The Taggerung (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  But this time it was a mouse standing in the corridors of his mind. A mouse? Instinctively he knew it to be no ordinary mouse. It was a male, a warrior, clad in battle armour, bearing a sword that was as beautiful as it was fearsome. He knew that if ever he stood against this mouse, he would meet his match. A warrior indeed! But for all that, the mouse smiled upon him, like a father meeting a beloved son. The mouse warrior spoke but a single word.

  ‘Deyna!’

  Then he was gone, faded into the dusty citadel of dreams.

  Blue-grey woodsmoke from campfires drifted between the sun and shade of woodland trees. Covering his eyes with a paw, Sawney Rath noted the position of the sun standing in the sky at high noon. He turned his gaze on to the two creatures entering the clearing and spoke to the stoat Antigra without even deigning to look at her.

  ‘You see, I told you. Here comes Tagg, my son, right on time!’

  Antigra left off plucking the feathers from a dead dove, and threw a hate-laden glance at the Taggerung and his prisoner. Sawney continued to gloat and mock her.

  ‘Nobeast living can hunt like my Taggerung. He was born of the storm and fathered by lightning on a moonless night! Hah! The food you are preparing for your sluggard son will have rotted in the cooking pot by the time he returns. Where do you suppose your precious Gruven is? Chasing butterflies ten leagues from here, I’ll wager. Huh! He couldn’t hunt his own tail!’

  The clan vermin crowded round the Taggerung and his prize, staring at their icon in awe and admiration. Shoving Felch ahead of him, the lithe otter strode through the crowd, like a pike through a minnow shoal. Grissoul stood smiling in front of Sawney’s tent. She bowed fawningly.

  ‘Thou did well! Zann Juskarath Taggerung!’

  Sawney pushed the Seer aside and embraced his adopted son. ‘You did it! I knew you would, I said you’d return at high noon with both Felch and my blade, and here you are!’

  The otter threw a paw about Sawney’s shoulder. ‘That’s the duty of a Taggerung, not to disappoint his chief. Any food around? I’m famished!’

  Sawney gave Grissoul a shove. ‘Go and get that roasted woodpigeon for my Tagg. Shift yourself, vixen, he’s hungry!’

  Eefera, one of Sawney’s most trusted weasels, had Felch down on the ground, binding his paws with thongs. He pulled the fox upright. ‘One runaway, Chief, bound an’ delivered!’

  Sawney brought his face close to the fox, smiling dangerously through slitted eyes, his voice dripping menace. ‘Last night was your last night, Felch. Enjoy the rest of the day!’

  The Taggerung whispered in Sawney’s ear. ‘Punish him good, but don’t kill him. That fox is still a useful beast. I think he’s learned his lesson.’

  The ferret Chieftain patted the otter’s cheek, still smiling. ‘Eat now, Tagg, and rest in my tent. Leave this to me. Our clan still carries the name of Rath; I make the rules here.’

  Tagg was halfway through his meal when Gruven came storming back into camp, thornstung and muddied. The stoat dashed past Antigra without even acknowledging her. Everybeast watched as he confronted the otter, sitting on the ground eating. Gruven pointed at Tagg and yelled, ‘A false trail! You sent me off on a false trail!’

  The Taggerung rose slowly, wiping a paw across his mouth. ‘And you were clever enough to follow it. Well done, Gruven!’

  The stoat was shaking from ear to paw with rage. ‘If you hadn’t laid that trail I’d have taken the fox’s head an hour after dawn!’

  Grissoul was about to step in and remind Gruven of his lowly position in the clan when Sawney pulled her back. ‘Let them be. I want to see this.’

  Tagg shook his head. ‘An hour after dawn? Really? I don’t think so. I’d already spotted Felch before that. Remember this, too. I was the one sent out to bring him back, not you, my foolish friend.’

  Gruven always carried a sword. Now he drew it in the blink of an eye. ‘I’m no friend of yours and I’m not foolish either. Huh, Zann Taggerung, you don’t even have the guts to carry a weapon. So, who’s the fool now, eh?’

  The otter moved like chain lightning. He dealt Gruven an awful blow, just below the shoulder. It paralysed his sword paw. Tagg’s rudder-like tail thudded into his opponent’s stomach, bending him double. The sword, which was still held loosely in the stoat’s paw, its point against the ground, bent too, like a bow. A stunning crack from Tagg’s paw to his adversary’s chin sent the stoat crashing backwards. The sword made a twanging noise as it left his grip and sailed off into the trees behind the clearing. Gruven lay flat on his back. The otter drew Sawney’s blade from the back of his belt and threw. It buried itself alongside the stoat’s face, clipping off several whiskers in the process. The Taggerung turned away.

