The Siege
The Siege
Kathryn Lasky
Fourth title in a mythic adventure series in which the heroes are owls!In the owl kingdom, a war between good and evil is raging. On one side, Soren and the noble owls of the Great Ga’hoole tree. On the other, Soren’s fearsome brother Kludd, who wears a terrifying metal mask to cover his battle scars. Driven by an all-consuming lust for power, Kludd leads his forces in a brutal attack on the Great Ga'Hoole Tree.Meanwhile, Soren is asked to lead a mission back to the one place he never wanted to see again – St Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls. He and his crew will have to enter St Aggie's as spies, then leave without being noticed…or caught.Soren escaped the rocky confines of St Aggie's once. If the Ga’Hoole tree is to be saved he must do it again…
COPYRIGHT (#ulink_bf6a7349-2acb-552d-b3ad-151353f5059d)
HarperCollins Children’s Books
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First published in the USA by Scholastic Inc 2004
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2007
Text copyright © Kathryn Lasky 2007
Kathryn Lasky assert the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780007215201
Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2016 ISBN: 9780008226824
Version: 2016-12-05
AUTHOR’S NOTE (#ulink_0942d221-0099-5643-824b-bbcbe84d1892)
Winston Churchill was Prime Minister of England during World War II. For months, citizens of London were subjected to ceaseless bombings by the Nazis. It was called the Battle of Britain and the courage of the men, women and children was remarkable during this terrifying time. Churchill’s radio addresses helped rally an exhausted and frightened nation. It was said that Winston Churchill was the man who mobilised the English language. I would like to acknowledge a great debt to Churchill, for I very closely modelled many of Ezylryb’s speeches in chapters Eighteen, Twenty and Twenty-two after some of Mr Churchill’s most stirring addresses.
When I was a child, a popular reply to a bully was: Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me.
Now that I am an adult, I think this is not true. Words can hurt. But I never would have dreamed back then when I was a child that words like Mr Churchill’s could give such courage, strength, stamina and valour to the citizens who were facing the most horrific circumstances of war.
As Dewlap lashed out in futile desperation against the wind and water, the book she had left on the rock tumbled end over end into the sea …
CONTENTS
Cover (#uc6cc451a-f869-5d8a-9101-4c0c556913f5)
Title Page (#ude0148d2-372c-545f-8b98-9809a01ae18a)
Copyright (#ulink_2f68a02a-c334-5842-a2fe-9fc267118eab)
Author’s Note (#ulink_40d747e6-771c-51b3-85aa-d5294cb5c966)
Prologue (#ulink_c617699a-d148-5fc5-a28f-2686b2c8c460)
Chapter One: The Pilgrim (#ulink_ab1972ed-ced2-5d89-83d7-0a2b9fae74b2)
Chapter Two: The Watcher in the woods (#ulink_5f0607f3-4b78-58e2-9065-59f2d0508fb7)
Chapter Three: At the Great GaHoole Tree (#ulink_d9de5001-17e9-53c4-9fe4-9c2a40acd3ef)
Chapter Four: Sprink on Your Spronk! (#ulink_fd704153-fced-5319-8e83-c9c8888037ae)
Chapter Five: A Mission Most Dreadful (#ulink_a2f3e987-b508-52f0-88c8-787a658a0498)
Chapter Six: Learning by Heart and by Gizzard (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven: A Special Flint Mop (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight: Across the Sea and to the St Aegolius Canyons (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine: The Most Dreadful Place on Earth (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten: To Fear the Moon (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven: Flecks in the Nest (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve: The World According to Otulissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen: A Rogue Smith Is Called (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen: Escape (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen: An Old Friend Discovered (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen: Let Us Fly, Mates! Let Us Fly! (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen: A Sodden Book (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen: The Great Tree Prepares (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen: At War (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty: The News Is Not Good (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One: Besieged (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two: Coo-Coo-Coo-Roo (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Last Battle (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four: A New Constellation Rises (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Other Books By (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_4ad371e3-53fa-5df0-b4f6-e9f38f8df2b2)
Sparks flew off his beak as the owl, mad with rage, careened through the night sky.
“I must find water! I must find water! This mask will melt my eyes. Glaux blood on my brother’s gizzard!” the Barn Owl screeched as his glowing beak sliced the blackness of the night. The curse, the worst that an owl could say, seemed to relieve Kludd of the terrible feelings that stormed within him. But hate still fed him, fed his flight, fed his desperate search for a cool pond in which to plunge his mask of molten metal, his singed feathers set aflame by his brother Soren in a battle that had gone wrong. All wrong!
