Taran Wanderer (11 page)

The Lost Lamb

U
NDER FAIR SKIES
and gentle weather, the companions traveled deeper into the Hill Cantrevs. Gurgi had
bandaged Taran's wound and the smart of it eased more quickly than the sting of losing his
sword. As for the bard, the encounter with Dorath had driven away his concern for the
length of his ears; he hardly mentioned the word “rabbit,” and had begun to share Taran's
belief in a good ending to a hard journey. Gurgi still grumbled bitterly about the
ruffians and often turned to shake an angry fist in the air. Fortunately, the companions
had seen no more of the band, though Gurgi's furious grimaces might well have been enough
to keep any marauders at a safe distance.

“Shameful robbings!” muttered Gurgi. “Oh, kindly master, why did you not sound helpful
horn and be spared beatings and cheatings?”

“The blade meant a great deal to me,” Taran answered, “but I'll find another that will
serve me. As for Eilonwy's horn, once used, its power is gone beyond regaining.”

“Oh, true!” Gurgi cried, blinking in amazement, as if such a thought had never entered his
shaggy head. “'Oh, wisdom of kindly master! Will humble Gurgi's wits never grow sharper?”

“We've all wits enough to see Taran chose rightly,” put in Fflewddur. “In his place I'd
have done the same--- ah, no, what I meant,” he quickly added, glancing at the harp, “I'd
have blown that horn till I was blue in the face. Ho, there! Steady, old girl!” he cried
as Llyan suddenly plunged ahead. “I say, what are you after now?”

At the same time Taran heard a forlorn bleating coming from a patch of brambles. Llyan was
already there, crouching playfully, her tail waving in the air and one of her paws
outstretched to tug at the briars.

A white lamb was caught in the thicket and, seeing the enormous cat, bleated all the
louder and struggled pitifully. While Fflewddur, strumming his harp, drew Llyan away,
Taran quickly dismounted. With Gurgi's help he bent aside the brambles and picked up the
terrified animal.

“The poor thing's strayed--- from where?” Taran said. “I saw no farm nearby.”

“Well, I suppose it knows its home better than we do,” answered Fflewddur, while Gurgi
eyed the lost animal and delightedly patted the creature's fleecy head. “All we can do is
let it go to find its own path.”

“The lamb is mine,” called a stern voice.

Surprised, Taran turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered man making his way with great
difficulty down the rocky slope. Gray streaked his hair and beard, scars creased his wide
brow, and his dark eyes watched the companions intently as he toiled over the jutting
stones. Unarmed save for a long hunting knife in his leather belt, he wore the rude garb
of a herdsman; his cloak was rolled and slung over his back; his jacket was tattered at
the edges, begrimed and threadbare. What Taran had first taken to be a staff or shepherd's
crook he now saw to be a roughly fashioned crutch. The man's right leg was badly lamed.

“The lamb is mine,” the herdsman said again.

“Why, then it is yours to claim,” Taran answered, handing the animal to him.

The lamb ceased its frightened bleating and nestled comfortably against the shoulder of
the herdsman, whose frown of distrust turned to surprise, as if he had fully expected to
be obliged to fight for possession of the stray. “My thanks to you,” he said after a
moment, then added, “I am Craddoc Son of Custennin.”

“Well met,” Taran said, “and now farewell. Your lamb is safe and we have far to go.”

Craddoc, taking a firm grip on his crutch, turned to climb the slope, and had gone but
little distance when Taran saw the man stumble and lose his footing. Under his burden
Craddoc faltered and dropped to one knee. Taran strode quickly to him and held out his
hands.

“If the way to your sheepfold is as stubborn as the ones we've traveled,” Taran said, “let
us help you on your path.”

