The Orange Fairy Book (29 page)

'Welcome, fair youth,' said the old man, turning his head. 'Sit down
and warm yourself, and tell me how fares the outer world. It is long
since I have seen it.'

'All my news is that I am seeking service,' answered Ardan son of
Gorla; 'I have come from far since sunrise, and glad was I to see the
rays of your lamp stream into the darkness.'

'I need someone to herd my three dun cows, which are hornless,' said
the old man. 'If, for the space of a year, you can bring them back to
me each evening before the sun sets, I will make you payment that will
satisfy your soul.'

But here the girl looked up and answered quickly:

'Ill will come of it if he listens to your offer.'

'Counsel unsought is worth nothing,' replied, rudely, Ardan son of
Gorla. 'It would be little indeed that I am fit for if I cannot drive
three cows out to pasture and keep them safe from the wolves that may
come down from the mountains. Therefore, good father, I will take
service with you at daybreak, and ask no payment till the new year
dawns.'

Next morning the bell of the deer was not heard amongst the fern before
the maiden with the hair of gold had milked the cows, and led them in
front of the cottage where the old man and Ardan son of Gorla awaited
them.

'Let them wander where they will,' he said to his servant, 'and never
seek to turn them from their way, for well they know the fields of good
pasture. But take heed to follow always behind them, and suffer
nothing that you see, and nought that you hear, to draw you into
leaving them. Now go, and may wisdom go with you.'

As he ceased speaking he touched one of the cows on her forehead, and
she stepped along the path, with the two others one on each side. As
he had been bidden, behind them came Ardan son of Gorla, rejoicing in
his heart that work so easy had fallen to his lot. At the year's end,
thought he, enough money would lie in his pocket to carry him into far
countries where his sister might be, and, in the meanwhile, someone
might come past who could give him tidings of her.

Thus he spoke to himself, when his eyes fell on a golden cock and a
silver hen running swiftly along the grass in front of him. In a
moment the words that the old man had uttered vanished from his mind
and he gave chase. They were so near that he could almost seize their
tails, yet each time he felt sure he could catch them his fingers
closed on the empty air. At length he could run no more, and stopped
to breathe, while the cock and hen went on as before. Then he
remembered the cows, and, somewhat frightened, turned back to seek
them. Luckily they had not strayed far, and were quietly feeding on
the thick green grass.

Ardan son of Gorla was sitting under a tree, when he beheld a staff of
gold and a staff of silver doubling themselves in strange ways on the
meadow in front of him, and starting up he hastened towards them. He
followed them till he was tired, but he could not catch them, though
they seemed ever within his reach. When at last he gave up the quest
his knees trembled beneath him for very weariness, and glad was he to
see a tree growing close by lade with fruits of different sorts, of
which he ate greedily.

The sun was by now low in the heavens, and the cows left off feeding,
and turned their faces home again, followed by Ardan son of Gorla. At
the door of their stable the maiden stood awaiting them, and saying
nought to their herd, she sat down and began to milk. But it was not
milk that flowed into her pail; instead it was filled with a thin
stream of water, and as she rose up from the last cow the old man
appeared outside.

'Faithless one, you have betrayed your trust!' he said to Ardan son of
Gorla. 'Not even for one day could you keep true! Well, you shall
have your reward at once, that others may take warning from you.' And
waving his wand he touched with it the chest of the youth, who became a
pillar of stone.

Now Gorla of the Flocks and his wife were full of grief that they had
lost a son as well as a daughter, for no tidings had come to them of
Ardan their eldest born. At length, when two years and two days had
passed since the maiden had led her kids to feed on the mountain and
had been seen no more, Ruais, second son of Gorla, rose up one morning,
and said:

'Time is long without my sister and Ardan my brother. So I have vowed
to seek them wherever they may be.'

