Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

"Sawney Rath calls to me from beyond the Hellgates! The otter is a traitor Taggerung, a Chieftain murderer and a cowardly runaway! He is not fit to be Taggerung! Shame will fall on our clan if he lives! Gruven Zann Juskazann must slay him and take his title. My omens say that the one who slays a traitor Taggerung can then be called Taggerung by right! Go now, Gruven Zann Juskazann, bring honor to your new-named clan, avenge our fallen Chieftain, bring death to the fleeing coward and take on the name of Gruven Zann Taggerung!"

Even through the flames and smoke, Grissoul could see the fanatical burning light of satisfaction in Antigra's eyes.

Far north in Mossflower Wood, Tagg surfaced from a broad stream. Shaking himself dry he sat on the bank, t tying to define his present mood. He was banished from t he company of the only beasts he could remember living with, a loner, an outcast from the clan. Yet he felt light-hearted, free and happy. Sometimes he had admired Sawney, his strength, leadership and determination, but he had never really liked the ferret, never called him lather, never loved him. Tagg was not bothered that Sawney was hunting him. He had grown old, slower, and more prone to making mistakes because of his quicktempered mood changes. The otter felt a shudder of joy pass through his entire body from ear to rudder. He was glad to be rid of the whole Juskarath. Life was his, to do with as he pleased. Exactly where he was going and what he intended to do had not occurred to him. Then he remembered the mountain.

Several times that day Tagg had glimpsed it as he traveled north through the woodlands, its pure white craggy cone standing out against the clear blue sky. He moved further along the bank to a higher point, and standing on tip-paw he saw it again, mysterious and cool, its snows turned soft grey by the starry night. Suddenly Tagg wanted to be there. He had never been on a mountain. Fired by the prospect, he leaped high in the air and shouted at the object of his desire. "I'm coming to see you, mountain!"

As he jumped, his head struck something in the overhanging foliage of a tree. Tagg reached up among the leaves and discovered it was a pear. The fruit was not quite ready; it was still hard, but sweet and slightly juicy. Tagg laughed aloud, shouting through a half-full mouth as he plucked another one. "Aye, you stay there, mountain, I'm coming!"

"Yeek! 'Tis a mad riverdog! Stay 'way from 'im, Krobzy!"

"Yarr, don't fret yore snout, Prethil, I kin deal wid 'im!"

Tagg stood still, instantly alert, looking about to see where the voices were coming from. Two bankvoles were standing at the water's edge below him. He smiled politely at them. "Hello!"

The male was a small fat fellow, clad in a homespun nightshirt. He brandished a club and stood protectively in front of the female, wiggling his nose aggressively, as bankvoles do when they are ready to fight. He pointed the club at Tagg. "Donchew 'ello me, ruddertail, or I'll boff ye a good 'un. Wot's yore name an' wot's yore business on our midden, eh, eh?"

Tagg leaned his paw against the dagger in his belt. "I wouldn't chance trying to boff me if I were you."

The bankvole started up the hill toward Tagg, with the female trying to pull him back. The otter's words had roused his temper. "Hohoh, wouldn't ye now? Lissen, streamwalloper, I've boffed bigger'n you many a time, don't fret yore snout about that!"

Tagg did not want to hurt the bankvole. He tried reasoning. "Now now, what are you getting so carried away about, friend?"

Snaking the female off, the bankvole hopped excitedly about. "Carried away, me? Hoho, that's a good 'un! Yore stannin' up there, bawlin' an' shoutin' an' wakin' the babies. Stealin' an' pinchin' an' scoffin' away at our pears. Wotjer expeck me t'do, come out an' give ye a big kiss, eh, eh?"

He hurled himself at Tagg, who moved swiftly to one side. As the bankvole went sprawling, Tagg disabled him by placing a footpaw on the back of his head and pinning his clubpaw to the ground with his strong rudderlike tail. Facedown and helpless, the angry creature snuffled his snout against the earth.