  Sawney put his footpaw in Gruven’s face as he tugged the knife free from the ground. He held it out to the otter. ‘Take it and kill him, Tagg. He just tried to kill you!’

  Tagg shook his head. ‘Gruven’s probably killed me a thousand times in dreams, but he’ll never get the chance to do it while he’s awake. Why should I kill him? He amuses me. Besides, I’m still hungry.’

  He went back to his food. Sawney raised the knife to slit Gruven’s throat, but suddenly burst out laughing. ‘Hahahahaha! He amuses you, that’s a good one, hahahahaha! What a Taggerung our clan has, and he’s still hungry? Hahaha!’

  He took his footpaw from the stoat’s face, leaving him to crawl off defeated, but still alive. Sawney sat down beside Tagg. ‘I’ve never known a beast like you, my son, but you should learn to obey me, you impudent riverdog. When are you going to do as I say, eh?’

  Tagg tore a leg from the roasted bird and gave it to Sawney. ‘Next time you give me an order, I promise. Tell me, though, have we ever been inside a building, I mean a real big place, built of reddish stone, with other otters in it, like me?’

  Sawney stared at him oddly. ‘Never! No, we’ve never been in such a place!’

  Tagg sat back, his food forgotten. ‘What about a mouse warrior, a real tough-looking beast, wearing armour and carrying a great sword, said his name was Deyna? Did we ever meet a creature like that?’

  Sawney felt a twinge of his old pain griping in his stomach. His previous good mood began to dissolve. ‘An armoured sword-carrying mouse named Deyna? What’s the matter with you, son? Are you losing your mind?’

  Tagg lay down and yawned. He gazed up at the sky. ‘No, it was just a dream I’ve been having.’

  Sawney hurled the roast woodpigeon leg into the fire. ‘A dream? I had a dream the other night, I dreamt I jumped off a cliff and flew, aye, flew like a bird! Who can say what rubbish and nonsense comes into a beast’s mind when he’s weary and sleeping? You’re tired, Tagg. Go into my tent and get yourself a proper sleep, one without stupid dreams!’

  Antigra sat watching her son eat. She was angry, but scared and relieved that neither Sawney nor the Taggerung had killed Gruven, who seemed to be taking the whole episode with sullen indifference. Antigra served him mint tea, sweetened with honey.

  ‘You did wrong shouting out like that, my son. The same blade that took your father’s life nearly slew you too.’

  Gruven spat gristle into the cooking fire. ‘What d’you expect me t’do, go an’ thank them for sparing me?’

  Antigra put a paw about his shoulder. ‘We must wait and bide our time until the right moment.’

  ‘You’ve been sayin’ that for as long as I can remember,’ Gruven snarled, pushing aside his mother’s paw. ‘I’m sick of waitin’. The right moment is now!’

  ‘Wouldst thou tell me what moment that would be, Gruven?’

  Mother and son glanced up, startled to see Grissoul the Seer standing close by. Guilt was all over Antigra’s face, but Gruven replied with a surly scowl, ‘None o’ your business, slybrush. What are you sneakin’ around for? Did Sawney send you to spy on us?’

  Shaking her numerous bracelets of coral, bone and silver, the vixen rolled her unstable eye in what she imagined was a friendly smile. She sat down between the
m. ‘Bold words for one who almost lost his life today. Did thou not teach thy son any sense, Antigra?’

  The stoat mother smiled ingratiatingly. ‘All I could, but wisdom only comes with age. Mayhap you’d like to give Gruven some advice. Who knows, he might listen to one as wise as you, Grissoul. I will pay you for it. Wait!’ Antigra went to her tent and brought out four dove eggs in a clay bowl, which she gave to the Seer. ‘I know you are very partial to these. They are fresh. My son is dining on the one that laid them.’

  The vixen pierced one with her tooth and sucked its contents down. She stowed the other three in her pouch. ‘Thou knows my weakness, stoat. The eggs are good. Hearken now, both of ye, an’ listen to me. I saw ants this morning, fighting among themselves on their own anthill. I have seen other things of late. The omens are not good for the Juskarath. If I were thee, Gruven, I’d do nought to anger Sawney. His stomach is troubling him again; ’tis a dangerous sign. Make thy peace with Sawney Rath, be one of those in his favour. Mark my words, it could save both thy lives.’

