The Taggerung (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  As Alkanet leaned across to pour, Cregga whispered, ‘Come on, friend, smile. It doesn’t hurt to look happy!’

  The Sister was mystified as to how Cregga knew she was wearing a frown. She tried a smile as she filled the tankard. The blind badger smiled back and tapped her paw. ‘Thank you, Alkanet. That’s much better!’

  Soft perfumes of dog rose, vetchling, red clover and nightdewed grass lingered upon the still night air with hardly a breeze to disperse them. Rillflag strode energetically north on the old path, glancing up at the star-pierced vaults of the skies above. Slung upon his back was a bag of provisions; in one paw he held the spearstaff, the other rested beneath his cloak cradle, protecting the sleeping babe therein. He breathed deeply, listening to the distant tolling of Redwall Abbey’s twin bells, Matthias and Methuselah, sounding the midnight hour.

  Deyna moved slightly in slumber and gave a small growl. Rillflag felt a shudder of delight course through him, and he hummed an old otter tune to his son. Life was good. So good!

  * * *

  3

  Sawney Rath chose his spot carefully. Within a half-day’s march of the ford, he camped the clan on the broad stream’s north side. Morning sunlight filtered through the trees as the band of assorted vermin sat, weary and miserable after their forced march from the coastal scrublands. Clad in his usual plain leather tabard, belted by a strap fashioned from fine brass links into which was thrust his amber-hilted knife with the sapphire pommel stone, Sawney, however, looked vital and eager, ready for anything. The only decoration he had was the Juskarath clan mark, a black stripe of dye running from skull to nosetip with two lines of red dots running parallel on either side. These moved as his mobile face did while he issued his orders.

  ‘Rawback, you stay here with the others. Grissoul, Eefera, Dagrab, Felch, Ribrow and Vallug Bowbeast, you come with me. Remember this, Rawback, for I’ll hold you responsible. No fires, not even a wisp of smoke. Any food must be eaten as it is, no cooking. No tents or lean-to shelters, or sleeping either. Stay alert on your paws, everybeast. We’ll be coming back this way fast when we do, so be ready to move. Antigra, Wherrul, I want no sign left that Juskarath have been here. You’ll be in charge of cleaning up pawprints and tracks. When we return with the Taggerung we travel back west to the shores. I’ve no need to tell you what’ll happen to anybeast who disobeys my commands, or tries to cross me. Understood?’

  There followed a jangling of bracelets and earrings as the vermin touched their left ears in silence, the clan sign of understanding. Sawney’s quick, vicious eyes roved back and forth over them, and then, without flinching, he drew his dagger and nicked the point against his own left ear in a challenging gesture.

  ‘See how easily I shed my blood. I am Sawney Rath, and I can shed your blood far more easily. Keep that in mind!’ He nodded to the six he had picked. ‘Come on, let’s go and get a Taggerung for our clan!’

  Rillflag was astounded. He was muttering to himself as he laid little Deyna down on a bed of soft mosses by the streambank.

  ‘Hoho, what a riverdog you’re goin’ t’be! Not only got that back wet in the runnin’ water, but you nearly swam away from your ole dad. I never knew a cub your size that’d swim right off. Mhera wailed enough t’frighten the birds when her back was wetted, but nary a sound out o’ you, Deyna!’

  He tickled the otterbabe’s stomach roughly. Deyna doubled over and bit his father’s paw with tiny white milk teeth. Rillflag roared with laughter as he released his paw.

  ‘Hahahahohoho! Proper liddle shark you are. Lucky there weren’t any tasty fishes swimmin’ in the water, or you’d ’ave ate ’em all, eh, son!’

  He sat awhile, fondly watching the cub, trying to remember an otter streamsong as the babe’s eyes began to close in the warm mid day sun.

  ‘Ho if I was a stream I’d chance to go,

  A racin’ to the sea,

  Yonder way fresh waters flow,

  An’ that’s the way for me.

  Leapin’ an’ boundin’,

  Splashin’ an’ soundin’,

  Rudder round rock an’ log,

  With pike an’ trout,

  I’d frisk about,

  A good ole riverdog!

  Through leafy glades the waters call,

  Across the open meadow,

  An’ when I sight a waterfall,

  Why down will go me head oh!’

