Rain drizzled lightly through the early-morning mist rising from the surface of the broad stream. The two voles Krobzy and Sekkendin emerged from the secret tunnel with Tagg. The otter carried a small sack of supplies and a cloak, which they had presented to him. Krobzy blinked up at the indifferent milky sky.
“Yarr, drizzlin’ won’t last long; my ingrowed paw claw ain’t twingein’ enough. ’Twill clear up afore noon an’ the sun’ll smile on us again. Tagg, I wish ye wouldn’t go, mate. Stay ’ere wid us. Ye could make an ’appy ’ome midst our voles.”
Tagg clasped the bankvole’s chubby paw fondly. “I’ve never had such a happy time as I spent with your tribe, friend, but I must go. There’s bound to be Juska beasts following me, Sawney for one, and I don’t know how many others. It would not be the act of a friend to bring trouble upon your creatures. Juska are thieves and killers. Stay out of their way. Keep to your homestead and be watchful for the next few days.”
Two more voles emerged from the tunnel, carrying what appeared to be a large basket. Sekkendin showed it to Tagg. “This is a coracle. When yer finished wid it, just cast it out into the stream. ’Twill drift back ’ere by itself.”
Tagg tried to hide a smile as he inspected the flimsy craft. “A coracle? Are you sure I’ll fit into it?”
Krobzy chuckled. “Ye’ve still gotta lot t’learn, big feller. A coracle’s a good liddle craft, light an’ easy on the paws. There’s just one paddle, see, wid a blade on each end. Yer paddle’s a mast, too, when y’slip it atwixt those two blocks.” Two small chunks of sycamore had been tied into the woven rushes of the craft’s base. Tagg stood the paddle end up between them.
“Good idea, but where’s the sail?”
Sekkendin indicated the cloak Tagg had been given. “That ain’t just a cloak, matey. ’Tis a sail, too, an’ I’ll tell ye somethin’ else. Our cloaks are special made, wid beeswax an’ secret plant oils soaked into the weave. Ye’ll find rain an’ water don’t affeck them. They’ll keep ye dry anywheres!”
Krobzy tossed the sack of supplies into the small round coracle. “Yarr, those vittles too, they’re travelin’ rations. Full o’ goodness t’keep yore strength up.”
They launched the coracle into the water and Tagg got in. Despite his size it floated well, and he pushed off into the current, dabbing left and right with the double-ended paddle.
“This is wonderful! ’Tis so easy to steer, even going upstream against the current. Thanks, friends. My best wishes to you and all your tribe. I’ll never forget your kindness. Please don’t stand waving on the bank. Go in, and keep your heads low for a while. Keep a weather eye out for Juska vermin. Goodbye, and may your seasons be long and happy!”
The voles scuttled into their secret tunnel, calling back, “Yarr yarr, Tagg, call back an’ see us agin. Yore allus welcome!”
Krobzy stayed at the entrance for a time, watching the sturdy otter paddle his coracle off into the drizzly mists. “Good fortune to yer, Taggerung. I ’opes you meets friendly beasts like us along yore way!”
*
Drizzle was still falling in moist curtains when the hunters woke, damp and uncomfortable, in unfamiliar woodland after a night spent out in the open. Gruven huddled into a dry space beneath a fir tree, irate and hungry. He snarled at the weasel Milkeye. “What’s the matter with you, deadlamp? Did y’never learn to light a fire properly? You’ll be all day puffin’ an’ blowin’ there!”
Milkeye turned from his flint and tinder, so that his good eye could see the stoat. “Wood’s all wet with the rain. Can’t make a fire with damp wood.”
Gruven turned his bad temper elsewhere. Vallug Bowbeast was gnawing some dried fish from the meager rations they had brought along. Gruven tossed a pinecone at him. It missed.
“Hey, Vallug, are you goin’ to sit there stuffin’ your face ’til it bursts? Where’s my breakfast? I’m clan Chieftain.”
“Not yet you ain’t,” Vallug commented with his mouth half full. “Sawney always said that a leader had to prove ’imself first. We ain’t seen you do nothin’ yet except complain. I’m not yer mother. Get yer own vittles!”
Gruven sat glaring at the big ferret. Vallug was a killer, a dangerous beast to get the wrong side of. He wished he had picked on somebeast weaker. He tried to save face by growling, “When I catch up with that otter, then I’ll prove myself all right!”