Below, he spotted the glint of the moon off a smooth liquid surface. Water! The huge Barn Owl banked and began to spiral downwards. Soon, cool water. He had lost his beak in one battle. He had lost all of his face feathers in another. His ear slits had been scarred this time but he still had one eye and, most important, he still had his hatred. Kludd fed and coddled his hatred as a mother owl fed and coddled her baby chicks.
Thank Glaux he still could hate!
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_11089d99-6da1-508a-ad8c-459ae80cc2b2)
The Pilgrim (#ulink_11089d99-6da1-508a-ad8c-459ae80cc2b2)
The Brown Fish Owl looked up and blinked. The red comet had passed by for the last time nearly three months before. What could this glowing point in the sky be? It was hurtling towards the lake at an alarming speed. Great Glaux, it was screeching the most horrid, foulest oaths imaginable!
The Brown Fish Owl stepped further out on the sycamore branch that extended over the lake. If this were not a Fish Owl, it would need rescuing. Most species of owls, save for Fish Owls and Eagle Owls, were completely helpless in the water. The Brown Fish Owl began to spread his wings and was ready to flap them quickly for a power take-off. Within the silver of a second before he heard the splash, he was off.
There was a sizzling sound as the owl hit the water, and then there were wisps of steam. Simon, the Brown Fish Owl, had never seen anything like this – an owl glowing like a coal from a forest fire, plunging into the pond. Was it a collier owl? But colliers would know better. Remarkable as it seemed, a collier owl could do its work without ever getting burned. The Brown Fish Owl grabbed the mysterious owl with his talons just in time. But his gizzard went cold as he saw the owl’s face – a mangled deformity of molten metal and feathers. What was this?
Well, better not worry now. At least it was alive, and as a pilgrim owl of the Glauxian Brothers of the Northern Kingdoms, Simon’s duty was not to question, nor convert, nor preach, but simply to help; to give solace, peace and love. This owl seemed sorely in need of all. And this was precisely why the brothers took seasons away from their retreat and study; to go out into the world and fulfil their sacred obligation. The Brother Superior often said, “To study too much in retreat can become an inexcusable indulgence. It behooves us to share what we have learned, to practise in administering to others what we have gathered from our experience with books.”
This was Pilgrim Simon’s first season of pilgrimming and this seemed to be his first big challenge. The burned owl would need tending. No doubt about it. Restoring fallen owlets to nests, making peace between warring factions of crows – the Glauxian Brothers were among the few owls who could speak sense to crows – all that was nothing compared to this. It would take all of Simon’s medicinal and herbal knowledge to fix up this poor owl.
“Easy there, easy there, fellow,” Simon spoke in a low soothing voice as he helped the wounded owl into the hollow of the sycamore. “We’re going to fix you up just fine.” This was when Simon could have used a nest-maid snake or two. What a luxury they had been back at the retreat in the Northern Kingdoms. But here the pilgrims were charged to live simply To avail themselves of the blind snakes that tended so many owls’ nests, keeping them free of vermin, was not deemed appropriate for the pilgrim owls who were dedicated to service. They had been instructed to live as sparely as possible. Simon would have to go out and dig the medicinal worms himself. Leeches were the best for healing these kinds of wounds, and being a Fish Owl, he was fairly adept at leech gathering.
As soon as Simon had Kludd arranged in the hollow, on a soft bed made of down plucked from his own breast and a combination of mosses, he set out to gather the leeches. As he flew to a coiner of the lake that was rich with leeches, he reflected on how this owl, which might be a Barn Owl, had fought when he had tried to preen him. This was very odd. He had never known an owl who had resisted being preened. This owl’s feathers were a dirty, tangled mess. That he could have flown at all was amazing. Smooth flight depended on smooth feathers. On every flight feather there were tiny almost invisible hooks, or barbules, that locked together to produce an even surface over which the air could glide. This owl’s barbules had become unhooked in the worst way. They needed to be lined up and smoothed out again. But when Simon had first tried, the owl had pulled away. Odd, very odd.
Simon returned in a short while with a beakful of leeches and began placing them around the curled edges of the strange metal mask that had melted over most of the owl’s face. He didn’t dare try to remove it. Upon closer examination, Simon was stue that this was a Barn Owl, an exceptionally large one at that. With patches of soaked moss, he squeezed drops of water into the owl’s beak. Occasionally, the owl’s eyes would flutter open, but he was clearly delirious. In this state he spewed a nearly constant stream of curses laced with tirades of vengeance and death addressed to some creature he called Soren.
Day and night Simon treated the strange Barn Owl, changing the leeches, squeezing drops of water beneath the twisted piece of metal that was where a beak must once have been. The owl’s agitation calmed; the rancorous curses fewer – most thankfully, for the Brothers of Glaux were a gentle order who eschewed fighting. For two days the Barn Owl had slept long uninterrupted stretches, and now on the third day, his eyes blinked open. Simon could tell that he was fully conscious at last. But the first words out of that metallic beak shocked the pilgrim Brown Fish Owl almost as much as the curses had.