“No need!” the herdsman gruffly cried. “Do you think me so crippled I must borrow strength
from others?” When he saw that Taran still offered his hands, Craddoc's expression
softened. “Forgive me,” said the herdsman. “You spoke in good heart. It was I who took
your words ill. I am unused to company or courtesy in these hills. You've done me one
service,” he went on, as Taran helped him to his feet. “Now do me another: Share my
hospitality.” He grinned. “Though it will be small payment for saving my lamb.”

As Fflewddur led the mounts and Gurgi happily bore the lamb in his arms, Taran walked
close by the herdsman who, after his first reluctance, was willing now to lean on Taran's
shoulder as the path steepened and twisted upward before dropping into a deep vale among
the hills.

The farmstead Taran saw to be a tumbledown cottage, whose walls of stone, delved from the
surrounding fields, had partly fallen away. Half-a-dozen ill-shorn sheep grazed over the
sparse pasture. A rusted plow, a broken-handled mattock, and a scant number of other
implements lay in an open-fronted shed. In the midst of the high summits, hemmed in
closely by thorny brush and scrub, the farm stood lorn and desolate, yet clung doggedly to
its patch of bare ground like a surviving warrior flinging his last, lone defiance against
a pressing ring of enemies.

Craddoc, with a gesture almost of shyness and embarrassment, beckoned the companions to
enter. Within, the cottage showed scarcely more cheer than the harsh land around it. There
were signs Craddoc had sought to repair his fireplace and broken hearthstone, to mend his
roof and chink up the crannies in the wall, but Taran saw the herdsman's labor had gone
unfinished. In a corner a spinning wheel betokened a woman's tasks; but if this were so,
her hand had ceased to guide it long since.

“Well, friend herdsman,” Fflewddur remarked heartily, seating himself on a wooden bench by
a narrow trestle table, “you're a bold man to dwell in these forsaken parts. Snug it is,”
he quickly added, “very snug but--- ah, well--- rather out of the way.”

“It is mine,” Craddoc answered, and his eyes flashed with pride. Fflewddur's words seemed
to stir him, and he bent forward, one hand gripping his crutch and the other clenched upon
the table. “I have stood against those who would have taken it from me; and if I must, so
shall I do again.”

“Why, indeed I've no doubt of that,” replied Fflewddur. “No offense, friend, but I might
say I'm a little surprised anyone would fancy taking it from you in the first place.”

Craddoc did not answer for a time. Then he said, “The land was fairer than you see it now.
Here we lived among ourselves, untroubled and at peace, until certain lords strove to
claim our holdings for themselves. But those of us who prized our freedom banded together
against them. Hotly fought was the battle and much was destroyed. Yet we turned them
back.” Craddoc's face was grim. “At high cost to us. Our dead were many, and my closest
friends among them. And I,” he glanced at his crutch, “I gained this.”

“What of the others?” Taran asked.

“In time, one by one, they quit their homes,” Craddoc replied. “The land was no longer
worth the keeping or the taking. They made their way to other cantrevs. In despair they
took service as warriors or swallowed their pride and hopes and labored for any who would
give them bed and board.”

“Yet you stayed,” Taran said. “In a ruined land? Why so?”

Craddoc lifted his head. “To be free,” he answered curtly. "To be my own man. Freedom was
what I sought. I had found it here, and I had won it.

“You are luckier than I, friend herdsman,” Taran answered. “I have not yet found what I
seek.”

When Craddoc glanced inquiringly at him, Taran told of his quest. The herdsman listened
intently, saying no word. But as Taran spoke, a strange expression came upon Craddoc's
face, as though the herdsman strove against disbelief and sought to reach out beyond his
own wonder.

When Taran finished, Craddoc seemed about to speak. But he hesitated, then set the crutch
under his arm, and rose abruptly, murmuring that he must see to his sheep. As he hobbled
out, Gurgi trotted after him to gaze with pleasure at the gentle animals.

The day had grown shadowed. Taran and Fflewddur sat quietly at the table. “I pity the
herdsman as much as I admire him,” Taran said. “He fought to win one battle only to lose
another. His own land is his worst foe now, and little can he do against it.”