  Deyna’s eyes flickered as he fought against the slumbers which threatened to overcome him and he yawned aloud, giving out a squeaking sound. Rillflag turned his attention to the shallows, where movement had caught his eye.

  ‘Hah, I see watershrimp. What do you say, liddle matey? Shall we catch some to take back to Redwall? You stay there an’ watch your ole dad. I’ll show you the way ’tis done!’

  Sawney crouched behind a broad elm trunk on the other side of the stream, Grissoul at his side. He pulled the Seer close, whispering in her ear, ‘That’s no Taggerung, he’s a full grown otter. What do we do now?’

  ‘That one is no part of my vision,’ the vixen Seer whispered back. ‘Thou canst do what thou likes with him; he is none of our concern.’

  Felch the fox, Dagrab the rat and Vallug Bowbeast were hiding on the other side of the stream, behind a high-banked bend. Sawney slid back towards them, staying on the opposite bank until he was out of the big otter’s eyeline. Then he waved to Vallug, attracting his attention. Sawney pointed to Rillflag and made a gesture with both paws, as if firing a bow. Vallug nodded. It was a simple task for a skilled bowbeast.

  Standing waist-deep in the water, the otter straightened up with a double pawful of watershrimp. Too late he saw the ferret standing on top of the bank with bow drawn and a shaft notched on to the string. Vallug Bowbeast could hit a dragonfly on the wing; the big otter standing still in the stream presented an easy target. He fired and Rillflag lay dead in the water, an arrow in his heart.

  Felch and Dagrab dashed along the bank towards Rillflag’s body. The fox pulled up sharply, almost tripping over the otterbabe which lay on the mossy bankside. He reached for the little creature, scrabbling to pick it up, but Deyna growled and bit his paw, drawing blood. Felch yowled and grabbed at the axe he carried in a shoulder strap.

  ‘Yowch! Yer liddle savage. Bite me, would yer?’

  Sawney was crashing through the shallows on the far side of the ford when he saw Felch raise the axe. Quick as lightning Sawney threw his knife, and Felch lay screaming beside the otterbabe, his right paw fixed to the axe handle by Sawney’s blade. The ferret Chieftain was across the ford in an instant. Stamping down on Felch’s wrist he pulled the knife free, hissing dangerously in the fox’s agonised face, ‘’Tis your lucky day, Felch. I let you live. But if you even look at that babe the wrong way again I’ll carve you a new mouth, right across your stupid throat!’

  Sawney picked up Rillflag’s cloak from the bank and wrapped the otterbabe in it, chuckling as it snapped at his paws. ‘You’re the one all right!’

  Vallug nodded at the slain Rillflag. ‘Warra you want doin’ with ’im, Chief?’

  Sawney was happy. He smiled at the bowbeast and winked. ‘Push him out into centre stream. He’ll float down to the sea and never be seen again. Good work, Vallug. Great shot!’

  The ends of the cloak trailing in the water, Sawney waded across the ford to where his Seer was waiting.

  ‘So then, Grissoul, is this what we came seeking? Tell me.’

  The Seer opened the cloak and inspected Deyna. She held up the infant’s right paw, showing Sawney the marked pad. ‘See!’

  The four-petal mark was pink and clear, like a tiny blossom. Sawney looked anxiously at Grissoul. ‘Well, is it really him?’

  For answer the Seer took Sawney’s paw and placed it against the otterbabe’s footpaws. Then she spoke.

  ‘Zann Juskarath Taggerung!’

  Sawney recognised the ancient words, and translated them.

  ‘Mighty warrior of our clan. Taggerung!’

  Rawback the
stoat climbed down from his lookout perch in an oak. ‘Break camp, Sawney’s comin’. Get ready t’move fast!’

  Swift and silent the clan began breaking camp, though there was not much for them to do other than pick up their belongings. Shortly thereafter Sawney and the six vermin came hurrying in. The ferret made it clear he was in no mood to linger or display the prize he had taken.

  ‘Stir yourselves, come on, move! Move!’

  He stood watching as they packed gear on their backs and hastened to obey. To add extra menace to his demands he embellished the facts a little.

  ‘If you don’t move sharpish there’ll be a horde of Redwall warriors on your tails before noon, and I hear they don’t take prisoners. ’Tis your own loss if you don’t keep up!’