“You are not a Pure One.”
A Pure One? What in the name of Glaux is this owl talking about? “Forgive me, but I am afraid I do not understand what you are talking about,” said Simon.
Kludd blinked. This owl should be afraid. “Never mind. I suppose I must thank you.”
“Oh, don’t suppose anything. You need not thank me. I am a pilgrim. I am merely doing my Glauxian duty.”
“Duty to what?”
“Duty to our species.”
“You are not of my species!” Kludd barked with a ferocity that shocked the Fish Owl. “I am a Barn Owl, Tyto alba. You are” – Kludd sniffed – “judging from your stink, a Fish Owl – not my species.”
“Well, I was speaking generally, of course. My Glauxian duty extends to all owlkind.”
Kludd responded with a low, growlish hoot and shut his eyes.
“I’ll leave you now,” said Simon.
“If you’re going hunting, I would prefer red meat to fish – vole, to be precise.”
“Yes, yes. I’ll do my best. I’m sure you’ll be feeling better as soon as I get you some meat.”
Kludd glared at the Brown Fish Owl. You can be sure of nothing with me. Glaux, what an ugly owl – flattish head, muddled colour, not quite brown, not quite grey or white. Miserable little ear tufts. It doesn’t get much uglier than a Brown Fish Owl, that’s for sure.
Kludd, however, thought he had heard of these pilgrim-type owls. Might as well learn a bit more. “So you say you’re a pilgrim. Where are you from?”
Simon was delighted that the Barn Owl was taking any notice at all. “The Northern Kingdoms.”
This interested Kludd. He had heard of the Northern Kingdoms. That was where the ancient and brilliant owl Ezylryb, whom he had almost captured, had come from. It was because of Ezylryb that he had nearly died in this last battle. “I thought the Northern Kingdoms were known for their warriors, not their pilgrims.”
“Owls of the Northern Kingdoms are very fierce, but one can be fierce in love and in peace as well as in hatred and in battle.”
Glaux, this owl frinked him off. Made him want to yarp a dozen pellets right in his ugly face. “I see,” Kludd said. But of course he didn’t see at all. Still, sometimes diplomacy was necessary. And this was what Kludd considered a diplomatic response to an owl that made his gizzard turn green.
“Well, why don’t you fly off and get me some good red meat, nice and furry, good bones — my gizzard needs something to grind.” And I need time to think.
The Northern Kingdoms! The mere mention of them by the disgusting Brown Fish Owl had set Kludd’s mind ablaze. He had to plan carefully now. The capture of the old Whiskered Screech Ezylryb had failed miserably. Of course, one could hardly have called it a great scheme. No, the great scheme had been to build a force large enough to lay siege to St Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls, better known as St Aggie’s. The academy had been snatching owlets for years and training them to mine flecks, among other things. With flecks, one could create weapons of unbelievable power. Not simply weapons that killed, but weapons that could warp the minds of owls. St Aggie’s had the largest known supply of flecks. But the owls of St Aggie’s didn’t know what to do with them.
Still, ignorant as they were, they had found the stronghold of the Pure Ones in the castle ruins and tried to make off with the owlets that Kludd and scores of Tytos had captured. The Pure Ones, of course, fought back to recover what was in their minds rightfully theirs. This resulted in the Great Downing. Scores of baby owls dropped while the two powerful and lawless forces battled it out. And it was the Great Downing that had alerted the owl world – in particular, those noble owls known as the Guardians of Ga’Hoole, who rose in the darkness of the night from the Great Ga’Hoole Tree – that there was something out there more fearful than St Aggie’s.
Before the Great Downing, the organisation of the Pure Ones had been secret, and this state afforded them valuable time and opportunity to build their forces and develop their strategies. The Great Downing had brought the Ga’Hoolian owls out in full force. And, most significantly, it had brought out the legendary warrior from the Northern Kingdoms, known there as Lyze of Kiel and now in the Southern Kingdoms as Ezylryb. But it was not Lyze of Kiel the warrior who had interested Kludd. It was Ezylryb the scholar. It was said that this owl had the deepest knowledge of everything – from weather to fire, from poetry to the very elements of life and the earth. And this owl best understood the lurking powers of the flecks.
