The Castle of Llyr

Chapter 19 The Flood

GWYDION LEAPED FORWARD. "Your power is ended, Achren!" he cried. The livid Queen staggered for an instant, then turned and fled screaming from the Great Hall. Taran raced to Eilonwy's side and, heedless of the flames, struggled to raise the girl's limp body. Gwydion sped to overtake Achren. The bard followed them, his sword drawn. Magg had vanished. Gurgi and Prince Rhun hastened to aid Taran. Within moments Fflewddur returned. His face was ashen.

"The spider tries to drown us!" he shouted. "Magg has opened the gates to the sea!"

As the bard called out, Taran heard a thunder of surf. Caer Colur trembled. Shouldering the unconscious Eilonwy, he stumbled through a ruined casement. Kaw circled frantically above the towers. Fflewddur was urging the companions toward the portals, where they might hope to gain the boat. Taran followed him only to see, in despair, the great iron-bound gates nearly ripped from their hinges by tho the pounding water. Shattered, they had swung inward, and the foaming tide rushed upon the island like a ravening beast.

Beyond the walls, at the crest of a driving wave, rode Achren's vessel, mast askew and sails flapping. The surviving warriors clung to the sides of the tossing craft and fought to climb aboard. At the bow stood Magg, his face contorted with hate, shaking his fist at the crumbling fortress. The wreckage of Gwydion's boat spun in the flood, and Taran knew all means of escape were shattered with it.

The outer walls crumbled under the first impact of the sea. Blocks of stone shuddered and split away. The towers of Caer Colur swayed, and the ground reeled under Taran's feet.

Gwydion's voice rang above the tumult. "Save yourselves! Caer Colur is destroyed! Jump clear of the walls or they will crush you!"

Taran saw that the Prince of Don had clambered to the highest rocks of the embankment to which Achren had fled. There, Gwydion strove to lead her from the collapsing stones, but she struck at him and clawed his face. Her shrieks and curses pierced the rumble of onrushing waves. Gwydion faltered and fell as the embankment gave way.

The last barrier of ruined wall toppled. A hissing sheet of water blotted out the sky. Taran clasped Eilonwy to him. The flood swept them away and bore them under. Salt foam choked him and the merciless buffeting of the tide nearly tore the unconscious girl from his arms. He struggled upward while the island split and sank in a whirlpool that clutched him. Gripping Eilonwy, Taran fought dear of the whirlpool only to fall prey to breakers tossing him like wild stallions.

He spun to the trough of the waves while the sea pounded strength and breath from him. Still, he was able to hope, for it seemed the white-crested breakers were bearing him and his frail burden closer to shore. Dizzied and half-blinded by the green-black waves, Taran caught a confused glimpse of beach and shallow surf. He struck out weakly with his free arm. But in this last effort his failing body betrayed him and he tumbled into darkness.

TARAN AWOKE UNDER A GRAY SKY. The roaring in his ears was not the surf. Two enormous yellow eyes peered into his own. The roaring grew louder. Hot breath was on his face. As Taran's sight cleared, he saw sharp teeth and a pair of tufted ears. He realized in confusion that he was lying flat on his back and Llyan was standing over him with one huge, padded paw on his chest. He cried out in alarm and struggled to free himself.

"Hullo, hullo!" Prince Rhun was now bending over him, a wide grin on his round face. Beside him was Fflewddur. The bard, like Rhun, was soaked and bedraggled, and strands of dripping seaweed hung from his yellow hair.

"Steady, now," said Fflewddur. "Llyan means you no harm. She only wants to be friendly, though sometimes she has odd ways of showing it." He patted the cat's great head and scratched under her mighty jaws. "Come, Llyan," he coaxed, "there's a good girl. Don't stand on my friend; he's not up to it yet. Behave yourself and I'll play you a tune as soon as my harp strings dry."

Fflewddur turned once more to Taran. "We have to thank Llyan for a great deal. Everything, in fact. She fished us all out of the surf after the sea had washed us up. If she hadn't, I'm afraid we should still be there."

"It was really surprising," put in Prince Rhun. "I thought for certain I'd been drowned, and the curious thing was I couldn't notice any difference!"

"I did have a start when I came to my senses with Llyan sitting beside me," said Fflewddur. "She had my harp between her paws, as though she couldn't wait for me to wake up and begin again. The creature is mad about my music! That's why she tracked us all the way here. And, Great Belin, I'm glad she did! But I think she's finally understood there's a time and place for everything. She's really been quite gentle," he added, as Llyan began to rub her head against him with such vigor the bard could hardly keep his balance.

"Where are the others?" Taran interrupted anxiously.

"Kaw, I fear, is nowhere to be found. Gurgi's gone looking for driftwood to build a fire," replied the bard. "Poor creature, he's still terrified of Llyan. But he'll get used to her. I've grown quite fond of her myself. It's not often one finds such a good listener, and I think I shall keep her. Or," he added, while Llyan nuzzled her whiskers on his neck and gripped the bard with her powerful paws, "perhaps I should put it the other way around."

"What of Eilonwy, of Gwydion?" Taran pressed.