“I'm afraid you're right,” agreed the bard. “If the weeds and brambles press him any
closer,” he wryly added, “he must soon graze his sheep on the turf of his rooftop.”

“I would help him if I could,” Taran replied. “Alas, he needs more than I can give.”

When the herdsman came back Taran made ready to take his leave. Craddoc, however, urged
the companions to stay. Taran hesitated. Though anxious to be gone, he well knew that
Fflewddur disliked traveling at night; as for the herdsman, his eyes more than his words
bespoke his eagerness, and at last Taran agreed.

Craddoc's provisions being scant, the companions shared out the food from Gurgi's wallet.
The herdsman ate silently. When he had done, he cast a few dry, thorny branches on the
small fire, watched them flare and crackle, then turned his gaze on Taran.

“A lamb of my flock strayed and was found again,” Craddoc said. “But another once was lost
and never found.” The herdsman spoke slowly and with great effort, as though the words
came from his lips at some painful cost. “Long past, when all had left the valley, my wife
urged that we, too, should do the same. She was to bear our child; in this place she saw
naught but hardship and desolation, and it was for the sake of our unborn that she
pleaded.”

Craddoc bowed his head. "But this I would not do. As often as she besought me, as often I
refused. In time the child was born. Our son. The infant lived; his mother died. My heart
broke, for it was as if I myself had slain her.

“Her last wish,” Craddoc said, his voice heavy with grief, “was that I take the child from
here.” His weathered features tightened. “Even that wish I did not heed. No,” he added,
“to my mind, I had paid in blood, and more than blood, for my freedom. I would not give it
up.”

The herdsman was silent a while. Then he said, "Alone I sought to raise the child. But it
was beyond my skill. A sturdy boy he was, yet in less than a year I saw him sicken. Only
then did I understand his mother had spoken wisely, and I, like a proud fool, had not
listened. At last I was willing to quit this valley.

“Too late was my choice,” Craddoc said. "I knew the babe could not live out the journey.
Nor could he live out another winter here. He was the lamb of my heart, already given to
death.

“But on a certain day,” Craddoc went on, "a wayfarer came by chance to my door. A man of
deep knowledge he was and of many secret healing arts. In his hands alone the child could
live. This he told me, and I knew he spoke the truth. He pitied the infant and offered to
raise him for me. Grateful was I for his kindness as I put the child in his arms.

“He went his way then, and my son with him. No more did I see or hear of either, as the
years passed, and often did I fear both had surely perished in the hills. Yet, I still
hoped, for the stranger vowed by every oath my son one day would return to me.”

The herdsman looked closely at Taran. “The name of the wayfarer was Dallben.”

In the fireplace a thorny branch split and crackled. Craddoc said no more, but his eyes
never left Taran's face. Fflewddur and Gurgi stared wordlessly. Slowly Taran rose to his
feet. He felt himself trembling, for an instant feared his legs would give way under him,
and he put a hand to the edge of the trestle table. He could neither think nor speak. He
saw only Craddoc silently watching him, and this man he had met as a stranger now seemed a
stranger all the more. Taran's lips moved without sound, until at last the words came
brokenly and he heard his voice as though it were another's.

“Do you say,” Taran whispered, “do you say then, you are father to me?”

“The promise has been kept,” Craddoc answered quietly. “My son has come back.”

The End of Summer

I
T WAS NEAR DAWN.
The fire in the hearth had long since burned out. Taran rose silently. He had slept only
fitfully, his head crowded with so many thoughts he could not sort one from another:
Fflewddur's cry of astonishment, Gurgi's joyful yelps, Craddoc's embrace of welcome to a
son he had scarcely seen, and Taran's bewildered embrace to a father he had never known.
There had been harp playing and singing. Fflewddur had never been in better voice or
spirits, and the herdsman's cottage had surely never rung with so much merriment; yet
Taran and Craddoc had been more quiet than gay, as if striving to sense each other's mind
and heart. At last, all had slept.