So when the Pure Ones had lost the owlets, their source for new owl power, Kludd had abruptly decided to change tactics. The capture of one owl like Ezylryb would be worth more than one hundred baby owls. The only way he could think of capturing the old one was through a Devil’s Triangle. By placing three bags of flecks in three different trees to form a triangle, Kludd had laid a trap that had ensnared the old Whiskered Screech by causing massive disruptions to his powers of navigation. The flecks set up a magnetic field. That this field had been broken was not only unexpected, but disastrous. And it had been broken. Other owls had come to Ezylryb’s rescue. They had snapped the power of this field as if it had been no more than a brittle twig. Higher magnetics! Ezylryb knew these dark sciences. And that was why Kludd had wanted him.
There had been a fierce battle with the owls who had come to rescue Ezylryb. Much to Kludd’s horror, one of them had been his own baby brother, Soren, whom he had pushed out of the family’s nest when Soren was an owlet too young to fly. At the time, Kludd thought that he had been delivering up his younger brother to the Grand Tyto Most Pure, for that had been the requirement – to sacrifice a family member and thus assure one’s own admission to the highest ranks of the Pure Ones. But something had gone wrong. St Aggie’s had shown up and taken his brother. Now this very brother had nearly killed him. And not only had the Pure Ones had their new recruits stolen from them, not only had they lost Ezylryb, but their stronghold had been discovered. They needed to find a new place to roost, a headquarters from which to plan their war for supremacy.
Well, no need to think about all that now. There were other more important matters – like higher magnetics. All this time, Kludd thought, I have dreamed of flecks, of controlling the owl universe and making it pure. I have dreamed of conquering St Aggie’s, with its great reservoirs of flecks and its thousands of owls to mine them. And then I dreamed of capturing Ezylryb. But now I know what I must do. I must lay siege to the great tree on the Island of Hoole, in the middle of the Sea of Hoolemere. Yes, the Great Ga’Hoole Tree must be ours, with its secrets of fire and magnetics, with its warriors and its scholars, it must be ours. I shall bide my time. I shall gain my strength. I shall find my scattered army and then we shall rise – rise a thousand times more powerful than we ever were, against the Guardians of Ga’Hoole.
“A nice plump vole for you, sir. Strong bones and plenty of fur. Its winter pelt is fully grown. That should set your gizzard grinding just fine.” The Brown Fish Owl pilgrim had just returned.
Yes, and so will you, pilgrim. For Kludd had decided that upon regaining his strength, he would kill this owl immediately. His own survival must remain a secret for some time if all his plans were to work. Yes, by tomorrow with the vole’s bones like grist in his gizzard, he would be ready to kill the stinking Brown Fish Owl. Kludd, like the best of killers, was patient.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_8e345c50-616c-52c7-8ca1-baa31e2b19d7)
The Watcher in the woods (#ulink_8e345c50-616c-52c7-8ca1-baa31e2b19d7)
Some might have thought her a scroom, a ghost owl, but she was not. Her feathers had turned a misty grey colour with spots of white. She was, indeed, a Spotted Owl, but an odd one. She had perched in a tree not far from the sycamore. Her wings, slightly crippled, made long flights difficult and, when she did fly, her path was often crooked. Nonetheless, she went out scouting every day.
She was almost invisible to the others in Ambala. When they saw her, which was seldom, they called her Mist. But although she was not often seen, she seemed to see all. When she sensed danger or saw something disturbing, she flew to the eagles with whom she shared a nest. In the past, there had been slipgizzles to keep an eye on such things. But since the Barred Owl who had watched in the borderlands between The Beaks and Ambala had been murdered, there had been no one. Now the owl called Mist sensed that there was great peril nearby.
She had watched the strange sight a few nights before when a smouldering owl had plunged into the lake. She had seen the pilgrim owl rescue it and had been amazed when she observed the pilgrim flying out to fetch leeches. She could not imagine how that owl had survived its plunge, let alone the embers that encrusted its face. But it must have, for the next day she had seen the good pilgrim go out hunting, and had heard him fretting over finding a vole. He was muttering to himself in a taut voice that the injured owl had demanded meat and not fish. Mist could not imagine how that owl could be so demanding of the pilgrim who had saved his life. And now she watched as the pilgrim went out several times each day and always for red meat – rat, vole, squirrel, but never fish.
She had become more and more curious about the owl recovering in the hollow of the sycamore. How close did she dare come? Most animals in this forest, especially owls, never really saw her. They looked through her. To them she appeared like fog or mist. But even when they did see her, they never seemed to recognise her as an owl, or as any creature they knew. And this was fine with her. The only ones who did know her were the eagles with whom she lived, Zan and Streak.
So she crept forwards on the branch of the fir tree where she perched. It was a short flight to the spruce that grew next to the sycamore where the wounded owl was recovering. A few minutes later, she lighted down on to the spruce. There was one branch that extended further than the others and nearly touched the sycamore. From this branch she had a perfect view into the hollow where the wounded owl rested.