The bard's glance fell. "Yes, well," he murmured, "they're here. Gwydion has done all he can."

With mounting anxiety Taran rose unsteadily to his feet. In the lee of a tumble of rock Gwydion knelt beside two forms. Taran stumbled across the beach. Gwydion looked up at him, his face filled with concern.

"Eilonwy lives," he said, answering the question in Taran's eyes. "More than that I cannot say. This much I know: Achren no longer holds her."

"Achren― Achren is dead, then?" Taran asked. He stared at the black-shrouded figure.

"Achren, too, lives," answered Gwydion, "though long she hung between life and death. But her power is broken now. This is the answer to the riddle, yet I did not know it until I stood before her in the Great Hall. At first, I was not certain. When l understood that she would truly let herself go down to death before giving up Eilonwy, I knew she had lost command of all but the least of her own enchantments. I read it in her eyes and in her voice. Her day had begun to wane from the moment she had broken with the Lord of Annuvin.

"The spells of Caer Colur were her last hope. Now they are gone and Caer Colur lies at the bottom of the sea," Gwydion added. "We need fear Achren no longer."

"I fear her still," Taran said, "and I shall not forget Caer Colur. Achren spoke the truth to me," he went on quietly. "I had not the strength to listen to her any longer. I feared I would tell the hiding place of the Pelydryn― and hoped you would slay me before I did. Yet," Taran added, puzzled, "it was you , yourself who spoke."

"It was a risk that had to be taken," Gwydion replied. "I had suspected something of the nature of the bauble; as it alone could reveal the spells, so it alone could destroy them. Only then could Eilonwy be free. At what cost to herself, I could not be sure. Alas, she has suffered deeply and grievously, perhaps too much."

"Dare we waken her?" Taran whispered.

"Touch her not," said Gwydion. "She must waken of herself. We can only wait and hope."

Taran bowed his head. "I would have given my life to keep her from harm, and I would give it now to spare her this." He smiled bitterly. "Achren asked what shall be the lot of an Assistant Pig-Keeper? It is a question I have often asked myself. I see now the life of an Assistant Pig-Keeper is of little use or import. Even to offer it for someone else is of no avail."

"Prince Rhun would gainsay you," Gwydion answered. "Without you, he would have wandered lost and in mortal danger."

"I swore an oath to King Rhuddlum," Taran replied. "I did not break it."

"And had you not sworn an oath," Gwydion asked, "would you not have done the same?"

Taran was silent for a while, then he nodded. "Yes, I believe I would. It was more than my oath that bound me. He needed my help, as I needed his." He turned to Gwydion. "I remember, too, when a Prince of Don aided a foolish Assistant Pig-Keeper. Is it not fitting now for the Pig-Keeper to aid a Prince?"

"Whether it be Prince or Pig-Keeper," said Gwydion, "such is the way of a man. The destinies of men are woven one with the other, and you can turn aside from them no more than you can turn aside from your own."

"And you, Lord Gwydion," came Achren's voice, "you have put a cruel destiny upon me."

The black-cloaked figure had risen. Achren clung to the rocks to bear herself up. Her face, half-hooded, was drawn and haggard and her lips were pale. "Death would have been a kindness. Why did you deny it to me?"

Taran shrank back as the once-haughty Queen raised her head. For an instant he saw her eyes flame again with pride and fury.

"You have destroyed me, Gwydion," she cried. "Do you hope to see me grovel at your feet? Are my powers indeed stripped away?" Achren laughed harshly. "One last remains to me."

It was then Taran saw she held a weathered branch of driftwood. She lifted it high and Taran gasped as in her hands it blurred and shimmered. Suddenly in its place was a dagger.

With a shout of triumph Achren plunged it toward her own breast. Gwydion sprang to her and seized her wrists. Achren fought against him as he tore the blade from her grasp. Once more the dagger became driftwood, which Gwydion snapped in two and cast away. Achren fell sobbing to the sand.

"Your enchantments have ever been the enchantments of death," said Gwydion. He knelt and­ gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Seek life, Achren."

"No life remains to me but that of an outcast," cried Achren, turning from him. "Leave me to myself."

Gwydion nodded. "Find your own path, Achren," he said softly. "Should it lead you to Caer Dallben, know this: Dallben will not turn you away."

The sky had grown heavy with clouds; and, though it was little past midday, the high crags rising at the shore seemed purple with dusk. Gurgi had built a fire of driftwood and the companions sat silently near the sleeping Eilonwy. Farther down the beach, Achren, muffled in her cloak, crouched alone and unmoving.

For all that morning, Taran had not left Eilonwy's side. Fearful she might never wake and fearful, too, that she might waken as a stranger to him still, he did not rest from his weary vigil. Gwydion himself could not foretell how long-lasting was the harm that had been done her.

"Do not lose heart," Gwydion said. "It is good that she sleeps and more healing to her spirit than any potion I could give her."

Eilonwy stirred restlessly. Taran started up. Gwydion put a hand on his arm and gently drew him back. Eilonwy's eyelids fluttered. Gwydion, his face grave, watched closely as her eyes opened. and she slowly raised her head.