  Checking the last ones from the deserted campsite, Sawney walked backwards as he followed them, the better to observe the two who were bringing up the rear. Wherrul and Antigra bent to their task of clearing up the tracks, dusting over the ground with clumps of groundsel which they had twined with stalks of strong-smelling wild watermint to dispel the vermin odours. Antigra could sense Sawney’s eyes upon her. She kept her gaze down and her back bent, one paw steadying the baby stoat who scrabbled about in the sling upon her back. Like Sawney, the pair walked backwards, following the ferret Chieftain as he left the camp and took the trail in the wake of the Juskarath clan.

  Half asleep on his back in the cloak hammock, Deyna gave a growl. Antigra heard it, and raised her eyes slightly. Sawney was staring at her, patting his precious bundle.

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve got the Taggerung. Do you know how to greet him in the old Juska tongue? Zann Juskarath Taggerung, that’s what you say. Let me hear you say it, Antigra.’

  Antigra’s eyes blazed hate as she spat out the phrase. ‘Zann Juskarath Taggerung!’

  The smile on Sawney’s face was far more fearsome than any hateful glance she could give. Antigra felt herself tremble as he drew the blade from his belt.

  ‘Zann. Great warrior. That is one of our new Taggerung’s titles by right. I won’t have another creature taking the name. You will call your brat Gruven, after his foolish father. It’s either that or I bury you both here. Take my word for it!’

  Antigra lowered her eyes, bowing to Sawney Rath’s will. ‘Gruven he shall be.’

  A moment later the camp lay deserted, the dust motes drifting down on to the sun-warmed ground. There was not a trace of anybeast in the silent glade. It was as if Sawney Rath and his Juskarath clan had never been there.

  Ten times the sun had set over Redwall Abbey since Rillflag’s ill-fated journey. Old Hoarg, the ancient dormouse Gatekeeper, held his lantern high. A brawny Skipper of Otters and eight of his crew entered. Hoarg pulled up the cowl of his habit as damp spots fell from the dark cloudbanked night sky.

  ‘Hmm, that rain is goin’ to get heavy. Wouldn’t surprise me if a storm broke soon. Well, Skip, still no sign of ’em, eh?’

  The big otter placed his tattooed paws against the gate and slammed it shut, knocking down the long wooden bar and locking it. He shouldered his javelin wearily and prepared to follow his crewbeasts up to the Abbey. ‘Not a trace, matey,’ he called back to Hoarg. ‘Not a single flippin’ whisker. An’ this rain ain’t goin’ to improve our chances tomorrow!’

  As the crew seated themselves round a table in the kitchen a flash of lightning illuminated the stairway to Great Hall. Skipper waited until he heard a distant rumble of thunder. ‘’Twill hit ’ere afore midnight, I reckon.’

  Friar Bobb hovered anxiously about a fat young squirrel who was pushing a food-laden trolley into the kitchen.

  ‘Watch what you’re doing, Broggle. You’ll spill the watershrimp and hotroot soup. And mind that dip in the floor, you dozy beast!’

  Skipper turned his gaze on the hapless Broggle, lowering his eyebrows and showing a row of clenched teeth in mock menace. ‘Is somebeast spillin’ good watershrimp’n’hotroot soup?’

  Broggle pushed the trolley to the table, trembling. ‘N-n-n-no, sir. I ai-ai-ain’t spilled a drop, sir!’

  Skipper’s face broke into a huge grin as he hugged the young kitchen assistant to him. ‘Well done, bucko. Serve it up an’ have some y’self!’

  Broggle shook his head vigorously as Skipper released him. ‘N-n-no, sir, ’tis too ’o-’o-’ot for me. I m-made it jus’ the w-way you like it!’

  The soup was served, with onion bread to dip in it and special cold mint and dandelion tea to cool the otters’ mouths. Friar Bobb placed another bowl on the table, this one containing extra hotroot essence, for those who liked their soup good and fiery, which the ottercrew did. When the soup was finished Broggle served dessert: an immense heavy fruitcake, with blackberry wine to wash it down.

  Cregga and Foremole Brull joined them at the table. The Badgermum had only the usual question to ask.

  ‘Still no trace of Rillflag and the little one?’

  Skipper shook his big scarred head. ‘Sorry, marm. Ten days now, an’ anybeast’d think they vanished off the face of the earth. Where’s Filorn an’ the liddle maid Mhera? They usually comes down t’see me.’