And his father answered:

'Better it had been if you had first asked my consent and that of your
mother; but as you have vowed so must you do.' Then he bade his wife
make a cake, but instead she made two, and offered Ruais his choice, as
she had done to Ardan. Like Ardan, Ruais chose the large, unblessed
cake, and set forth on his way, doing always, though he knew it not,
that which Ardan had done; so, needless is it to tell what befell him
till he too stood, a pillar of stone, on the hill behind the cottage,
so that all men might see the fate that awaited those who broke their
faith.

Another year and a day passed by, when Covan the Brown-haired, youngest
son of Gorla of the Flocks, one morning spake to his parents, saying:

'It is more than three years since my sister left us. My brothers have
also gone, no one know whither, and of us four none remains but I. No,
therefore, I long to seek them, and I pray you and my mother to place
no hindrance in my way.'

And his father answered:

'Go, then, and take our blessing with you.'

So the wife of Gorla of the Flocks baked two cakes, one large and one
small; and Covan took the small one, and started on his quest. In the
wood he felt hungry, for he had walked far, and he sat down to eat.
Suddenly a voice behind him cried:

'A bit for me! a bit for me!' And looking round he beheld the black
raven of the wilderness.

'Yes, you shall have a bit,' said Covan the Brown-haired; and breaking
off a piece he stretched it upwards to the raven, who ate it greedily.
Then Covan arose and went forward, till he saw the light from the
cottage streaming before him, and glad was he, for night was at hand.

'Maybe I shall find some work there,' he thought, 'and at least I shall
gain money to help me in my search; for who knows how far my sister and
my brothers may have wandered?'

The door stood open and he entered, and the old man gave him welcome,
and the golden- haired maiden likewise. As happened before, he was
offered by the old man to herd his cows; and, as she had done to his
brothers, the maiden counselled him to leave such work alone. But,
instead of answering rudely, like both Ardan and Ruais, he thanked her,
with courtesy, though he had no mind to heed her; and he listened to
the warnings and words of his new master.

Next day he set forth at dawn with the dun cows in front of him, and
followed patiently wherever they might lead him. On the way he saw the
gold cock and silver hen, which ran even closer to him than they had
done to his brothers. Sorely tempted, he longed to give them chase;
but, remembering in time that he had been bidden to look neither to the
right nor to the left, with a mighty effort he turned his eyes away.
Then the gold and silver staffs seemed to spring from the earth before
him, but this time also he overcame; and though the fruit from the
magic tree almost touched his mouth, he brushed it aside and went
steadily on.

That day the cows wandered father than ever they had done before, and
never stopped till they had reached a moor where the heather was
burning. The fire was fierce, but the cows took no heed, and walked
steadily through it, Covan the Brown-haired following them. Next they
plunged into a foaming river, and Covan plunged in after them, though
the water came high above his waist. On the other side of the river
lay a wide plain, and here the cows lay down, while Covan looked about
him. Near him was a house built of yellow stone, and from it came
sweet songs, and Covan listened, and his heart grew light within him.

While he was thus waiting there ran up to him a youth, scarcely able to
speak so swiftly had he sped; and he cried aloud:

'Hasten, hasten, Covan the Brown-haired, for your cows are in the corn,
and you must drive them out!'

'Nay,' said Covan smiling, 'it had been easier for you to have driven
them out than to come here to tell me.' And he went on listening to
the music.

Very soon the same youth returned and cried with panting breath:

'Out upon you, Covan son of Gorla, that you stand there agape. For our
dogs are chasing your cows, and you must drive them off!'

'Nay, then,' answered Covan as before, 'it had been easier for you to
call off your dogs than to come here to tell me.' And he stayed where
he was till the music ceased.

Then he turned to look for the cows, and found them all lying in the
place where he had left them; but when they saw Covan they rose up and
walked homewards, taking a different path to that they had trod in the
morning. This time they passed over a plain so bare that a pin could
not have lain there unnoticed, yet Covan beheld with surprise a foal
and its mother feeding there, both as fat as if they had pastured on
the richest grass. Further on they crossed another plain, where the
grass was thick and green, but on it were feeding a foal and its
mother, so lean that you could have counted their ribs. And further
again the path led them by the shores of a lake whereon were floating
two boats; one full of gay and happy youths, journeying to the land of
the Sun, and another with grim shapes clothed in black, travelling to
the land of Night.

