Taran Wanderer

Chapter 21 The Mirror

ALTHOUGH THE FOLK OF ISAV urged him to linger, Taran took leave of them and rode slowly back to Merin. The defeat of Dorath's Company held no savor, for his thoughts still turned restlessly; his questions still found no answers; and he was more downhearted than ever. To Annlaw he said little of his deeds in Isav, and it was Gurgi, bursting with pride, who told what had befallen them.

"Yes, yes!" cried Gurgi. "Wicked robbers fled with yellings! Oh, they feared kindly master. And feared bold Gurgi, too! And great bull with stampings and trampings, sharp horns with jabbings and stabbings!"

"You should be well-content, Wanderer," Annlaw said to Taran, who had remained silent all the while. "You've saved honest folk their lives and homes."

"Drudwas told me I was no stranger, but a friend. For that I am glad," Taran answered. "I only wish," he added, "that I weren't a stranger to myself. What use am I?" he burst out. "To myself, to anyone? None that I can see."

"The folk of Isav would gainsay you," the potter answered. "And there might be others who would welcome a stout blade and a bold heart."

"A hired sword?" Taran replied bitterly. "And follow the same way as Dorath?" He shook his head. "When I was a child I dreamed of adventure, glory, of honor in feats of arms. I think now that these things are shadows."

"If you see them as shadows then you see them for what they are," Annlaw agreed. "Many have pursued honor, and in the pursuit lost more of it than ever they could gain. But I did not mean a hired sword…" He stopped abruptly and was thoughtful a moment. "To see them for what they are," he murmured, returning to his first words. "Perhaps― perhaps…" The potter looked closely at Taran.

"The Commot lore tells how one may see himself for what he is. Whether it be true or no more than an old wives' tale I will not judge," the potter went on slowly. "But the lore says that he who would know himself need only gaze in the Mirror of Llunet."

Though Annlaw had spoken quietly, Taran heard the potter's words like a thunderclap.

"The Mirror of Llunet?" Taran cried. Since leaving Craddoc's valley he had put away all thought of the Mirror, hidden and forgotten it, and the days had covered it as dead leaves on a burial mound. "The Mirror," he repeated in a stifled voice, "the goal of my quest from the beginning. I had given up searching. Now do I find it when I seek it least of all?"

"Your quest?" Annlaw said, perplexed. He had risen and was watching Taran with concern. "Of this you have told me nothing, Wanderer."

"I would have no pride in the telling," Taran replied.

But now, as Annlaw listened quietly, a look of kindness on his face, little by little Taran was able to speak of Caer Dallben, of Orddu, of where the quest had led him, of Craddoc's death and his own despair. "Once," Taran concluded, "I would have asked nothing better than to find the Mirror. Now, even if it were in my hand, I would dread to look in it."

"I understand your fears," the potter answered quietly. "The Mirror may put your heart at ease― or trouble you all the more. Such is the risk. The choice must be yours.

"But know this, Wanderer," Annlaw went on, as Taran bit his lips in silence, "it is not such a mirror as you think. It lies close by here in the Llawgadarn Mountains, no more than two days' distance, in a cave at the head of the Lake of Llunet. The Mirror of Llunet is a pool of water."

"A pool of water?" Taran cried. "What enchantment gives it power? For enchanted it must be."

"It is," answered the potter, "to those who deem it so."

"What of yourself?" Taran asked in a low voice. "Have you sought to look in it?"

"That I have not," replied Annlaw. "For I well know who I am. Annlaw Clay-Shaper. For better or worse, that knowledge must serve me my lifetime."

"And I," Taran murmured, "what knowledge will serve mine?" He said nothing for a time. At last he raised his head. "It is true. I fear to look in the Mirror, and fear to know what it might tell me. But I have already known shame," he flung out bitterly. "Must I know cowardice as well?

"In the morning," Taran continued, "in the morning I journey to the Mirror of Llunet."

His decision gave him little comfort. At first light, as he and Gurgi saddled their mounts, his doubts chilled him more than the cold mist of late autumn. Nevertheless, having made his choice he set a swift pace, riding northward from Merin to the Llawgadarn Mountains, taking his bearings on the high peak of Mount Meledin, for it was at the foot of Meledin, as Annlaw told him, that he would find the cave. The companions rode silently and steadily, halting only when the day had so far waned they could no longer guide the steeds along the paths. They camped on the soft carpet of pine needles, but a deep uneasiness had settled on the two wayfarers and they slept little.

At dawn of the next day they gathered up their gear and rode at a good pace along the crest of a ridge. Soon Taran called out and pointed downward. The Lake of Llunet stretched in a long oval, gleaming in the early sun. Its waters were calm, blue, and the Lake itself seemed a perfect mirror that held the tree-lined shore in its depths. At some distance Mount Meledin rose, tall but seeming almost weightless in the mist still clinging to its long slopes.