  Foremole drummed on the tabletop with her heavy claws. ‘They’m oop in ee room, zurr, a grieven an’ a weepen sumthin’ turrible, pore h’otters.’

  ‘They heard the main outer gate shutting, you see, Skip,’ Cregga explained. ‘Now if Rillflag and the babe were with you they would have come straight up to see Filorn and Mhera. So they know there’s been no sign of them. No point in coming down just to hear bad news, is there?’

  Skipper put aside his food. Blinking hard, he turned away and sniffed. ‘My ’eart an’ paws goes out to ’em, marm. Nobeast could ’ave searched ’arder than me’n’the crew ’ere. I feel as if I knows every blade of grass ’twixt ’ere an’ the ford, every rock’n’boulder. I’d give my rudder to find ’em alive an’ well!’

  Cregga put out a paw and touched the otter’s craggy face. ‘I know you would, Skipper. You’re a goodbeast and a true friend. ’Tis a sad thing to say, but perhaps we may never find them. Maybe someday . . .’

  Skipper nodded. ‘Aye, marm, I know what you mean. Maybe someday somebeast will come across their bones. Even then we won’t know the full truth. Be that as it may, me’n’the crew’ll be out searchin’ on the morrow, storm or fair. Rillflag was a matey o’ mine, an’ if’n he is dead then I’ll find his bones, just to give peace o’ mind to pore Filorn an’ young Mhera.’ Skipper’s paw sought the javelin he had placed nearby, and his eyes grew hard as flint. ‘But if’n Rillflag and the babe was murdered, I’ll find the scumbeast who did it, on my oath I will. There won’t be enough of ’im to leave bones when I’m done with the coward. Nobeast I know could’ve bested that otter face to face. He would’ve fought twice as fierce, protectin’ the liddle cub. I wager you an acorn to an oak Rillflag was murdered by ambush!’

  Sister Alkanet had been listening from the stairs of Great Hall. Now she entered the kitchen and came to the table.

  ‘I’ve got an idea that might work. Why don’t you stop searching for Rillflag and the babe? Concentrate on scouring Mossflower for any creature you find there. Bring them back to Redwall. We can question them here; somebeast surely must have seen or heard something!’

  Broggle appeared with his trolley to clear the platters away. ‘Th-th-that’s what I’d do, too. G-g-good idea, S-Sister!’

  Skipper shrugged. ‘Well, we’ve tried everythin’ else an’ got nowheres. Maybe yore idea’ll work, Sister.’

  Cregga rose from the table, politely stifling a yawn. ‘As you wish, then. Do you need any help from us, Skipper?’

  The otter stroked his rudder-like tail reflectively. ‘If this storm’s blowed itself out by dawn we’ll start the search for anybeast roamin’ Mossflower then. Aye, marm, we could do with some Abbeybeasts to lend a paw. I never refuse a willin’ offer. If’n they want to volunteer I won’t say no!’

  ‘S-sir, I-I’d like to vo-vo-volunteer!’

  Friar Bobb shook h
is head. ‘Your job is here with me in the kitchens, Broggle, not scouring the woodlands.’

  The blind Badgermum reached out and ruffled Broggle’s ears. ‘We can’t refuse a willing heart, Friar. Let him go.’

  Skipper chuckled, pressing his big hardwood javelin into the young squirrel’s chubby paw. ‘That’s the spirit, matey. You’n’me between us, we’ll be a right pair o’ terrors!’

  Broggle nearly overbalanced trying to lift the big javelin. ‘Any v-vermin’d better w-watch out for us, s-sir!’

  Cregga began to feel her way to the door, smiling broadly. ‘Aye, Broggle, woe to the villains who run into you, but take good care of Skipper. He’s not a Redwall Warrior like you.’

  Thunder exploded over Great Hall just as a vivid lightning flash illuminated the place in sudden white light. Cregga ran her paw along the walls, each stone familiar as she made her way towards the dormitory stairs. Over the din of the rain battering against the high windows, the badger’s keen ears detected another noise. It was the sound of somebeast weeping aloud, over by the far wall, where the great Redwall tapestry hung. Silently the blind Badgermum moved in that direction, holding out her paw until it came into contact with the tear-wet face of a young ottermaid. Drawing her close, Cregga held her comfortingly.

  ‘Mhera, my pretty, I thought you were upstairs with your mother. What are you doing down here all alone?’