  Gruven sniffed contemptuously, but his mother jabbed him with a stick of firewood. ‘Listen to the Seer’s advice. What should we do, Grissoul?’

  The vixen pointed to the remains of the roast dove. ‘Take thou a sling an’ stones, Gruven, go out into the woodlands an’ slay a pair of doves. I’ll take them to Sawney as thy peace offering, an’ praise thee to him as a good hunter an’ a loyal clanbeast. He’ll listen to me. Heed my advice, both of ye!’ Grissoul rose to take her leave.

  Gruven snorted. ‘Why should you care about us? You only came round here to see what you could get. Four dove eggs just for a pile of mumbo jumbo about ants an’ the state o’ Sawney’s gut. Not bad, eh?’

  The Seer gathered her painted cloak about her, staring down at the stoat and shaking her head pityingly. ‘Thou art a bigger fool than I thought thee to be, Gruven. I care for this Juska clan, not just two stoats. I can tell what is in thy heart, but if thou try to take vengeance on Sawney or the Taggerung, ’twill be the death of thee an’ thy mother. My task is to stop our Juskarath being torn apart by strife. Sawney’s moods, thy bad temper, they affect all. Where would I go if there were no clan to protect me? Get some sense into thy stubborn head an’ heed my words!’

  When the vixen had departed, Antigra brought a throwing sling and pouch of stones from the tent. ‘Do as she says, son. It’s good advice.’

  Gruven spat into the fire and listened to the sizzle it made. ‘I’m not crawlin’ back beggin’ for Sawney Rath’s favour, or that otter who thinks he’s a Taggerung. Leave me alone. I’m tired, wanderin’ Mossflower all night an’ half the day.’

  Antigra lost her temper. She lashed the empty sling across Gruven’s back. He winced but did not stir.

  ‘As lazy as your father, that’s what you are! I’ll go and kill two doves myself, you bone idle beast!’

  Gruven called after her as she strode angrily off into the woodlands north of the camp. ‘Then go. I’m not scared of Grissoul, Sawney or anybeast!’

  Cool shades of early evening fell upon the tent as Grissoul shook Tagg gently into wakefulness. ‘Come. Thy father wishes thee to attend him.’

  The otter sat up and stretched, flexing his lean sinewy frame. Taking a dipper of water from a nearby pail he drank some and poured the remainder over his head. A good dreamless sleep had refreshed the Taggerung.

  ‘What’s that old ferret up to now, Grissoul?’

  ‘He is about to deal with the runaway, an’ he wants thee to witness the punishment.’

  Felch had his paws upstretched, bound to the thick bough of a beech tree. All the Juskarath vermin were assembled there on their Chieftain’s command. Sawney stood impatiently twirling his favourite blade, the knife with the amber handle. He watched as the crowd parted to allow his Seer and the Taggerung through.

  ‘Ah. So, did you have a good sleep, my son?’

  Tagg noted the curious gleam in Sawney’s eye. ‘Good enough, thankee. What are you going to do to Felch?’

  Sawney licked the knife blade, tasting its cold steel. ‘I think I’ll skin him alive. He’d make a nice tent flap, eh?’

  A stricken silence fell upon the clan. Nobeast had ever imagined such cruelty, but they all knew their Chieftain was capable of it. Felch moaned pitifully. Though Tagg was horrified at the suggestion, he knew enough not to show it. Sawney watched him closely, waiting for a reaction.

  A careless smile showed on the otter’s face. He nodded towards Felch, remarking, ‘A stringy old worthless hide like his? I don’t think it’d be worth your time and trouble.’

  Sawney laughed. ‘Haha, you’re a cool one, Tagg!’

  The otter shrugged. ‘No point getting excited over some mangy old runaway fox. Cut him down and let him go I say. Make him clean up the camp on all fours for a season, starve him a bit to slow him down. That’s what I’d do.’

  Sawney winced and rubbed his stomach with a paw. ‘But you’re not me, are you? I’m the one who gives the orders and makes the decisions in this clan. Right?’

  Tagg tried keeping the mood light. He nodded. ‘Right!’