Taran's heart beat faster as the companions made their way downward to the shore. Closer to Meledin the land fell in sharp drops, and short stretches of meadow broke into shallow ravines. Near a stream tumbling from the upper reaches of the mountain the companions tethered their steeds. Taran had already sighted the cave and hastened toward it, with Gurgi scrambling after him.

"There!" Taran cried. "There! The Mirror!"

At the foot of Meledin wind and weather had carved an arching cave little more than a few paces deep. Rivulets trickled from the moss-grown rocks of its overhanging brow. Taran raced toward it. His heart pounded; his pulse burnt in his wrists. Yet as he drew closer his pace slowed, and fear weighed heavy as a chain about his legs. At the mouth of the cave he halted a long moment. Gurgi glanced anxiously at him.

"It is here," Taran murmured. He stepped forward.

Within, a shallow basin hollowed in the floor of smooth stones, lay the Mirror of Llunet like a shield of polished silver, gleaming of itself despite the shadows. Taran slowly knelt at the rim. The basin held no more than a finger's depth of water, fed drop by drop from a thread of moisture twining down the rocky wall. The passing of countless years had not filled it to the brim. Yet shallow though it was, the water seemed a depthless crystal whose facets turned one upon the other, each catching brilliant beams of white.

Scarcely daring to breathe lest he trouble the shining surface, Taran bent closer. The cave was utterly silent, and it seemed that even the falling of a wisp of dry moss would shatter the reflection. His hands trembled as he saw his own face, travel-worn and sun-scorched. With all his heart he longed to turn away, but forced himself to look more deeply. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Closer he knelt. What he saw made him cry out in disbelief.

At the same instant Gurgi shrieked in terror. Taran leaped to his feet and spun around as Gurgi ran and cowered at his side. Before him stood Dorath.

The man's face was stubble-bearded, his dirty yellow hair hung into his eyes. The horsehide jacket was slashed along one side and mud crusted his boots. In one hand he held food which he scooped up with his fingers and crammed into his mouth. He grinned at Taran.

"Well met, Lord Swineherd," Dorath said between mouthfuls.

"Ill-met, Dorath," Taran cried, drawing his sword. "Will you call your Company to set upon us? Call them, then, all who fled us at Commot Isav!" He raised the weapon and strode forward.

Dorath laughed harshly. "Will you strike before my own blade is out?"

"Draw it, then," Taran flung back at him.

"So I shall, when my meal is done," Dorath said. He gave a scornful grunt. "Your blade is ill-favored, swineherd, uglier than Gloff's face." He grinned slyly. "Mine is the fairer weapon, yet gained at no cost. My Company?" he added. "Would you have me call them? They are deaf. For half of them, the dirt of their graves stops their ears. I saw you at Isav, and guessed it was you who rallied the Commot clods. Alas, I had no time to linger and pay my greetings to you."

Dorath wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Of those who rode from Isav, two cowards fled and I've seen none of them. Two were heavily wounded. Those, I myself sped on their journey to the carrion crows, and they burden me no longer. But no matter. I'll soon find others to join me.

"Meantime, so much the better," he went on. "I'll share your treasure with none but myself."

"Treasure?" Taran cried. "There is no treasure! Draw your blade, Dorath, or I'll kill you unarmed as you'd have done to me."

"An end to your lying, swineherd," Dorath growled. "Do you still take me for a fool? I've known of your travels, and the bent path you followed here did not deceive me. Your saddlebags hold nothing of worth; I've seen that for myself. So the prize is yet to be claimed."

He strode to the Mirror. "Is this your trove? What have you found, swineherd? A mud puddle? What does it hide?"

Taran cried out, though before he could fling himself upon Dorath the warrior stamped his heavy boot into the pool and, with a curse, sent the water spurting from the basin.

"It holds nothing!" Dorath burst out, his face twisting in rage.

Taran gasped and stumbled forward. Dorath drew his sword.

"My meal is ended, swineherd," Dorath cried.

He struck heavily and the force of his onslaught sent Taran reeling from the cave. Gurgi yelled in fury and clutched at the warrior, who seized him with a powerful grasp and dashed him against the rocky wall. Snarling, Dorath sprang after Taran.

Scrambling to his feet, Taran brought up his blade to meet the warrior's attack. Dorath spat and lunged again, driving Taran toward the slope. As the warrior bore closer upon him, Taran lost his footing, stumbled backward, and dropped to one knee.