Eefera strode into view. He had been up before dawn, searching for tracks. Without reporting to Gruven, he threw himself down and grabbed some dried fish. He addressed himself to Rabbad, a small, sly-looking fox. “Waste o’ time tryin’ to track in this weather. There’s a stream over yonder. Otters favor streams.”
Rabbad collected water, dripping from the trees, onto a dock leaf. He poured it into his mouth and swallowed. “Ye reckon we should follow the water course, then? Which way d’ye think the streamdog went?”
Vallug shouldered his bow and quiver of arrows. “Prob’ly north. That’s the way he was travelin’.”
Gruven decided the time had come to assert his authority. Leaving his shelter, he strode off purposefully, snarling orders. “Right, we’re headed north. Break camp, you lot, no time for squattin’ ’round eating. Follow me!”
There were definite sounds of gruff laughter from the group. He wheeled around to see Eefera pointing in the opposite direction. There was a hint of contempt in the weasel’s voice. “It’s this way . . . Chief.”
Gruven found himself trailing at the rear. It was too narrow a trail to push past the others and regain the lead.
By midmorning they were well along the riverbank, traveling at a fast lope. Though Gruven was big and well built, he found it difficult to keep pace with the others. They were older than him, but lean and hardy for the most part. He was silently relieved when Vallug stopped them for a short rest on the bankside. Eefera scouted ahead whilst the others sat under the shade of some weeping willows, out of the continuous drizzle. Dagrab nodded northward. “Riverdog’ll be makin’ for the big mountains.”
Gruven felt argumentative. “Where’s the sense in that? Why should he want t’go there? It’s stupid if you ask me.”
The rat Grobait replied without even looking at him. “Mountains is made o’ rock. ’Tis ’arder to track a beast over rock. That’s the way I’d go if I was ’im.”
Gruven spat into the stream. “Huh! Who asked you?”
Further conversation was forgotten as Eefera reappeared. “Come an’ look at this. I was right.”
They followed him to a spot on the bank further upstream. Eefera pointed out the signs. “I said otters favored streams. See? This is where he came out. There’s part of a pawprint, in the mud, under that stone, an’ ’ere, this’s where the riverdog’s tail flattened an’ broke two young ferns. Sometime late last night, I’d say.”
Gruven was prepared to argue the point. “Sometime last night, huh? How d’you know that?”
Eefera did not answer. He strode off, further up the bank. Gruven smiled at the others, shaking his head. “The great tracker, eh? Couldn’t give me an answer, could he?”
Milkeye felt the bottom part of the broken fern stems. “Didn’t ’ave to. Feel that. It takes a good few hours fer the rain to wash away the sticky sap that leaks out, an’ these ain’t sticky. They been stannin’ ’ere broke in the rain since it started late last night. Come on, Eefera’s on ter sumthin’.”
Gruven drew his sword and raced ahead of the others, making certain he was in the lead this time. “Aye, come on, mates. Follow me!”
He dashed off as Eefera’s voice called back through the bushes, “Stop ’im! Grab ahold o’ the vole!”
Gruven turned this way and that, saw the bushes shake and hurled himself forward, crashing through them. Something dodged by him; he tripped and collided head-on with Eefera. They scrambled together in the bush cover until Eefera kicked him aside and leaped up, blood streaming from his mouth as he yelled, “In the water! The vole’s in the water. Gerrim, Vallug!”
Swiftly the Bowbeast loosed two shafts at the shadowy figure before it disappeared underwater, speeding downstream with the current. He fitted a third arrow to his bow, then turned away in disgust, calling back to Eefera, “Shoulda let me know quicker. I only got ’im in the back paw. No use chasin’ after ’im; that vole’s well away by now!”
Eefera wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and spat into the stream. He turned slowly upon Gruven, controlling his temper with great difficulty. “I nearly caught the vole. You made me miss ’im!”
Quailing under the weasel’s icy glare, Gruven blustered, “Well, it was you who yelled out for me to stop ’im.”
Eefera picked up Gruven’s fallen sword from beneath a bush. His tongue probing at a loosened tooth, he answered, “Sorry . . . Chief. I didn’t know it was you I was shoutin’ to. I thought it was one of the others, a beast with a bit o’ sense.”
Gruven shrugged, trying to dismiss the sarcastic reply. “It was only a scummy little vole. What would y’want with a vole?”
Eefera looked at him as if he were totally stupid. “Information?” He made as if to give Gruven’s sword back and thought better of it, tossing the weapon carelessly away over his shoulder.
Gruven took a little time locating the sword, and when he hurried back to the others it was to find them moving off. Joining them, he noticed they were eating pears. The stoat grabbed hold of Milkeye, one of the few he could bully into obeying him.