  To his surprise, Sawney grinned and hugged him fondly. ‘Zann Juskarath Taggerung! My strong right paw. No, I won’t skin Felch alive. Remember when we last spoke, just before you took your nap this afternoon?’

  Tagg disengaged himself from the ferret’s hug. ‘Aye.’

  Sawney tossed his blade up and caught it neatly. ‘You do, good! Because I recall exactly what you said to me. You promised that you’d obey me next time I gave you an order.’

  Tagg was forced to agree. ‘That’s what I said right enough.’

  Quick as a flash, Sawney Rath’s eyes hardened. ‘Then I’m ordering you to skin Felch alive!’ He took the otter’s paw, closing it over the knife handle. ‘Obey me!’

  The crowded clearing became as silent as a tomb. All eyes were upon the Taggerung, awaiting his reaction to the order.

  Tagg turned his back on Sawney and strode to the side of the fox strung up to the beech bough. He raised the blade. Felch shut his eyes tight, his head shaking back and forth as his nerves quivered uncontrollably. With a sudden slash Tagg severed the thongs which bound him. Felch slumped to the ground in a shaking heap. Tagg’s voice was flat and hard as he turned to face Sawney.

  ‘I’m sorry to disobey your order. The fox is a sorry thief, but I will not take the life of a helpless beast.’

  Sawney’s paw shot to his belt, forgetting that Tagg was holding his blade. Spittle sprayed from the ferret’s mouth as he roared, ‘You’ll do as I say! Don’t try to give me excuses! Carry out my command! Do it! Do it now!’

  Tagg sliced through the bonds which still held the fox’s paws together. He spoke only one word. ‘No!’

  Sawney was beside himself with fury. His voice rose to a scream. ‘Your promise was a lie! Do it, or I’ll make you obey me!’

  Tagg ignored him. He lifted Felch upright and rubbed life back into his numbed paws, whispering, ‘You may as well run for it again, wretched creature.’

  Felch dashed off into the trees. Sawney rapped out an order to the ferret, Vallug Bowbeast. ‘Kill him!’

  Felch was still visible as he dodged between the trunks. Vallug ran forward a few steps. Keeping the fox in sight, he notched an arrow on to his bowstring and drew the weapon back. Tagg leaped in, a single swipe of his blade parting the string. Vallug saw the look in his eyes and backed off.

  Sawney’s face screwed up in pain as shafts of agony ran like lightning bolts through his stomach. He waved Grissoul away as the Seer ran to help him. Glowering at Tagg, he pointed an accusing paw.

  ‘Traitor! You are not a true Taggerung to the Juskarath. I made a bad mistake when I took you in and called you my son!’

  Tagg gave vent to his feelings. ‘Look around you, Sawney. Rats, stoats, ferrets, weasels and foxes. I’m the only otter in the whole clan. How can a ferret be father to me? I’ve never called you father, but I respected you as Chieftain until now. Did y
ou think I am the sort of beast to skin a living creature alive? Well, the fox has run and I won’t be the one to bring him back. You can’t make me obey what your temper dictates. That isn’t true Juska law!’

  Sawney curled his lip in contempt. ‘What do you know of Juska law? This clan is mine! I make the law here. Eefera, Vallug, seize that otter. I’ll teach him to defy me. Somebeast bring me a whip!’

  Tagg had the blade in front of him. ‘First beast who tries to lay paws on me dies!’

  Vermin who had chanced a pace forward froze. They had seen the otter growing up and knew his awesome strength and skill. Nobeast was prepared to tangle with the Taggerung. Tagg backed towards the trees, his blade still menacing.

  ‘I no longer want to be with you or your clan, Sawney. You’ve become too dangerous for your own good. I’ve watched you change over the seasons from a clan chief to a bad old beast. I go my own way now. Our paths will never cross again, so I wish you better times and hope you learn to treat others more wisely!’

  Tagg moved so swiftly that the trees soon swallowed him up. ‘Our paths will cross, otter,’ Sawney called after him, ‘oh yes they will. I’m going to track you down and slay you myself!’ He wrenched a spear from the grasp of Eefera. ‘Nobeast leaves this camp. I’ll bring him back myself, dead or alive. Well, what are you all staring at, eh? He’s old, you’re thinking, he’s not as fast as that otter. Well, you just wait and see. I’ve got a brain. I’m smart, smarter than he’ll ever be. He’s not a Taggerung any more. But I’m still Sawney Rath!’