The Spotted Owl gasped at what she saw. The injured owl was immense and his face was hidden behind a metal mask that made him appear horrifyingly brutal. She felt her gizzard twitch and a slow dread begin to build. She must get back to the eagles. There was something about this owl that was more evil than anything she had ever seen. But just then, she heard the approach of the pilgrim. Suddenly the entire world seemed to turn into a blizzard of bloody feathers. A terrible shriek shattered the forest. And then it was over. In a matter of seconds, the Brown Fish Owl lay dead on the forest floor. One wing ripped off, his head nearly split open. As the blackness of the night gathered in the forest, the huge owl with the metal mask raised its wings up, then flapped and lifted into the sky.
The Spotted Owl’s gizzard turned to ice as the owl settled on the very same limb upon which she perched. She had survived so much. Was she now to die in the talons of this monster owl? The monster turned towards her. The Spotted Owl dared not breathe. Never had she perched this close to an owl and remained imperceptible. The monster blinked. Incredible! He sees straight through me. I am indeed mist.
The branch shook as Kludd flapped his wings again and rose into the night to seek his Pure Ones. With this murder finished, the time for revenge had arrived. Vengeance and glory would be his. His gizzard quivered in exultation. A silent scream filled his brain. Kludd Rules Supreme!
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_acbe3c4e-98a8-545d-9a73-4e14b3dde0c8)
At the Great GaHoole Tree (#ulink_acbe3c4e-98a8-545d-9a73-4e14b3dde0c8)
The big limbs of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree shook with the blasts from the first winter’s gale. It was the season of the white rain, when the vines that hung from the tree turned a glistening ivory. The best of the milkberries had all been harvested weeks before in the time of the copper-rose rain, when the vines were burnished a deep copper-rose colour.
The weather chaw to which Soren belonged had just returned from an interpretation flight led by Ezylryb, captain of the chaw. It had been Ezylryb’s first flight since his rescue from the Devil’s Triangle. And it had been wonderful – a loud, boisterous mission with plenty of wet poop jokes and singing. But they had come back with good information despite Otulissa’s dire prediction that they would learn nothing if they didn’t stop all the gleeking about. Gleeking was the owl word for messing around and not being serious. Some chaw leaders such as Strix Struma never permitted such gleeking, but Ezylryb was different. He believed that gleeking was good, building trust and fellowship.
Otulissa, however, a serious and proper young Spotted Owl, abhorred gleeking about in general, and wet poop jokes in particular. It was a never-ending debate between her and Soren.
“Soren, I just don’t believe that exchanging wet poop jokes with seagulls should be part of any mission.”
Otulissa and Soren, both members of the weather chaw, perched on a branch just outside the dining hollow waiting for Matron to announce that breaklight was ready. Breaklight was the meal the owls enjoyed at the end of the night, just before the break of dawn. After this, they would sleep for the rest of the daylight hours until the evening shadows began to creep over the earth and darken the sky.
“You can learn a lot from seagulls, Otulissa,” Soren was saying.
“I beg to differ. All that churring and guffawing and giggling over their pathetic humour interrupts the pressure-front vibrations.” Spotted Owls were known for their extreme sensitivities to atmospheric pressure that came with changes in the weather.
“Well, you picked up on the fact that a blizzard was behind this gale, and look, it’s starting to snow now. So I don’t see how it damaged your prediction.”
“Soren, I could have predicted a lot more precisely when and how much snow we would be getting if there hadn’t been all that gleeking about. Also, I just don’t find wet poop jokes funny. As owls, we should be proud of our digestive system and our unique manner of eliminating waste.”
“Oh, it’s yarping, for Glaux’s sake.” A large Great Grey Owl named Twilight had just lighted down on to the branch next to them. Twilight was one of Soren’s closest friends.
“It’s not simply yarping, Twilight. That we pack the bones and fur of our waste into neat little packets for excretion is quite extraordinary in the bird kingdom. That so little of our waste is liquid is exceptional. Yarping pellets through our mouths is magnificent,” said Otulissa.
“Seen one pellet, seen them all,” Twilight growled.
“I’m getting cold,” Soren said. “When is breaklight going to be ready? I, for one, am ready for something hot.”
Before a mission, the owls of the weather chaw were not permitted to eat their food cooked. Ezylryb insisted that they eat their food raw and with all the ‘hair’ – as he called it – on the meat. Of course, the owls of the Ga’Hoole Tree were special in that they often ate cooked food. Most owls ate their food raw and bloody because, unlike the owls of the great tree, they did not possess knowledge of fire.
