The Search for Truth (18 page)

Erec signed his name on the pad and the words cut deep into the paper. Soon, light beamed from them into the room. Erec slipped easily through the membrane on the doorway and into the gleaming towers of the Labor Society building. He hiked his jacket hood over his head and walked, head hung down, straight to the elevator banks. People wearing business suits and checking their watches bustled around him. Nobody seemed to notice him.

People mingled near the elevator bank, but Erec was the only one who hopped on a glass elevator down to the basement. When he stepped off, he darted out the back door.

He knew the way across the grassy field to the hillside. After passing the tombstone that bore the name Jack, he climbed the path up to Al's Well.

Al was standing outside the stone wall, waiting. He hitched his pants up. “Ya better get dis done fast, kid,” he said. “Dem Harpies been flying around here every day, keeping watch. Look.” Al pointed,
and Erec saw what looked like a big bird in the distance. “Come on.”

Erec followed Al into the enclosure. The usual stench hit him, and he coughed until he caught his breath. He wondered if he'd ever get used to it. Flies buzzed around him and he batted them away. Before him was the closed shower curtain ring. “Go on, fast,” Al said, waving his plunger toward Erec. “You think dis smells bad, you should check out Ed's Well. Ed's my brother.” He pulled a cord and the white curtains swung open, revealing Al's Well, which looked exactly like a shiny white toilet. A row of servants fell to their knees and bowed their heads to the grass, arms before them.

Al motioned Erec forward, and he knelt before the porcelain commode. Green steam from the toilet bowl swirled around his face. After a glance up at Al, he plunged his arm into the liquid filling the wide latrinelike hole.

The mist was cold, and the water had the strange sensation of freezing and burning at the same time, painlessly. Erec was glad he wasn't swimming in it this time. He fished around awhile, hoping that something would go wrong and no paper would be there. What would it be this time? What danger would he encounter?

A warm paper alighted upon his fingers and he grabbed it. He pulled it out, but waited a moment before looking. Was it too late to throw it back in?

Al said softly, “I'd look now, kid. Not a great idea to hang out here.”

Erec examined the dripping paper. “Take the Twrch Trwyth from Olwen Cullwich and seal the five Awen.” He flung the paper toward Al, bewildered. “Huh? It doesn't make sense.”

“It will,” Al said gravely. He shook his head. “I didn't think dose things were real.” He looked at the paper and gave Erec's shoulder a pat. “Wow. Well, good luck, kid.” He didn't sound confident, not one bit.

Erec read it again. “The Twrch Trwyth? Is that like a Truth Torch?”

A chilling shriek shot through the air, making him jump. Then, in a second, the paper in his hand was swept up by the claw of a Harpy.

T
HE HARPY'S BIRDLIKE
black eyes glared at Erec from under her thick black eyebrows. Sleek black hair was yanked into a bun so tight, it looked like her face was stretched back from her beak of a nose. Long black wings flapped around her vulture body. Her thin black lips curled as she spoke. “You're in for it now, Erec Rex.” She screeched and flapped away, taking Erec's quest with her.

Erec ran after her, reaching and jumping helplessly. Then he
dropped his hands and hung his head. “Al, I don't remember what it said.”

Al was digging in his pockets. After pulling out a flashlight, wrenches, hammers, and a frilly pink handbag (“Theirs,” he said, looking embarrassed and tossing it down the toilet bowl), he dug out a pencil and paper. “I remember. Let's see,” he wrote as he spoke. “‘Take the Twrch Trwyth from Olwen Cullwich and seal the five Awen.' There.” He handed it to Erec. “That should do it.”

Erec looked at him in awe. “How did you remember that? It looks like you even got the spelling right.”

“I'd hope so,” Al said. “Everyone knows about the Twrch Trwyth and the Awen. Not hard to remember that. Now why don't you shoo on out of here before that Harpy tells the others where you are. A few of them together could carry you off.”

Erec thanked Al and darted through the Labor Society into the shop where Bethany and Jack waited. “We gotta get to the castle, fast,” he said.

The three of them ran back, trying to stay under trees to keep from being spotted overhead. When they made it into Bethany's mansion attached to the Castle Alypium, they slammed the door and fell onto the couches, panting.

 

“I've never heard of it,” Bethany said. They sprawled on beanbags under the huge chandelier in her study that was lined with packed bookshelves. Jam was already there with trays of lunch and desserts.

Jack was puzzled. “I thought the Twrch Trwyth was some old story about a magical wild boar. But I've never heard of Olwen Cullwich or the five Awen.”

“Al said everybody knows about them. Maybe I'll have to go back there and ask Al about it.” That idea didn't appeal to him. It seemed the least safe place he could go. “A wild boar? So now am I supposed
to go find a wild boar somewhere? Maybe someone has it locked up, like the bee-hind.”

He handed the paper to the butler. “Jam, do you know what any of this means? It's my next quest.”