Taran stepped to the door. The sheep were silent in their fold. The mountain air was
chill. Dew glistened, a net of cold silver on the sparse pasture, and the stones twinkled
like stars fallen to earth. Taran shivered and drew his cloak about him. He stood a while
in the dooryard before he sensed he was not alone. Fflewddur moved to join him.

“Couldn't sleep, eh?” Fflewddur said cheerily. “Neither could I. Too excited. Didn't close
my eyes for three winks--- ah, yes, well--- perhaps a few more than that. Great Belin, but
it's been a day and a half! It's not everyone who finds his long-lost father sitting out
in the middle of nowhere. Taran, my friend, your search is ended; and ended well. We're
spared a journey to the Lake of Llunet--- I don't mind telling you I'm just as pleased.
Now we must set our plans. I say we should ride north to the Fair Folk realm and get hold
of good old Doli; then, on to my kingdom for some feasting and revelry. And I suppose
you'll want to sail to Mona and tell Eilonwy the good news. So be it! Now your quest is
over, you're free as a bird!”

“Free as the caged eagle that Morda would have made me!” Taran cried. “This valley will
destroy Craddoc if he stays alone even a little longer. His burden is too great. I honor
him for trying to bear it. Indeed, I honor him for that, and nothing else. His deeds cost
my mother her life, and nearly cost me mine. Can any son love such a father? Yet as long
as Craddoc lives, I am bound to him by ties of blood--- if truly his blood runs in my
veins.”

“If?” replied Fflewddur. He frowned and looked closely at Taran. “You say
if
, as though you doubted...”

“Craddoc speaks truth when he says he is my father,” Taran answered. “It is I who do not
believe him.”

“How's that again?” asked Fflewddur. “You know he's your father and doubt it at the same
time? Now you really baffle me.”

“Fflewddur, can you not see?” Taran spoke slowly and painfully. “I don't believe him,
because I don't
want
to believe him. In my heart, secretly, I had always dreamed, even as a child, that--- that
I might be of noble lineage.”

Fflewddur nodded. “Yes, I take your meaning.” He sighed. “Alas, there's no choosing one's
kinsmen.”

“Now,” Taran said, “my dream is no more than a dream, and I must give it up.”

“His tale rings true,” answered the bard. “But if there's doubt in your heart, what shall
you do? Ah, that rascal Kaw! If he were only here we could send him with word to Dallben.
But I doubt he'll find us in this dreary wasteland.”

“Wasteland?” said the voice of Craddoc.

The herdsman stood in the doorway. Taran quickly turned, ashamed of his own words and
wondering how many of them Craddoc had overheard. But if the man had been there longer
than a moment, he gave no sign of it. Instead, his weather-beaten face smiled as he
hobbled to the companions. Gurgi followed behind him.

“Wasteland you see it now,” Craddoc said, “but soon as fair as ever it was.” He set a hand
proudly on Taran's shoulder. “My son and I. We will make it so.”

“I had thought,” Taran began slowly, “I had hoped you would return with us to Caer
Dallben. Coll and Dallben will welcome you. The farm is rich, and can be richer still if
you help us with your labor. Here, the land may be worn out past restoring.”

“How then?” Craddoc answered, his features growing stern. “Leave my land? To be another's
servant? Now? When there is hope for us at last?” His eyes filled with pain as he looked
at Taran. “My son,” he said quietly, “you do not say all that is in your heart. Nor have I
said all that is in mine. My happiness blinded me to the truth. Your life has been too
long apart from me. Caer Dallben is your home, more than this may ever be, this wasteland,
this fallow ground--- and the master of it a cripple.”

The herdsman had not raised his voice, but the words echoed in Taran's ears. Craddoc's
face had gone hard as stone and a terrible pride flamed in his eyes. “I cannot ask you to
share this, nor beg duty from a son who is a stranger to me. We have met. We shall part,
if that is your wish. Go your own path. I do not keep you from it.”