The owls of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree enjoyed a civilisation unrivalled by any of the other kingdoms of owls. With their knowledge, they tried to protect the lives of owls in other kingdoms. Lately, however, the dangers had increased alarmingly. Not the least of these dangers were the evil owls of St Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls where Soren had once been imprisoned. At St Aggie’s he had met his best friend Gylfie, an Elf Owl. And now there was an even more destructive group, the Pure Ones. It had been on the mission to rescue Ezylryb that Soren had discovered that his own brother, Kludd, was the leader of this group.
Matron, a bunchy Barred Owl, poked her beak out of an opening near the branch where Soren and the others perched. “Breaklight!” she announced cheerfully.
“At last!” Soren said.
“Ooh, bats! I smell roasted bat wings!” Gylfie suddenly swooped in.
“Where’ve you been?” Soren turned to the Elf Owl.
“Helping Octavia in the library,” she replied.
“Octavia in the library? Why?” Soren asked.
“Orders from the top, I guess. We were supposed to organise all the books on higher magnetics and flecks.” Soren felt his gizzard lurch. He would never get used to hearing the word ‘flecks’.
“But Octavia? Why Octavia? What use is a blind snake in the library? No offence, Mrs P,” Otulissa asked as they crowded around Mrs Plithiver, another blind snake.
“None taken, dear,” the rosy-coloured snake replied.
For centuries, blind snakes had served as maids in the nests of owls, keeping them free of vermin and pests. In the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, they served in other tasks as well. Among such tasks were providing the dining tables upon which the owls ate. They could easily and quickly extend their bodies to accommodate more diners.
Answering Otulissa’s question, Gylfie replied, “Why Octavia? Well, she might be blind, but she has served Ezylryb for so long that she knows which books he wants on the special reserve shelf for higher magnetics. And it was too much work for just the book matron. She doesn’t know the collection as well as Octavia – at least not these books. But then, of course, Dewlap came in and started bossing us around.”
There was a sigh from the owls. Dewlap was the most boring teacher, or ryb, of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree.
“What’s she doing in the library?” Soren asked. “Higher magnetics has nothing to do with the stuff she teaches.”
Otulissa plumped up her feathers. “Oh, never mind. I am just so excited about studying higher magnetics, I can’t tell you.”
“Then don’t,” said Twilight.
“Yes, spare us, learned one,” Gylfie said under her breath in a barely audible whisper to Soren, who laughed. Otulissa was a very smart owl. No one would deny that. She had been the one to figure out how the Devil’s Triangle worked, and how to destroy it with fire. And she knew of the protective qualities of mu metal that guarded against the hazards of the magnetic flecks. But she wasn’t shy about flaunting her knowledge and sometimes it became boring. Especially now as she began talking about her long list of distinguished relatives who were all scholars, in particular the genius, long gone, great-great-great-aunt of hers, Strix Emerilla, who had written countless scientific books. It was always Strix Emerilla this or Strix Emerilla that. After a little while, the other owls at Mrs P’s table ignored her and went on with their own conversations.
Gylfie turned to Soren again and whispered in his ear, “You notice that Ezylryb and none of the other parliament members are here?”
Soren nodded.
“Well, big doings,” Gylfie said, then blinked with one eye. Soren felt a surge of excitement. Gylfie must be on to something. Soren needed a distraction. Life had been, well, not quite the same since the appalling revelation that his own brother had trapped Ezylryb in the Devil’s Triangle. And his own brother had vowed to kill him. Soren spent entirely too much time remembering those dreadful images of Kludd flying off, his face molten as the hot metal mask melted, screaming, “Death to the Impure! Death to Soren!”
My own brother. My very own brother is Metal Beak and he wants to kill me.
After breaklight, the owls departed the dining hollow and made their way back to their respective hollows. Outside the great tree, the blizzard lashed. The gale-force winds had turned the sky white. It had been on a night like this in the thick of a blizzard that Soren, Gylfie, Twilight and Digger had first arrived at the great tree. Now as soon as the four friends and Soren’s sister, Eglantine, were alone Gylfie spoke in a low voice.
“As I said to Soren at breaklight, something big is going on.”
“How do you know?” Digger asked.
“Not one of the parliament members was in the dining hollow. There’s an important meeting taking place.”
“Getting ready for war, I bet!” Twilight said. “I’ll bet they’ll put us each in charge of a division.”
“It’s not war, Twilight. Hate to disappoint you,” Gylfie said.
Twilight was disappointed. He loved fighting, and with his amazing quickness and ferocity, Twilight had proved that he had no equal.
“No, no war,” repeated Gylfie. “It’s higher magnetics.”
“Oh, for Glaux’s sake,” Twilight growled. “How boring. As if we don’t get enough of HM, as she now calls it, from Otulissa all the time.”