Jam took the paper with a white-gloved hand. He raised it to his eyes with pinched lips and a serious expression, but as soon as he read it he began to cough and choke. “But, young sir, this is ridiculous. The Twrch Trwyth? The five Awen? It's all make-believe.”

“You've heard of them?” Erec motioned for Jam to sit with them. The butler looked at the couch, which was all the way across the room, then genteelly lowered himself onto a beanbag chair and folded his hands on his lap. “I'll tell you what I know,” he said with his British accent, “but I never thought any of it was true.

“Living in the Castle Alypium, I've heard a lot of legends. One was about a wild boar called the Twrch Trwyth. Twrch used to mean boar, in an old Celtic language. But Trwyth—nobody knows anymore what that meant. Maybe it was the boar's name. Maybe it was something the boar owned. But the word sounds a lot like ‘truth,' and I wonder if that is what it might have meant then, too.

“The Trwyth Boar, as he was also called, modom and sirs, was supposedly alive many hundreds of years before I was born. They say he once had been a great king of Ireland who had made the Fates angry, so they turned him into a beast. But he became the king of wild boars and was noble and proud as such. He stayed just as regal and kept company with some of the kings of Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. Even King Arthur was acquainted with him, they say.

“The Trwyth Boar had an odd habit of carrying a comb and scissors locked into the tuft of hair between his ears. It was said that was the easiest place for him to keep them, and he wanted them with him at all times. For these were not an ordinary comb and scissors, of course. They held great magic. The golden comb would show its bearer the ultimate
truth of anything that he or she saw, letting its carrier always know what to do and who to trust. And the magical scissors could fashion anything into anything else. Like a dress made of money, or a house made of leaves. A few snips and the wished-for thing assembled itself.”

Erec perked up when he heard that. He would love to find that comb and scissors. They sounded as good as the Serving Tray, maybe even better.

Jam continued, “Of course, it was only a matter of time before someone decided they had to have the Trwyth Boar's comb and scissors for their own. Soon, the boar was no longer able to consort with kings. He spent the rest of his life on the run. But no matter how powerful the hunter, how clever or persistent, the Trwyth Boar was always able to escape. The boar lived a very long time, as things with magical powers often do. Many hunters wasted their whole lives searching for him and chasing him. And most of these hunters met with terrible, untimely deaths.

“Until finally, there was a great hunter named Cullwich. He had fallen in love with the daughter of a giant, even though he knew the giant would never agree to their marriage. But the giant surprised him. ‘Find the Twrch Trwyth,' he said, ‘and bring me its comb and scissors. Then you may have my daughter's hand in marriage.'

“For many years Cullwich hunted the boar. It was terribly difficult. The boar was not only smarter than most men, but it also had the help of its magical comb and scissors. However, unlike the other hunters, Cullwich was not searching for the Trwyth Boar because of greed. He was searching out of love. This gave him some unique abilities as well. And the Trwyth Boar could see he was a good man and did not want to harm him.

“Finally, Cullwich caught the Trwyth Boar and took its comb and scissors. Some say it was Cullwich's heart that led him along the right path. Others say that the boar was tired of running and finally gave it
up willingly, because he liked Cullwich better than the other hunters. But, in either case, Cullwich got the golden comb and magical scissors. And he snipped off some of the boar's hair to carry them in.”

“Did he give them to the giant?” Bethany asked, perched so far forward she was about to topple out of her beanbag chair.

“It took a while for Cullwich to return to the giant,” Jam said. “And when he did, he saw the situation in a new light. He was carrying the comb, so he could look into the hearts of the giant and his daughter. He realized that the giant was evil. He would cause great destruction if he had the comb and scissors. So he knew he could not give it to him.”

“What about the girl?” Bethany asked.

“Ah, yes. The girl. Well, Cullwich still liked what he saw. She was pure of heart and loved him, too. So he gave her a choice between him and her father. It was up to her. She chose to be with Cullwich. So Cullwich used the scissors to cut up the giant's cave while he slept, and it fashioned itself into a prison. And the two set off to find the Boar again.”

“Why did they want to find it?” Jack asked.

“That was how Cullwich was. He no longer needed the magical instruments so he decided to return them. Many people would have used them for power or greed, but not him.”

Erec's ears reddened, and he felt ashamed, knowing he would have kept the magical things for himself. “Did they find him?”

“Yes, but it took a long while,” Jam said, “and by this time, without his magic, the Trwyth Boar was dying. He no longer wanted them back, said it was too late for him. But Cullwich was a smart chap. He was afraid the comb and scissors might fall into the wrong hands. So he took them to a powerful druid sorcerer, someone like Vulcan himself, and had them shrunk down, with the lock of the Boar's hair, to a tiny size and placed into a small vial that he would wear on a
chain around his neck. He wanted the vial to be shaped like the Twrch Trwyth, to honor the boar.”