Before Taran could answer, Craddoc turned and made his way to the sheepfold.

“What must I do?” Taran cried in dismay to the bard.

Fflewddur shook his head. “He'll not leave here, that's for certain. It's easy enough to
see where your stubborn streak comes from. No, he won't budge. But if you'd set your mind
at rest, then you yourself might go to Caer Dallben. Find out the truth from Dallben. He
alone can tell you.”

“Winter would be upon us before I could return,” Taran answered. He gazed at the harsh
land and desolate cottage. “My--- my father is at the end of his strength. The tasks are
long. They must begin now, and be done before the first snowfall.”

He said no more for a time. Fflewddur waited silently; Gurgi was quiet, his brow wrinkled
with concern. Taran looked at the two and his heart ached. “Hear me well, my friends,” he
said slowly. “Fflewddur, if you are willing, ride to Caer Dallben. Tell that my search is
ended and how this has come about. As for me, my place must be here.”

“Great Belin, you mean to stay in this wilderness?” Fflewddur cried. “Even though you
doubt...?”

Taran nodded. “My doubts may be of my own making. One way or another, I pray you send
word, speedily to me. But Eilonwy must be told nothing of this, only that my quest is
over, my father found.” His voice faltered. “Craddoc needs my help; his livelihood and his
life depend on it, and I will not withhold it from him. But to have Eilonwy know I am a
herdsman's son... No!” he burst out. “That would be more than I could bear. Bid her my
farewell. She and I must never meet again. It were better the Princess forget the shepherd
boy, better that all of you forget me.”

He turned to Gurgi. “And you, best of good friends, ride with Fflewddur. If my place is
here, yours must be in a happier one.”

“Kindly master!” Gurgi shouted, flinging his arms desperately about Taran. “Gurgi staysl
So he promised!”

“Call me master no more!” Taran bitterly flung back. “No master am I, but a low-born
churl. Do you long for wisdom? You will not find it here with me. Take your freedom. This
valley is no beginning but an ending.”

“No, no! Gurgi does not listen!” shouted Gurgi, clapping his hands over his ears. He threw
himself flat on the ground and lay stiff as a poker. “He does not go from side of kindly
master. No, no! Not with pullings and pushings! Not with naggings and draggings!”

“So be it,” Taran said at last, seeing nothing else would sway the determined creature.

When Craddoc returned, Taran told him only that he and his companion would stay, and that
Fflewddur could no longer delay his own journey.

When Llyan was ready to travel, Taran put his arms about the cat's mighty shoulders and
pressed his cheek into her deep fur as she mewed unhappily. Silently, he and Fflewddur
clasped hands, and he watched while the bard, with many a backward glance, rode slowly
from the valley.

Leaving Melynlas and the pony tethered in the shed, Taran and Gurgi bore the saddlebags
holding their few possessions into the tumbledown cottage. Taran stood a moment, looking
at the crumbling walls of the narrow chamber, the dead fire and broken hearthstone. From
the pasture Craddoc was calling to him.

“And so,” Taran murmured, “and so have we come home.”

In the weeks that followed, Taran believed he could have fared no worse had Morda done as
he had threatened. Tall gray summits rose about. him like the unyielding bars of a cage.
Prisoner, he sought freedom from his memories in the harsh toil of the long days. There
was much to be done, indeed there was all to be done; the land to clear, the cottage to
repair, the sheep to tend. At first he had dreaded the dawns that brought him, weary as if
he had not slept, from the straw pallet by the hearth to the seemingly endless labor
awaiting him; but soon he rediscovered, as Coll had told him long ago, that he could force
himself to plunge into it as into an icy stream, and find refreshment even in his
exhaustion.