With a mocking laugh Dorath raised his weapon, and Taran saw the blade that once had been his own glint sharply as Dorath swung it down with all his strength. Taran saw his death upon him and flung up his sword in a last attempt to ward against the blow.

The blades met with a grating, ringing clash. Taran's weapon shuddered in his hand, the shock threw him to earth. Yet his blade held. The sword of Dorath shattered on it.

Cursing, Dorath flung the useless hilt at Taran's face, turned and ran to the cover of pines along the shore. Hearing her master's whistle, Dorath's sorrel mare broke from the trees. Taran sprang to pursue the fleeing warrior.

"Help, help!" Gurgi's voice cried from the cave. "Kindly master! Oh, help wounded Gurgi!"

Hearing this Taran halted even as Dorath leaped astride his mount and galloped away. Taran raced to the cave. Within, Gurgi moaned and tried to sit up. Taran knelt quickly and saw the creature's forehead was heavily gashed, but that Gurgi's pain came more from terror than from his hurts. He carried him from the cave and propped him against a boulder.

Taran did not return to the Mirror of Llunet. Already he had seen it empty, its spattered water spread over the stones, holding only the muddy print of Dorath's boot. He sank down beside Gurgi and put his head in his hands. For long he. did not move or speak.

"Come," he said at last, helping Gurgi to his feet. "Come. We have far to journey."

A light glowed in Annlaw's hut. The night was nearly spent, yet Taran saw the potter still bent over his wheel.

Annlaw rose to his feet as Taran slowly crossed the threshold. Neither spoke for some while. The potter anxiously studied Taran's face, and said at last, "Have you looked into the Mirror, Wanderer?"

Taran nodded. "For a few moments. But none shall look in it again. It is destroyed." He told of Dorath and the happenings at the Lake of Llunet. When Taran had done, the potter sadly shook his head.

"You saw nothing then?" said Annlaw.

"I learned what I sought to learn," Taran replied.

"I will not question you, Wanderer," said Annlaw. "But if it is in your heart to tell me, I will listen."

"I saw myself," Taran answered. "In the time I watched, I saw strength― and frailty. Pride and vanity, courage and fear. Of wisdom, a little. Of folly, much. Of intentions, many good ones; but many more left undone. In this, alas, I saw myself a man like any other.

"But this, too, I saw," he went on. "Alike as men may seem, each is different as flakes of snow, no two the same. You told me you had no need to seek the Mirror, knowing you were Annlaw Clay-Shaper. Now I know who I am: myself and none other. I am Taran."

Annlaw did not reply immediately. Then he said, "If you have learned this you have learned the deepest secret the Mirror could tell you. Perhaps it was truly enchanted after all."

"There was no enchantment," Taran answered. He smiled. "It was a pool of water, the most beautiful I have seen. But a pool of water, no more than that.

"At first," he went on, "I thought Orddu had sent a fool on a fool's errand. She did not. She meant me to see what the Mirror showed me. Any stream, any river would have given me the same reflection, but I would not have understood it then as I understand it now.

"As for my parentage," he added, "it makes little difference. True kinship has naught to do with blood ties, however strong they be. I think we are all kin, brothers and sisters one to the other, all children of all parents. And the birthright I once sought, I seek it no longer. The folk of the Free Commots taught me well, that manhood is not given but earned. Even King Smoit in Cantrev Cadiffor told me this, but I did not heed him.

"Llonio said life was a net for luck; to Hevydd the Smith life was a forge; and to Dwyvach the Weaver-Woman a loom. They spoke truly, for it is all of these. But you," Taran said, his eyes meeting the potter's, "you have shown me life is one thing more. It is clay to be shaped, as raw clay on a potter's wheel."

Annlaw nodded. "And you, Wanderer, how will you shape your clay?"

"I cannot stay in Merin," Taran replied, "much as I love it. Caer Dallben waits for me, as it has always waited. My life is there, and gladly I return to it, for I have been too long away."

They sat silently then: Taran, Gurgi, and Annlaw Clay-Shaper. As dawn lightened, Taran clasped the potter's hand and bade him farewell.

"Good journey to you, Wanderer," called Annlaw, as Taran swung astride Melynlas. "Do not forget us, for we shall not forget you."

"I have the sword I fashioned," Taran proudly cried, "the cloak I wove, and the bowl I shaped. And the friendship of those in the fairest land of Prydain. No man can find greater treasure."

Melynlas pawed the ground, impatient, and Taran gave the stallion rein.

Thus Taran rode from Merin with Gurgi at his side.

And as he did, it seemed he could hear voices calling to him. "Remember us! Remember us!" He turned once; but Merin was far behind and out of sight. From the hills a wind had risen, driving the scattered leaves before it, bearing homeward to Caer Dallben. Taran followed it.