotion just before you came. They surely know we’re gone.”

  “You must be a very important Assistant Pig-Keeper,” said Eilonwy with a small laugh. “Achren wouldn’t go to all that trouble unless …”

  “Hurry,” Taran urged. “If she puts a guard around the castle we’ll never get out.”

  “I wish you’d stop worrying,” Eilonwy said. “You sound as if you were having your toes twisted. Achren can set out all the guards she wants. She doesn’t know where the mouth of the tunnel is. And it’s hidden so well an owl couldn’t see it. After all, you don’t think I’d march you out the front gate, do you?”

  Despite her chattering, Eilonwy kept a rapid pace. Taran bent close to the ground, moving half by touch, keeping his eyes on the faint glow; he skidded past sharp turns, fetched up against rough walls, skinned his knees, then had to move twice as fast to regain the ground he had lost. At another bend in the passageway, Eilonwy’s light wavered and dropped out of sight. In the moment of darkness, Taran lost his footing as the ground rose steeply on one side. He fell and rolled. Before he could recover his balance, he was sliding rapidly downward in a shower of loose stones and earth. He collided with an outcropping of rock, rolled again, and dropped suddenly into the darkness.

  He landed heavily on flat stones, legs twisted under him. Taran climbed painfully to his feet and shook his head to clear it. Suddenly he realized he was standing upright. Eilonwy and her light could not be seen. He called as loudly as he dared.

  After a few moments he heard a scraping above him and saw the faint reflection of the golden ball. “Where are you?” called the girl. Her voice seemed quite distant. “Oh—I see. Part of the tunnel’s given way. You must have slipped into a crevice.”

  “It’s not a crevice,” Taran called. “I’ve fallen all the way down into something and it’s deep. Can’t you put the light into it? I’ve got to get up again.”

  There were more scraping noises. “Yes,” Eilonwy said, “you have got yourself into a mess. The ground’s all broken through here, and below there’s a big stone, like a shelf over your head. How did you ever manage to do that?”

  “I don’t know how,” replied Taran, “but I certainly didn’t do it on purpose.

  “It’s strange,” Eilonwy said. “This wasn’t here when I came through the first time. All that tramping must have jarred something loose; it’s hard to say. I don’t think these tunnels are half as solid as they look, and neither is the castle, for the matter of that; Achren’s always complaining about things leaking and doors not closing right …”

  “Do stop that prattling,” cried Taran, cl
asping his head. “I don’t want to hear about leaks and doors. Show a light so I can climb out of here.”

  “That’s the trouble,” the girl said. “I’m not quite sure you can. You see, that shelf of stone juts out so far and goes down so steeply. Can you manage to reach it?”

  Taran raised his arms and jumped as high as he could. He could find no handhold. From Eilonwy’s description, and from the massive shadow above, he feared the girl was right. He could not reach the stone and, even if he could have, its sharp downward pitch would have made it impossible to climb. Taran groaned with despair.

  “Go on without me,” he said. “Warn my companion the castle is alerted …”

  “And what do you intend doing? You can’t just sit there like a fly in a jug. That isn’t going to help matters at all.”

  “It doesn’t make any difference about me,” Taran said. “You can find a rope and come back when things are safe …”

  “Who knows when that will be? If Achren sees me, there’s no telling what might happen. And suppose I couldn’t get back? You’d turn into a skeleton while you’re waiting—I don’t know how long it takes for people to turn into skeletons, though I imagine it would need some time—and you’d be worse off than before.”

  “What else am I to do?” cried Taran.

  Eilonwy’s talk of skeletons made his blood run cold. He recalled, then, the sound of Gwyn the Hunter’s horn and the memory of it filled him with grief and fear. He bowed his head and turned his face to the rough wall.

  “That’s very noble of you,” said Eilonwy, “but I don’t think it’s really necessary, not yet, at any rate. If Achren’s warriors come out and start beating the woods, I hardly think your friend would stay around waiting. He’d go and hide and find you later, or so I should imagine. That would be the sensible thing to do. Of course, if he’s an Assistant Pig-Keeper, too, it’s hard to guess how his mind would work.”

  “He’s not an Assistant Pig-Keeper,” Taran said. “He’s … well, it’s none of your business what he is.”