“Where’d you get those pears?”
Milkeye gestured back to the place they had just left. “Top of an ’ill yonder. There’s a pear tree there, Chief.”
Gruven spun the weasel around forcefully. “Run back an’ get me a few. Go on, get moving!”
Milkeye avoided a slap from the flat of Gruven’s swordblade. “All right, Chief, I’m goin’!”
*
Krobzy crouched in the secret passage entrance with Sekkendin, bandaging the watervole’s footpaw with a dressing of sanicle, dock leaf and hair moss. Sekkendin placed his paw gingerly on the ground and smiled.
“Yarr, I’ll live! Take more’n some ole Juska arrow to kill me.”
Krobzy picked up a reed blowpipe and a tufted dart, its point smeared with laburnum and agaric fungus juices. “Aye, mate, but the vermin that gets this in its behind won’t be able t’say the same thing. You lay ’ere an’ rest. No Juska varmint’s goin’ t’do that to a vole an’ live t’brag about it!”
*
Milkeye grabbed two pears from the tree and dashed off, not wanting to be left adrift in strange country.
“Ouch!” He felt the sting on the back of his neck and slapped at it. “Scummy liddle gnat, take that!”
He continued his hurried progress to catch up with the others. Krobzy followed until he found his dart lying in the grass. Picking it up gingerly by the tuft, he dropped it into a tiny box and thrust it into his belt pouch.
“Yarr, dat’s one liddle gnat you won’t ferget, varmint!”
*
Midnoon sunlight sparkled off the waters, fleecy white clouds decorated the bright skies. Krobzy had predicted the weather accurately. Tagg shipped his paddle. Reaching up, he grabbed an overhanging alder branch and pulled his coracle into the still shallows of a small cove. Beaching the little craft amid some concealing bushes, he waded ashore and stretched his limbs. It was a pleasant spot, with blackberries growing in profusion. Tagg made a leisurely meal of some flat cakes with dried fruit baked into them and a flagon of pear cordial from his vole supply sack, and a few pawfuls of the ripest berries he could find. In a patch of sunlight amid the alders, he spread his cloak and lay down upon it, humming an old tune that had always been with him, though he could not remember from where. The otter fell into a doze, trying to recall the words, his eyelids slowly closing.
Dim kindly faces hovering about him, soft clean linen touching his cheeks, the scent of spring flowers. He was in the magic place, the room of old red stone where peace and happiness lived. Two female otter voices were singing to him from far far away, a young one and an older one, singing sweetly, gently. Calm and serenity, safety and peaceful joy.
O’er some still pond,
There is my little love,
Dear one so fond.
Hush now you humming bee,
Soft shadows creep,
Silent in summer’s eve,
Sleep baby sleep.”
The happiness Tagg felt was intense, yet, as in all dreams, elusive. Even though he was in the realms of slumber, he realized this and sought to retain the feeling. He strove to make it clearer, to see more, to understand the dream, so that he could recall it at will and experience its joyous warmth. But the dream faded, like smoke on the wind.
How long he lay curled on the cloak in that silent glade, Tagg did not know. Then the mouse warrior was standing in his mind, pointing at him with the wondrous sword and calling, calling . . . “Deyna! Deyna!” It stirred him to wakefulness for a brief second. Eyes half open, he began to sit upright. Then he felt a heavy blow across his skull, and fell backward into agonizing darkness.
*
Eefera studied the bank edge, close to the water, and called back to the stoat Rawback, who was following behind with the others. “Still no signs near the shallows. What about you, any luck?”
Further back and higher up on the bank, Rawback, who had taken the lead, shouted his reply. “Nobeast been along ’ere ’cept us. Nary a trace!”
Eefera waited until they caught up. He was staring at the water. “He’s on this stream, though, I know he is. I think he must ’ave some sort of light boat, a fast ’un.”
Gruven sat cooling his paws in the shallows, cynical as ever. “Where would he get a boat? He’s an otter, isn’t he? Otters are supposed to be great swimmers.”
Eefera did not dignify Gruven’s ignorance with a reply. Rabbad the fox sat down to wet his footpaws in the stream. Gruven looked at him triumphantly. “Well, I’m right, aren’t I?”
Rabbad enlightened him. “Even otters can’t swim at full speed all the time, especially agin the currents. We’re makin’ good time, travelin’ fast. If’n ’e was swimmin’, we’d ’ave caught up with ’im afore now. So the otter must be usin’ a fast boat like Eefera sez.”