Jam saw that his audience was smiling, and he held up a hand. “But this is where the story gets strange. They say the druid recognized, when he was working on the vial, that the powers coming from the small objects were too strong. They had grown much greater when he shrunk them. When they were close together in the vial, the scissors' and comb's powers combined to make a new thing altogether. What he was making was fast becoming the most powerful object that ever existed.

“The druid walked around his workshop, amazed. Everything he brought the vial near glowed, its magic doubled, tripled. That was when he invented a plan. He would keep the vial for himself, tie it to the five Awen, and rule the universe.”

“What are the Awen?” Erec asked. He had forgotten, until he heard that word, that this had to do with his fourth quest. Now it felt ridiculous. He had to find this Trwyth Boar himself? It was dead, Jam had said. And finding that old vial didn't sound any easier.

“The Awen,” Jam said, folding his fingers together, “are five of the greatest mysteries of the world, with some of the heaviest known magic. They are located along what is called the Path of Wonder. Awen is an old druidic word, which I believe means ‘mystery, enlightenment, inspiration.' It also meant ‘great poetry,' which they believed carried vast magic as well.”

Jam thrummed his fingers on his knees. “So this druid saw how the vial's power had increased beyond imagination and how it made all other magical things near it grow tremendously in strength. He was greedy and decided that he would use this to make himself more powerful than anything that had ever existed. The druid was brilliant, and was able to fit the boar-shaped vial with five openings, each of which would only respond to the magical signals of one of the five Awen—the greatest
magical things he knew. When all five Awen were plugged into it, each of their powers would grow intensely to form a magical shield that would let him control the world. He would set out along the Path of Wonder, he decided, find the Awen, and become all-powerful.”

And this is what I am supposed to do? Erec thought.

“Well,” Jam said, “needless to say, the plan did not work out as he wished. He collected the Awen, but after he plugged just a few of them into the boar vial, its power overcame him, killing him instantly. His wife did not want the vial around, as you can imagine, and she returned it to Cullwich. They say he wore it around his neck until just before he died, then passed it down to his eldest daughter, who passed it to her son.” Jam shrugged. “So that's the story. But it's all make-believe.”

Erec looked at the paper in his hand.
Take the Twrch Trwyth from Olwen Cullwich and seal the five Awen.
He wasn't so sure.

 

King Piter's eyebrows slowly rose in the west wing dining hall that night. “You are joking, I am sure.”

Erec pitched the paper toward him, and the king read it. “I can't believe this. It's impossible.” His brow darkened with anger. “I'm going to have a word with the Fates, if they think this is funny. I mean, our quests were tough. For one of them I had to build this castle by magic. Each of us built our own. But this…”

Erec was impressed that the king had built this castle himself. He still could not do any magic with his remote except move small things a short distance. And he might not even be able to do that anymore, as it had been so long since he had practiced. He wished he had time to spend with the Hermit to learn. He was sure the Hermit would be a far better teacher than Pimster Peebles had been. At least that was one good decision King Piter had made.

The king stared at the paper and scratched his chin. “This just
can't be. Hermit?” he called, although the Hermit was not in the room. “Can I trouble you for a moment?”

Suddenly the Hermit was sitting in the chair next to the king's, wearing a small loincloth and a huge grin. “You may continue to trouble me for a while yet.” He laughed at his own joke.

The king pushed the paper toward him. “Erec drew this from Al's Well. It can't be right, can it?”

The Hermit glanced at the paper, unimpressed. “If he drew it, he blew it.” He chortled, finding himself funny as usual, and soon was clutching his sides.

“If he found it, he'll pound it. If he picked it, he'll lick it.” The Hermit then stuck a thin finger into his nose, picked something out, and put his tongue on it, all the time laughing as if it were a great joke.

“Eew.”

“Yuck.” Erec, Bethany, and Jack all doubled over, both disgusted and laughing.

Bethany held her palms out in front of her face as if she were trying to not see more. She whispered to Erec, “Ugh! That's the first thing I've seen him eat.”

Jack made a loud spluttering noise.

The king frowned, ignoring them all. “Listen, how many people have tried to do this, to take the Twrch Trwyth from Olwen Cullwich and seal the five Awen? They've all died.”

That made Erec stop laughing. “Huh?”

“Yes.” The king was not pleased. “Many sorcerers, far more powerful than you, have lost their lives in this pursuit. And they spent years preparing first. Decades.” He turned sadly to the Hermit. “How can we let him do this?”

“Let him?” the Hermit asked. “The choice is his. But he has something those sorcerers did not have.”

“Oh, really?” King Piter asked.

The Hermit nodded. “The right reasons.”

“He does?” Bethany asked, chiming in. “That sounds like the story of the Twrch Trwyth. Only Cullwich could capture the boar because he was doing it for the right reasons.”

“Easy enough to say,” King Piter scoffed. “But Erec not only has to find the Trwyth Boar vial, he must connect it to the five most powerful objects in the world, and survive what happens when their powers all amplify.”

It didn't sound encouraging, Erec thought. He would have to be a fool to attempt that.