“It’s important, Twilight. We have to learn about this stuff,” Digger said.
“That’s just the problem,” Gylfie said in a low hiss. “This stuff is spronk.”
“Spronk?” the three other owls said at once.
“What’s ‘spronk’?” Soren asked.
“Spronk is forbidden knowledge,” said Gylfie. There was a deep silence in the hollow.
“Forbidden knowledge? No, Gylfie,” Soren said, “You have to be wrong. Nothing is spronk in the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. That’s just not the Guardians’ way. They would never forbid knowledge. They only want us to learn.”
“Maybe not forbidden forever, but at least some things are spronk for right now,” she replied.
“Well, I don’t like it,” Soren said firmly. “I’m completely against things being declared spronk.”
“Me too,” Twilight said.
Digger blinked and then in that slow way he had of speaking when he was considering a problem, he said, “Yes, I think it’s awful when they keep knowledge from young owls. Just suppose that Otulissa had not been permitted to read that book about the Devil’s Triangle. We might never have been able to free Ezylryb.”
“I think we should go and tell them that this is all wrong,” Eglantine spoke up for the first time.
“Before we do anything,” Soren said now in a firm voice, “I think that we have to find out for sure.”
“To the roots, Soren?” Gylfie asked.
“That’s how you found out isn’t it, Gylfie?” Soren asked.
Gylfie nodded. She was a bit embarrassed, for this was an acknowledgment that she had been engaged in the less-than-admirable activity of eavesdropping on the parliament.
Thousands of inner passages wound their way through the Great Ga’Hoole Tree and some months before, Gylfie, who often had trouble sleeping and would rise for a wander through the tree, had discovered a place deep in the roots where there was a strange phenomenon. Something happened to the timber at a certain point so that the sounds coming from the owl’s parliament chamber resonated within the roots. Entering the root structure itself was a challenge for the roots were huge and tangled, but Soren and his friends had found an ideal place where they could listen.
“Oh, I’m so excited!” Eglantine was nearly hopping up and down. “I’ve heard you talk about going to the roots but I’ve never been there. I’ve been dying to go.”
There was a sudden silence as the other four owls exchanged glances. “You’re not thinking of leaving me out. You’d better not leave me out. No fair!” Eglantine said in a desperate voice.
“I’m just not sure, Eglantine,” Soren said. “I mean, first of all you would have to promise not to tell Primrose.” Primrose, a Pygmy Owl, was Eglantine’s best friend, and she told her everything.
“I won’t, I won’t, I promise. Listen, if it hadn’t been for me, none of this stuff with higher magnetics would have started,” Eglantine said.
This was true. If it hadn’t been for Eglantine, who had been captured by the Pure Ones, imprisoned in the stone crypt of a ruined castle and exposed to the destructive powers of the flecks, none of this would ever have happened.
“Well, all right,” Soren finally said. “But not a word of this to anyone. Promise?”
“Promise.” The young Barn Owl nodded her lovely heart-shaped face solemnly.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_9a748bcd-ae10-5198-a618-d31b5cd9df8d)
Sprink on Your Spronk! (#ulink_9a748bcd-ae10-5198-a618-d31b5cd9df8d)
“I cannot believe that teaching young and impressionable owls about such matters can really be helpful in the long run. Higher magnetics is a strange business. We ourselves have only begun to understand it all.” Dewlap, the Ga’Hoolology ryb, was speaking.
The five young owls were perched among the roots, listening to the parliament’s debate. Soren was ready to explode. Of course higher magnetics was a strange business, especially compared to Ga’Hoolology, which was one of the most boring studies and chaws of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. Ga’Hoolology was important, for it taught the processes of the tree itself and how to best keep the environment healthy and thriving, but it was also dull.
In this debate, Dewlap and Elvan, another ryb, were on the spronk side while Ezylryb and Bubo, the blacksmith at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, were on the antispronk side. Strix Struma was undecided. Suddenly the five young owls were aware of another presence. They felt a shadow slide over them in this darkest of places within the tree and they froze. Then all of them together flipped their heads around. It was Otulissa!
What was she doing here? Soren was furious. Racdrops! he thought. Then Twilight beaked silently the words they were all thinking. “This really frinks me off!”
‘Racdrops’ and ‘frinks’ were two of the worst curse words an owl could say. There was only one worse – sprink, but no one ever said that. Not even Twilight. Say these words in the dining hollow and you were out in a flash. But Otulissa seemed unrattled. She merely lifted a talon to her beak to warn Twilight not to make any noise. Soren settled back down. There was absolutely nothing he could do about this now. They might as well just listen as the debate continued.