Gruven turned their attention away from his stupidity by sniggering as Milkeye, who had fallen far behind, came staggering crazily along the bank to join them.
“Oh, look who’s arrived! What’re ye pantin’ an’ slobberin’ for, deadlamp? Is the goin’ too tough for yer? Don’t go lyin’ down. We’re movin’ off soon. Where’s the pears I sent yer for?”
Milkeye collapsed on the bank, unable to move an inch further. “Water, mates . . . water!”
Gruven looked up at the weasel, huddled on the banktop. “Idle hound. There’s plenty o’ water right here. Come an’ get it yoreself. What d’ye think we are, skivvies?”
Eefera made his way up the bank. Crouching beside Milkeye, he raised the weasel’s head. “Wot’s wrong with ye? Have y’taken a sickness?”
Milkeye’s face was beginning to bloat, and his one good eye was half shut and red-rimmed. He clasped Eefera’s paw feebly. “Pain, all over . . . I’m burnin’ up . . . Water!”
Eefera cast about until he found a large dock leaf. “All right, mate, I’ll get ye some water.”
He was halfway down the bank when Milkeye made a horrible gurgling noise. His paws thrashed about momentarily, and then he went still. Grobait prodded him with a footpaw.
“Milkeye’s dead! By the blood’n’fang, wot d’ye think of that?”
They weighted the body down with a few stones lashed to its middle and threw it into the stream. Eefera and Vallug then conferred as to the group’s next move. Gruven joined the rest, foraging for berries and birds’ nests, smarting with resentment because the two self-appointed leaders were ignoring him. He returned with a pawful of dandelion roots and two apples and boldly sat himself down next to the Bowbeast.
“Well, what’s our next move?”
Vallug pointed with one of his arrows at the far bank. “We need to scout both sides o’ the water. The otter could be leavin’ tracks on the other edge.”
Gruven chuckled nervously. “I’m not swimmin’ across there. ’Tis deep an’ fast.”
Vallug shot him a glance that dripped contempt. “You won’t ’ave to, yore stayin’ this side with me . . . Chief. For all the use you’ll be,” he added under his breath.
Eefera waded into the stream to test the current. He was almost swept off his footpaws, and Vallug had to reach out his bow to help him back to the bank. “Young mudbrain’s right,” the weasel muttered to Vallug, out of Gruven’s hearing. “It is too deep’n’fast, an’ there’s trailin’ weeds that wrap around the paws, too. I think I stepped on ole Milkeye’s carcass trapped in ’em. We’ll ford it further along.”
They spent the remainder of the afternoon trekking along the bank, searching for a spot where a crossing could be made. Unwittingly the hunters went right past the place on the opposite side where Tagg had pulled in and hidden the coracle. Toward evening, they halted beyond a bend where the stream eddied, prior to increasing its speed when it hit the straight. Eefera favored the spot.
“Water swirls a bit ’ere, but it ain’t so bad. See, there’s reeds stickin’ up near t’other side, no current there. This’ll do to cross. Ribrow, Grobait an’ Rabbad, you come with me. The rest of ye stay this side with Vallug.”
Holding paws, the four vermin entered the stream, with Eefera in the lead. At the center they had to hold their heads back, chins up. Rabbad spat out a mouthful of water. “I didn’t think it’d be this deep. We might ’ave t’swim fer it!”
Eefera, who was slightly taller, silenced the fox. “It gets shallower from ’ere to the bank. Keep goin’. You let go of anybeast’s paws an’ we’re all in trouble!”
There were no shallows on the other side. The bank was a rock ledge that dropped straight down, so the stream remained the same depth as at its center. However, there was little or no current near the far side. Eefera entered the reeded area, which slowed progress. “Nearly there now . . . Yowch, I’m bit!”
Disregarding his own instructions, Eefera loosed Grobait’s paw and floundered as fast as he could to the bank. Grabbing the rock ledge, he hauled himself out with panicked energy.
His actions caused chaos among the other three. They let go of each other; it was everybeast for himself. The water began threshing with big ugly mottled brown fish as a shoal of burbot attacked from their base in the reedbeds. Lying flat on the bank, Eefera extended his spearpole to Grobait. Shrieking aloud, the rat grabbed the spear, hauling himself along on it. “Yaaaargh! One of ’em’s got me!”
