and I may voyage together?'
Dallben said nothing for a moment, then he nodded. 'It is true. No greater gift lies in my power to grant.'
Glew snorted. 'That's all very well, bestowing never-ending life right and left. Even on a pigl But no one's given a thought to me. Selfishness! Lack of consideration! It's plain that if that Fair Folk mine hadn't come tumbling down? robbing me of my fortune, I might add? we'd have taken a different path, we'd never have gone to Mount Dragon, Dyrnwyn would never have been found, the Cauldron-Born never slain…' For all his indignation, however, the former giant's brow puckered wretchedly and his lips trembled. 'Go, by all means! Let me stay this ridiculous size! I assure you, when I was a giant…'
'Yes, yes!' Gurgi shouted. 'Whining giant, too, has served, even as he says. It is not fair to leave him lone and lost in smallness! And in treasure house of evil Death-Lord, when all rich treasures fall in flames, a life was saved from hot and hurtful blazings!'
'Yes, even Glew has served, though all unwitting,' Dallben replied. 'His reward shall be no less than yours. In the Summer Country he may grow, if he so desires, to the stature of a man. But do you tell me,' Dallben said, looking sternly at Gurgi, 'that he saved your life?'
Gurgi hesitated a moment. Before he could answer, Glew quickly spoke. 'Of course he didn't,' said the former giant. 'A life was saved. Mine. If he hadn't pulled me out of the treasure house I'd be no more than a cinder in Annuvin.'
'At least you've told the truth, giant!' cried Fflewddur. 'Good for you! Great Belin, I think you've already grown a little taller!'
Gwydion stepped forward and gently put his hand on Taran's shoulder. 'Our time is soon upon us,' he said quietly. 'In the morning, we shall depart. Make ready, Assistant Pig-Keeper.'
That night Taran drowsed fitfully. The joy that so lightened his heart had strangely flown, fluttering out of reach like a bird of brilliant plumage he could not lure back to his hand. Even thoughts of Eilonwy, of happiness awaiting them in the Summer Country could not regain it.
At last he rose from his pallet and stood, uneasy, by the chamber window. The campfires of the Sons of Don had burned to ashes. The full moon turned the sleeping fields to a sea of silver. From far beyond the hills a voice began to lift in song, faint but clear; another joined it, then still others. Taran caught his breath. Only once, long ago in the Fair Folk realm, had he heard such singing. Now, more beautiful than he remembered, the song swelled, in a long flood of melody shimmering brighter than the moonbeams. Suddenly it ended. Taran cried out in sorrow, knowing he would never hear its like again. And, perhaps in his own imaginings there echoed from every corner of the land the sound of heavy portals closing.
'What, sleepless, my chicken?' said a voice behind him.
He turned quickly. Light filling the chamber dazzled him, but as his vision cleared he saw three tall and slender figures; two garbed in robes of shifting colors, of white, gold, and flaming crimson; and one hooded in a cloak of glittering black. Gems sparkled in the tresses of the first, at the throat of the second hung a necklace of shining white beads. Taran saw their faces were calm, beautiful to heartbreak, and though the dark hood shadowed the features of the last, Taran knew she could be no less fair.
'Sleepless and speechless, too,' said the middle figure. 'Tomorrow, poor dear, instead of dancing with joy he'll be yawning.'
'Your voices? I know them well,' Taran stammered, barely able to speak above a whisper. 'But your faces? yes, once have I seen them, a time long past, in the Marshes of Morva. Yet you cannot be the same. Orddu? Orwen, and? Orgoch?'
'Of course we are, my gosling,' Orddu replied, 'though it's true whenever you met us before we were hardly at our best.'
'But good enough for the purpose,' Orgoch muttered from the depths of her hood.
Orven giggled girlishly and toyed with her beads. 'You mustn't think we look like ugly old hags all the time,' she said. 'Only when the circumstances seem to require it.'
'Why have you come?' Taran began, still baffled at the familiar tones of the enchantresses coming from such fair shapes. 'Do you, too, journey to the Summer Country?'
Orddu shook her head. 'We are journeying, but not with you. Salt air makes Orgoch queasy, though it's very likely the only thing that does. We travel to? well? anywhere. You might even say everywhere.'
'You shall see no more of us, nor we of you,' added Orwen; almost regretfully. 'We shall miss you. As much, that is, as we can miss anyone. Orgoch especially would have loved to? well, best not to dwell on that.'
Orgoch gave a most ungentle snort. Orddu, meanwhile, had unfolded a length of brightly woven tapestry and held it out to Taran.
'We came to bring you this, my duckling,' she said. 'Take it and pay no heed to Orgoch's grumbling. She'll have to swallow her disappointment? for lack of anything better.'
'I have seen this on your loom,' Taran said, more than a little distrustful. 'Why do you offer it to me? I do not ask for it, nor can I pay for it.'
'It is yours by right, my robin,' answered Orddu. 'It does come from our loom, if you insist on strictest detail, but it was really you who wove it.'
Puzzled, Taran looked more closely at the fabric and saw it crowded with images of men and women, of warriors and battles, of birds and animals. 'These,' he murmured in wonder, 'these are of my own life.'
'Of course,' Orddu replied. 'The pattern is of your choosing and always was.'
'My choosing?' Taran questioned. 'Not yours? Yet I believed…' He stopped and raised his eyes to Orddu. 'Yes,' he said slowly, 'once I did believe the world went at your bidding. I see now it is not so. The strands of life are not woven by three hags or even by three beautiful damsels. The pattern indeed was mine. But here,' he added, frowning as he scanned the final portion of the fabric where the weaving broke off and the threads fell unraveled, 'here it is unfinished.'
'Naturally,' said Orddu. 'You must still choose the pattern, and so must each of you poor, perplexed fledglings, as long as thread remains to be woven.'
'But no longer do I see mine clearly,' Taran cried. 'No longer do I understand my own heart. Why does my grief shadow my joy? Tell me this much. Give me to know this, as one last boon.'
'Dear chicken,' said Orddu smiling sadly, 'when, in truth, did we really give you anything?'
Then they were gone.
Chapter 21
Farewells
THROUGH THE REMAINDER of the night, Taran did not move from the window. The unfinished weaving lay at his feet. By dawn, a still greater number of Commot folk and cantrev nobles came to throng the fields and hillsides around Caer Dallben, for it had become known the Sons of Don were departing Prydain, and with them the Daughters of Don who had journeyed from the eastern strongholds. At last Taran stirred and made his way to Dallben's chamber.
The companions were already gathered, even Doli, who had flatly refused to set out for the Fair Folk realm without taking a last leave of each and every friend. Kaw, quiet for once, perched on the dwarf's shoulder. Glew seemed excited and pleased to be on his way. Taliesin and Gwydion stood near Dallben, who had donned a heavy travel cloak and bore an ashwood staff. Under his arm the enchanter carried
'Kindly master, hasten!' shouted Gurgi, as Llyan at Fflewddur's side twitched her tail impatiently. 'All are ready for floatings and boatings!'
Taran's eyes went to the faces of the companions; to Eilonwy, who was watching him eagerly; to the weathered features of Gwydion, and the face of Dallben, furrowed with wisdom. Never had he loved each of them more than at this moment. He did not speak until he came to stand before the old enchanter
'Never shall I have greater honor than the gift you offer me,' Taran said. The words came slowly, yet he forced himself to continue. 'Last night my heart was troubled. I dreamed that Orddu? no, it was not a dream. She was indeed here. And I have seen for myself your gift is one I cannot take.'
