Tad Williams - Tailchaser’s Song

"Who… who… who… the Ruhu…" the stranger intoned solemnly, then fell to chewing his lip again. His voice was deep and male.

"What is your name?" Fritti tried again.

"Ixum squixura… hollow and hellioned… how so?" The strange cat looked vaguely into Fritti's eyes. "Eatbugs is me, I am… I ran, so I am… so you see…"

"He's mad, Tailchaser!" squeaked Pouncequick nervously. "He has the dripping-mouth sickness, I'm sure of it!"

Fritti signaled him to hush. "You are called Eatbugs? That is your name?"

"The same, the same. Grass-gobbler and stone-chewer… isky pisky squiddlum squee… oh! No!" Eatbugs whirled around, as if something were creeping up behind him. "Aroint thee!" he cried at the empty air. "No more of your dandly dancing out of earshot, you hugger-mugger hiss-mouse!" He turned back toward the cats with a wild look in his eyes, but as they stared, a change seemed to come over him. The crazed look was replaced by one of embarrassment.

"Ah, old Eatbugs gets confused sometimes, he does," he said, and scuffed the ground with his grimy paw. "He don't mean no harm, though-never would, you see…"

Pouncequick hissed with alarm. "He is mad-did you see him? We must go!"

Tailchaser was also a little nervous, but something about the old cat touched him. "What can we do for you, Eatbugs?" he asked. Pouncequick stared at him as though he, too, had gone quite mad.

"There you are," the stranger said. "There you be. Old Eatbugs were just lonesome for some talk. It's a big world-but precious few there are to speak with." The old cat scratched distractedly at his ear and dislodged a small seed pod, which fell to the ground. Eatbugs bent and sniffed it eagerly, then a moment later swiped at it angrily with his paw and sent it rolling away.

"That's your world, now isn't it? That's your world," he mumbled, then seemed to remember the others. "Your pardon, young masters," he said. "I do wander a bit, betimes. Might I walk with you a ways? I do know some stories, and a game or two. I was a hunter when the world was a pup, and I catch a fair bit of game still!" He looked hopefully at Fritti.

Tailchaser did not really want another companion, but he felt sorry for this scruffy old torn.

Ignoring Pouncequick's frantic "no" signals, he said: "Certainly. We would be honored to have you accompany us for a while, Eatbugs."

The mud-splattered old cat leaped up and cut a caper in the air so ridiculous that even Pouncequick had to laugh.

"Piglets and pawprints!" cried Eatbugs, then paused and looked quickly around. He leaned toward his companions. "Let's be off!" he added, his voice a conspiratorial whisper.

Eatbugs was not a bad traveling companion. His occasional fits did not prove dangerous in any way, and after a while even Pouncequick accepted him without too much trepidation. He kept up a constant stream of songs and strange poetry all through the evening. When Fritti-wanting a little peace-finally asked him to quiet down a bit, he became silent as mud.

When they stopped to rest at Final Dancing, Eatbugs was still not speaking.

Fritti felt badly about how the old cat had taken his admonishment-he had not wanted to silence him completely. He walked over to the stranger, who was lying on the ground with his eyes in that odd, unfixed gaze.

"You told us that you knew some stories, Eatbugs. Why don't you give us one? We'd enjoy it."

Eatbugs did not immediately respond. When he raised his head to look at Tailchaser, his eyes were filled with a great and terrible sadness. At first Fritti thought that he had been the cause, but a moment's observation showed that the old cat wasn't seeing him at all.

The look suddenly passed from Eatbugs' begrimed mask, and his eyes focused on Tailchaser. A weak smile came to his mouth.

"Ah, what, lad, what?"

"A story. You said that you would tell us a story, Eatbugs."

"Yes, I did. And I know plenty-ramblers and tumblers and bottom-droppers. What do you want to hear about?"

"One about Firefoot. His adventures!" said Pounce-quick eagerly.

"Oh…" said Eatbugs, shaking his muddy head. "I'm afraid I don't know any good ones, kitling… not about Firefoot. What else?"

"Wellll…" Pouncequick pondered, disappointed. "What about Growlers? Big, mean Growlers-and brave cats! How about that?"

"By the Sniffling Snail, I do happen to know a good one about the Growlers! Shall I sing it for you?"

"Oh, please do!" said Pouncequick, wiggling in his fur. He had missed stories.

"All right," said Eatbugs. And he did.

"Long ago, when cats were cats, and rats and mice sang 'mumbledy-peg, mumbledy-peg' in the brush at night, the Growlers and the Folk lived in peace. The last of the devil-hounds had died out, and their more peaceable descendants hunted alongside our ancestorous ancestors.

"There was a prince-O, such a prince-named Redlegs, who had suffered great unhappiness in the Court where his mother, Queen Cloudleaper, ruled. He went whispering and dancing into the wilderness to hugger-mugger with the rocks and trees, and to have Adventures-"

"Just like Firefoot!" squeaked Pouncequick.

"Hush!" hissed Fritti.

"Well," continued Eatbugs, "one day, when the sun was high in the sky and hurt his eyes, Redlegs came upon two giant piles of bones lying on either side of his path at the mouth of the valley. He knew that he was at the gates of Barbarbar, the City of the Dogs. Growlers and Folk had no quarrel at this time, and Redlegs was anyway a prince of his people, so he entered into the valley.

"Around him he did spy every manner of Growler: tall and small, fat and flat; who leaped and bounded and barked, and dug holes, and carried bones hither and yon. But most of the bones were being carried to the pillars of the gate, where the yapping and yelping crews clambered up the piles and laid them on top. As the day wore on, the shinnying Growlers had more and more difficulty getting to the top- where they were trying, dry-nosed and gasping, to join the pillars into an arch.

"Finally, a huge and majestic mastiff appeared, barking commands; the Growlers jumped and gyrated in their efforts to please him, but at last nothing further could be done to join the pillars at the apex. Every leg-sprightly pup of the dog city was sent up to fill the last small gap-which was but one bonelength wide-but none could climb to the top of the curving pillars…"

Tailchaser had an unusual feeling. As he lay, eyes tightly shut, listening to Eatbugs' song, he found that he could see the events in a way that he had never been able to at Meeting Wall. In his mind's eye, he witnessed the leaning towers of bone, the efforts of the Growler-folk and their mastiff leader, as clearly as if he had been present. Why did he feel this way? He licked his foreleg and washed his face, concentrating on the old cat's words.

"Now," Eatbugs was saying, "in those days dogs had not become the lick-M'an, drunk-slobber wretches we see today, but the Folk have always found them amusing-unless in direct battle, you see. So, as Redlegs watched the parade of frightened doglings shinnying up the gate arch, only to come cowering down in defeat a moment later, he could not help laughing.

"At the sound of this the huge mastiff turned in anger and gullet-growled: 'Who are you that laughs so, cat?'

"Redlegs stilled his merriment, and said: 'I am Redlegs, of the line of Harar.'

"The mastiff looked at him. 'I am Rauro Bite-then-Bark, of these dogs the King. It is not meet or seemly that I should be mocked in this way!' At this the dog-king puffed out his chest and goggled his eyes in such an important way that Redlegs almost laughed again.

" 'How long have you been building your gate. O King?' he asked.

" 'Full three seasons it has been,' replied Bite-then-Bark, 'and we but lack one bone to make it complete.'