As he clambered up the bank, Eefera took a rock and pounded on the broad frightening head of a big burbot, which had its teeth sunk into Grobait’s backside. The stoat Ribrow, who had been last on the chain of linked paws, pushed away from the reeds and swam awkwardly, but fast, back to the other bank, pursued by two burbot, their rounded backfins cutting the water behind him. Vallug Bowbeast dispatched one expertly with a well-aimed arrow. Rawback and Dagrab ran into the shallows, beating off the other with sticks as Ribrow stumbled ashore, his eyes wide with fear.
Rabbad was the unlucky one. He screamed in agony as several of the huge fish attacked him. Turning, he tried to emulate Ribrow by swimming back to the far bank, only to meet the one who had been driven away by Rawback and Dagrab’s sticks. Gruven stood horrified as he watched the fox being pulled down by the burbot shoal. Monstrous heads, with two short spikes protruding from their nostrils and a long one trailing from the chin, reared openmouthed out of the water to rip at the helpless fox. He screeched shrilly as the water reddened around him. More burbot, and two large pike, came skimming to the fray, attracted by the blood swirling in the stream. Rabbad went under, the water stifling his last cries.
The bedraggled vermin stood stunned, staring at the eddying, bloodied waters where he had disappeared. Vallug was the first to move. Wading in, he reached out with his bow, trapping the arrow that was sticking out of the burbot he had shot. He pulled it in to shore, inspecting the long heavy body with its sharp dorsal fin and fan-shaped tail, and called across to Eefera, “Bad fortune on Rabbad, dinner for us. I see you got a fish too!”
“Aye, but it nearly ate Grobait’s be’ind,” the weasel answered, pointing to his companion. “We’ll stop ’ere t’night an’ start trackin’ again at dawn.”
*
Gruven gazed hungrily at the burbot grilling over a fire, spitted on a green willow branch, watching Vallug prod it with an arrow to see if it was ready. “Wot sort of fish d’ye call that ugly monster?”
Ribrow had seen them before. “Burbot.”
Gruven nodded, drawing closer to the fire. “Burbot, eh? It should make good eatin’.”
Vallug continued prodding the fish as it sputtered over the fire. “Well, I’m the only one who’ll find that out, ’cos I killed it. Go an’ catch yer own fish if’n you want one. This ’un’s mine!”
Gruven’s voice went shrill with indignation. “Lookit Eefera. He’s sharin’ his with Grobait.”
Vallug chuckled dryly. “So ’e should. They caught it t’gether, an’ Grobait’s bottom was the bait. Huh huh! Grobait . . . bait! That’s a good ’un!”
Rawback, Dagrab and Ribrow knew better than to ask Vallug Bowbeast for a share of his fish. They remained silent, gnawing roots and apples. But Gruven felt a sense of injustice, and he said so.
“Lissen, Vallug, I’m supposed to be yore Chief. I should get a share of that fish!”
The big ferret had just taken a piece and was chewing on it. He spat out a bone and turned to face Gruven. “Then try an’ take it . . . Chief!”
Gruven knew the others were watching him. He decided the moment had come to show them who was leader, and his paw strayed to the sword thrust through his belt. Vallug leaped forward and floored him with a hefty punch to the nose, then stood over him. “I’ll tell yer who they’ll call Chief, the beast who brings back that otter’s ’ead! An’ I tell yer, snotnose, it won’t be you. We all saw the Taggerung give you a wallopin’ back at camp. You ain’t no Chief, Gruven; yore mama’s tougher’n you. Ole Grissoul will make up a load of mumbo jumbo fer the one who slays the otter, the one who’s tough enough t’do it, an’ that’ll be the clan leader. So you keep outta my way, unless ye want to die. I got no time fer bigmouthed fools, see! You was nothin’ but a snivelin’ cub when Sawney brought that otter into our camp. I was the one who slew ’is father, an’ I’ll be the one to slay the son too!”
On the opposite bank, Eefera could hear Vallug’s every word on the still night air. Licking fish scales from his paws, he murmured to himself, “Oh, will ye now? We’ll see about that, Bowbeast.”
Gruven lay where Vallug had felled him, wiping blood from his nose and planning how he was going to kill the Bowbeast. Vallug sat with his back to him, wolfing fish. The ferret spat a bone into the fire and spoke, as if he was reading the other’s thoughts.
“You ain’t got the guts t’kill me, Gruven. Put one paw near that sword an’ I’ll stuff it down yer neck!”
Gruven made no reply, just lay there alone with his thoughts of murder. As did Vallug, who liked the idea of being a Chieftain. Eefera sat on the other side of the stream, watching them both. His plans involved a double killing. He had learned a lot and his teacher had been one of the best. Sawney Rath.