With Gurgi and Craddoc, he strained and sweated to uproot boulders from the field and haul
them to the cottage, where they would later serve to mend the walls. The spring where the
sheep watered had dwindled to a slow trickle. Taran saw a way to unblock it, shore up the
damp ground, and dig a channel which he lined with flat stones. As the sparkling stream
rushed into its new course, Taran, forgetting all else, knelt and drank of it from his
cupped hands. The cool draught filled him with wonder, as though never had he tasted water
until now.

One day the three set about burning away the overgrowth and thorns. Taran's portion of the
field took flame too slowly and he pressed his way to thrust his torch deeper amid the
brambles. As he did, a sudden gust of wind turned the fire against him.

Quickly he drew back, but the thorns caught at his jacket; he stumbled and fell, crying
out as the flames rose in a scarlet wave.

Gurgi, at some distance, heard the shout. Craddoc, seeing Taran's plight, swung about on
his crutch, and even before Gurgi could reach him, flung himself to Taran's side. The
herdsman dropped to the ground, and, shielding Taran with his body, seized him by the belt
and dragged him clear. Where Taran had been trapped, the flaming thorns roared and
crackled.

The herdsman, gasping from the effort, climbed painfully to his feet.

Though Taran was unscathed, the fire had seared Craddoc's brow and hands. But the herdsman
grinned, clapped Taran on the shoulder, saying with rough affection, “I've not found a son
only to lose him,” and with no more ado went back to his work.

“My thanks to you,” Taran called. But in his voice there was as much bitterness as
gratitude, for the man who had saved his life was the same man who had broken it.

Thus it was in the days that followed. When a sheep sickened, Craddoc cared for it with an
unexpected tenderness that went to Taran's heart. Yet Craddoc it was who had torn asunder
Taran's dream of noble birth and destroyed every hope he had cherished for Eilonwy. When
danger threatened the flock, Craddoc turned fierce as a wolf, heedless of his own safety
with a courage Taran could only admire. Yet this man held him prisoner, in fetters of
blood right. Craddoc would touch no food until Taran and Gurgi had their fill, and often
went hungry as a result, all the while insisting his appetite was dull. Yet the gift stuck
in Taran's throat, and he scorned the generosity he mould have honored in any other man.

“Are there two herdsman in this valley?” Taran cried to himself. “One I can only love, and
one I can only hate?”

So passed the summer. To forget the anguish of his divided heart, Taran labored for the
sake of the labor itself. Many tasks were still to be done, and the flock always to be
tended. Until now Craddoc had been hard-pressed to keep the new lambs from straying and,
as the sheep roved farther afield seeking better pasture, to gather all into the fold at
evening. Gurgi pleaded to be given charge of them, and the flock seemed as pleased as he
was. He gamboled happily with the lambs, clucked and fussed over the ewes, and even the
ancient, bad-tempered ram turned gentle in his presence. As the days grew cooler Craddoc
gave him a jacket of unshorn fleece, and as Gurgi moved among his charges Taran could
hardly distinguish the shaggy creature bundled in his wooly garb from the rest of the
flock. Often Taran came upon him sitting on a boulder, the sheep in an admiring circle
around their guardian. They followed him everywhere and would even have trotted after him
into the cottage. Marching at the head of the flock, Gurgi looked as proud as a war leader.

“See with lookings!” Gurgi shouted. “See them heed Gurgi with bleatings! Is kindly master
Assistant Pig-Keeper? Then bold, clever Gurgi now is Assistant Sheep-Keeper!”

But Taran's eyes still turned beyond the barrier of the hills. At the end of each day he
scanned the passes for a sign of Fflewddur and the clouds for a glimpse of Kaw. The crow,
he feared, had flown to the Lake of Llunet; not finding the companions there, Kaw might
still be waiting or, impatient, be seeking them elsewhere. As for the bard, Taran sensed
more than ever that Fflewddur would not return; and as the days shortened and autumn drew
closer, he gave up his vigil and looked no longer at the sky.