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2001-11-29

The Chronicles of Prydain

Book Four

TARAN WANDERER

Lloyd Alexander

ISBN No. 0-440-48483-9

Published by

Bantam Doubleday

Dell Books for Young Readers

April, 1990

Author's Note

T HIS FOURTH CHRONICLE of Prydain begins

as a gallant, high-hearted quest, which soon

becomes more intense and perhaps more

essentially heroic than the preceding adventures.

For here, Taran comes to grips with a merciless

opponent: the truth about himself. No longer as

Taran Assistant Pig-Keeper but as Taran Wanderer,

he learns to reshape his life out of his own inner

resources; for there must not only be an end to

childhood but also a beginning of manhood. This is

meant to be a serious tale--- in the way that all

humor is serious and all fantasy true--- and if there

is no conventionally happy ending in fairy-tale

terms, there is still a most hopeful ending in

human terms.

This does not imply any less humor or variety

in the story. There is possibly more, as Taran's

journey takes him from one end of Prydain to the

other, from the Marshes of Morva to the Free

Commots. However, instead of a clash of battle

hosts, the underlying conflict between good and

evil is stated in individual encounters: King Smoit,

boisterous with being alive; Morda, deathlike,

scornful of all humanity; Dorath the amoral;

Annlaw Clay-Shaper the creator; Craddoc, in whose

desolate valley Taran suffers the anguish of shame.

The Princess Eilonwy, alas, is present only in

memory, though it is hoped readers will miss her

as much as Taran does--- and the author himself,

for that matter.

While certain inhabitants of Prydain were born

of Welsh legend, in Taran Wanderer they have

acquired characteristics more universal than

specific. Morda's life secret, for example, is familiar

in many mythologies. Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch

have appeared in other guises (as might well be

expected of them): the Three Norns, the Moirae,

the Triple Goddess, and very likely some other

transformations they decline to admit. Prydain, of

course, is part-memory and part-dream, the

balance favoring the latter.

The Companions have gained many more

friends than I had ever hoped, who are willing to

follow these tales both as self-contained chronicles

and as part of a larger pattern; and to them I

promise in time all questions will be answered and

all secrets revealed. To some friends of the

Companions (especially Gypsy Reeves) I address a

plea for clemency; to others, my sincere thanks for

their hard but invaluable labor, insight, and

encouragement when the straits seemed even

more dire to an author than to an Assistant Pig-

Keeper; and to all, my warmest affection.

-L.A.

Chapter 1

Who am I?

I T WAS FULL SPRINGTIME , with promise of

the richest summer the farm had ever seen. The

orchard was white with fragrant blossoms; the

newly planted fields lay light as green mist. Yet the

sights and scents gave Taran little joy. To him,

Caer Dallben was empty. Though he helped Coll

with the weeding and cultivating, and tended the

white pig, Hen Wen, with as much care as ever, he

went about his tasks distractedly. One thought

alone was in his mind.

"Now, my boy," Coll said good-naturedly, as

they finished the morning's milking, "I've seen you

restless as a wolf on a tether ever since you came

back from the Isle of Mona. Pine for the Princess

Eilonwy if you must, but don't upset the milk pail."

The stout old warrior clapped Taran on the

shoulder. "Come, cheer up. I'll teach you the high

secrets of planting turnips. Or raising cabbages. Or

whatever you might want to know."

Taran shook his head. "What I would know only

Dallben can tell me."

"Take my counsel, then," said Coll. "Trouble

Dallben with none of your questions. His thoughts

are on deeper matter. Have patience and bide your

time."

Taran rose to his feet. "I can bide my time no

longer. It is in my heart to speak with him now."

"Have a care," warned Coll as Taran strode to

the door of the shed. "His disposition rubs a little

thin!"

Taran made his way through the cluster of low-

roofed farm buildings. In the cottage, at the

hearthside, a black-robed woman crouched and

tended the cooking fire. She did not raise her head

or speak. It was Achren. Thwarted in her scheme

to regain her ancient power, from the ruined Castle

of Llyr the once-haughty Queen had accepted the

refuge Dallben offered; though, by her own choice,

she who had long ago ruled Prydain toiled now at

the tasks Eilonwy had done before departing for

Mona, and at day's end silently vanished to her

pallet of straw in the granary.

Before Dallben's chamber Taran paused

uneasily, then rapped quickly on the door. Entering

at the enchanter's command, he found Dallben

bent over The Book of Three , which lay open on

the cluttered table. Much as he longed for a

glimpse at even one page of this secret volume,

Taran kept his distance from it. Once, in boyhood,

he had dared touch the ancient, leather-bound

tome, and his fingers smarted again at the

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