The female sat down, weeping into her nightie. "Ahoohoo hoo! I tole ye the riverdog wiz mad. Now 'e'll murdify both of us an' eat us all up. Oh, 'elp us, somebeast. Ahoohoohoo!"

Taking the club away from the male, Tagg picked him up and sat him down next to his blubbering partner. "Hush now, marm, I'm not going to murder or eat either of you. I wouldn't hurt you, I'm a friend. Come on now, dry your eyes."

She pushed his comforting paw aside. "Go 'way an' don't even speak t'me, ye villigan!"

The male seemed to compose his temper rapidly. He winked at Tagg before throwing a sympathetic paw around the female. "Yarr, cummon, muther, turn the waterfall off. 'E ain't goin' to 'urt us, are ye, sunshine? I'm Krobzy an' this is me missus, Prethil. Wot's yore name?"

Tagg held out his paw. "Oh, just call me Tagg. Pleased to meet you."

Prethil scrubbed at her eyes with the nightie hem. "Pleased to meechew like . . . ler . . . hic! Ler hic! Hic! . . . wise. Hic!"

Krobzy hugged his little fat wife. "Lookit, ye've gone an' gived yoreself 'iccups now wid all that cryin'. Grab 'old of yore snout an' bang yer tail aginst the floor, that always stops the 'iccups. Are you 'ungry, Tagg? Is that why yore scoffin' our pears, eh, eh?"

The otter helped them both up onto their paws. "Sorry, I didn't know the pears were yours. Yes, I am hungry. I haven't eaten since midday."

Krobzy dusted Prethil down before attending to himself. "Well, why didn't ye say so, ye great rudderwhacker? Come on back to the 'omestead. We'll feed yore big famine-stricken gob!"

The homestead was actually built under the hill Tagg had been standing on, with a tunnel leading to it from a secret entrance on the bank. It was a big comfortable place with pear tree roots tracing their way across the ceiling and down the walls. There were other bankvoles living within, alongside a big family of watervoles and another family of fieldvoles. They gathered around the otter, touching the amber-hilted knife with its blue pommel-stone. Little ones rode Tagg's tail by sitting on it, others felt his paws and strong limbs admiringly.

"Big feller, ain't 'e!"

"Aye, fine pow'ful beastie!"

"Wouldn't like t'meet 'im up a creek on a dark night, eh, eh?"

"Phwarr! That'n would swipe the tail offa ye wid that blade!"

"Oh aye, fine sharp blade that'n is, eh, eh?"

Prethil shooed them away and led Tagg to a table. "Will ye leave the pore beast alone? 'E's 'ungry!"

This statement caused even more speculation from the voles.

"Bet 'e could wade through a fair bit o' grub?"

"Yarr, so c'd you if'n you was 'is size!"

"No use givin' 'im a small bowl an' a liddle tankard, eh, eh?"

Krobzy pushed them aside and sat down with Tagg. A bushy male watervole joined them. Krobzy introduced him. "Tagg, this is Sekkendin. We calls 'im that 'cos 'e's my sekkendin command 'round 'ere."

The table moved as a pile of younger voles pushed in against it, trying to get closer to the newcomer. Sekkendin glared at them. "Goo 'way, g'wan, the lot of ye. Go an' show Tagg 'ow youse kin dance. Rakkadoo, make some gob music for 'em, willyer!"

A kindly-looking fieldvole placed hot nutbread and a pan of vegetable stew in front of the otter, commenting, "Bowl'd be too liddle for the likes of ye, sir. Eat 'earty now."

Krobzy poured out tankards of a fruity-tasting beer, which the voles called bankbrew. Tagg ate and drank as he witnessed the voles' pawskills at dancing.

Two elders began twanging on jawharps and the one called Rakkadoo rattled out a curious melody. It was very tast and comprised of odd sounds interwoven with words.

"Ho rang tang rattledy battledy,

Twirl y'tails an' kick up y'paws,