We came to the great waste, and we skirted it as we had been told. On we went, and we came to the river, the waters of which were cold as snow. We turned our faces toward the place from which the river flowed until we saw a mountain that was all covered with forest.
Deep and ancient and silent was that upward-growing forest. So frightened of its silence were we that we never let go of each other’s hands. For days we went seeking the cave, and at last we heard cries—they might have been from birds, they might have been from the winds—that said, “Who comes to trouble the rest of Chiron the ancient Centaur?”
We went toward where the cries came from and we saw the mouth of the cave. We mounted the track that led to it, and in fear we went within.
And there was Chiron the ancient Centaur. His head and his breast, his shoulders and his arms were a man’s, and his body and his feet and his tail were a horse’s. His great beard was white, and his horse’s body was shrunken, but his eyes were like pools in which there are living fires. The power of all the kings in the world was in his eyes.
Chiron lay beside a fire in which fragrant woods burned. He turned his eyes upon it, and we heard cries as if the winds in the cave made them, “Who comes to trouble the rest of Chiron the ancient Centaur?”
I went down on my knees and I prayed him, “O Chiron, wisest of all who deal in enchantments,” I said, “there is one named Zabulun, an evil Enchanter, who pursues us. We have come to beg you to tell us how we may escape him.”
“Not to me should you have come,” the voice of Chiron boomed out. “What have I to do with men who are as far from wisdom as Zabulun? Only one who is like him may strive with him. Go to another, go to another.”
“To whom shall we go, O Centaur?” I prayed.
“Hermes Trismegistus in Egypt is nearer to Zabulun than I am. Go to him and he may tell you how to baffle Zabulun. Tell him that you have seen the Phœnix in the cave of Chiron the Centaur.”