'What can these things mean?' said Covan to himself, as he followed his
cows.

Darkness now fell, the wind howled, and torrents of rain poured upon
them. Covan knew not how far they might yet have to go, or indeed if
they were on the right road. He could not even see his cows, and his
heart sank lest, after all, he should have failed to bring them safely
back. What was he to do?

He waited thus, for he could go neither forwards nor backwards, till he
felt a great friendly paw laid on his shoulder.

'My cave is just here,' said the Dog of Maol- mor, of whom Covan son of
Gorla had heard much. 'Spend the night here, and you shall be fed on
the flesh of lamb, and shall lay aside three-thirds of thy weariness.'

And Covan entered, and supped, and slept, and in the morning rose up a
new man.

'Farewell, Covan,' said the Dog of Maol-mor. 'May success go with you,
for you took what I had to give and did not mock me. So, when danger
is your companion, wish for me, and I will not fail you.'

At these words the Dog of Maol-mor disappeared into the forest, and
Covan went to seek his cows, which were standing in the hollow where
the darkness had come upon them.

At the sight of Covan the Brown-haired they walked onwards, Covan
following ever behind them, and looking neither to the right nor to the
left. All that day they walked, and when night fell they were in a
barren plain, with only rocks for shelter.

'We must rest here as best we can,' spoke Covan to the cows. And they
bowed their heads and lay down in the place where they stood. Then
came the black raven of Corri- nan-creag, whose eyes never closed, and
whose wings never tired; and he fluttered before the face of Covan and
told him that he knew of a cranny in the rock where there was food in
plenty, and soft moss for a bed.

'Go with me thither,' he said to Covan, 'and you shall lay aside
three-thirds of your weariness, and depart in the morning refreshed,'
and Covan listened thankfully to his words, and at dawn he rose up to
seek his cows.

'Farewell!' cried the black raven. 'You trusted me, and took all I had
to offer in return for the food you once gave me. So if in time to
come you need a friend, wish for me, and I will not fail you.'

As before, the cows were standing in the spot where he had left them,
ready to set out. All that day they walked, on and on, and on, Covan
son of Gorla walking behind them, till night fell while they were on
the banks of a river.

'We can go no further,' spake Covan to the cows. And they began to eat
the grass by the side of the stream, while Covan listened to them and
longed for some supper also, for they had travelled far, and his limbs
were weak under him. Then there was a swish of water at his feet, and
out peeped the head of the famous otter Doran-donn of the stream.

'Trust to me and I will find you warmth and shelter,' said Doran-donn;
'and for food fish in plenty.' And Covan went with him thankfully, and
ate and rested, and laid aside three-thirds of his weariness. At
sunrise he left his bed of dried sea-weed, which had floated up with
the tide, and with a grateful heart bade farewell to Doran-donn.

'Because you trusted me and took what I had to offer, you have made me
your friend, Covan,' said Doran-donn. 'And if you should be in danger,
and need help from one who can swim a river or dive beneath a wave,
call to me and I will come to you.' Then he plunged into the stream,
and was seen no more.

The cows were standing ready in the place where Covan had left them,
and they journeyed on all that day, till, when night fell, they reached
the cottage. Joyful indeed was the old man as the cows went into their
stables, and he beheld the rich milk that flowed into the pail of the
golden-haired maiden with the silver comb.

'You have done well indeed,' he said to Covan son of Gorla. 'And now,
what would you have as a reward?'

'I want nothing for myself,' answered Covan the Brown-haired; 'but I
ask you to give me back my brothers and my sister who have been lost to
us for three years past. You are wise and know the lore of fairies and
of witches; tell me where I can find them, and what I must do to bring
them to life again.'

The old man looked grave at the words of Covan.