“Higher magnetics is not a science,” Dewlap was saying. “It’s dark magic, one of the shadow arts. And that book, Fleckasia and Other Disorders of the Gizzard, says as much and must instantly be removed from the shelves.”
“Wrong!” a voice boomed and sent the roots quivering so hard that little Gylfie nearly fell from her perch. It was Ezylryb speaking. “First, with all due respect, Dewlap, I must take issue with the term ‘dark magic’. You use it in a derisive manner, as if something that is dark is negative. How can darkness in our world of owls ever be thought of as negative, something less than good? For is it not in darkness that we come alive, that we rise in the night to fly, to hunt, to find, to explore, to defend and to challenge? It is in darkness that our true nobility begins to bloom. Like the flowers that open to the sunshine, we open to the dark. So let us hear no more of such expressions as ‘dark magic’. It is neither dark, nor is it magic. It is science. A science that we do not fully understand.”
“All right, we need an explanation, Otulissa!” Soren demanded when they were back in the hollow. “You followed us. Who gave you permission?” But Otulissa cut him off.
“Who gave you permission to eavesdrop?” she shot back.
“Well, no matter,” said Soren. “How come you’re following us around?”
“I have as much right to as anyone. I don’t want to be left out. I flew with you to rescue Ezylryb. You know that’s true. And who was it who figured out the Devil’s Triangle? Tell me that. And who knew about mu metal? Tell me that. Not to mention the fact that it was I who knew that fire destroyed magnetic properties. So who has more right to know about higher magnetics?”
Now it was Digger who stepped forwards. “You,” he said simply. Otulissa breathed a sigh of relief. “And,” he paused, “I honestly don’t believe that one owl has more of a right than anyone else to know something. Isn’t that what our objection to this whole spronk thing is about – our right to know? We should all be able to know.” A stillness had fallen on the group. “Now, tell us, what do you think is spronk about higher magnetics, and why don’t they want us to know about it? What are they scared of?”
“I don’t know really. I think it probably has something to do with …” she hesitated. “Well, with what happened to Eglantine after the Great Downing – to her mind, to her gizzard.”
“Was that different from what happened to Ezylryb?” Soren asked.
“Yes, I think so. Ezylryb just lost his sense of direction. He couldn’t navigate, but Eglantine …” Otulissa turned to Eglantine.
“I couldn’t feel. I was like stone – like the stone crypts they kept us in,” Eglantine said.
“So why don’t they want us to know about this?” Soren asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe because they don’t know that much about it themselves,” said Otulissa.
“So,” said Soren, “what do we do about all this?”
“We need to confront them,” Twilight said. “I’m not much for book learning, but I don’t like the idea that someone can tell me I can’t learn something. Makes me want to learn it all the more.”
“But if we confront them,” Gylfie said, “we’re back to that same old problem again.”
“What’s that?” asked Otulissa.
“The last time we listened in at the roots and found something out and wanted to say something about it, way back last summer, well, we couldn’t because then we would have had to admit that we had been eavesdropping and we would get into really big trouble,” said Gylfie.
“Hmmm,” Otulissa blinked her eyes shut and kept them that way while she thought a moment. “I see the problem.” Then suddenly she opened her eyes. The amber light in them flickered with a new brightness. “I have an idea. Remember that book they were talking about, the book that had to be removed from the shelves – Fleckasia and Other Disorders of the Gizzard?”
“Yes,” Soren replied.
“Well, what if I go to the library and ask the book matron to fetch it for me? Then we’ll see what happens. This will be a test case, so to speak,” said Otulissa.
The other owls looked at one another. Otulissa was smart. And this was a very good idea.
So it was planned that as tween time neared, when the last drop of the day’s sun began to vanish and the first shadows of twilight gathered, they would all go to the library and Otulissa would request the forbidden book. Of course, they would not go in all at once. Soren and Gylfie would already be there, and Otulissa would arrive with Eglantine and Digger. It was decided that Twilight would not be there at all because he was seldom in the library. Now Soren wondered if Ezylryb would be there, for he often was. What would he say when Otulissa requested the book?
The whole idea of forbidden books sickened Soren. At St Aggie’s, all books were forbidden. Entry into the library was not permitted for any owl except Skench and Spoorn, the brutal leaders of the academy. Academy! What a name. No one had learned anything there except how to become a slave and stop thinking.
Soren and Gylfie could hardly concentrate on the weather charts they were studying in the Ga’Hoolian weather atlas. Ezylryb was in the library, his usual uncommunicative self, sitting at his special desk. The only sound that came from that desk was the crunching of the dried caterpillars that he munched while he read.
He was the most inscrutable of owls and only rarely revealed anything that could be called emotion. Yet Soren was drawn to him. He loved the old Whiskered Screech because it was Ezylryb who had first looked upon him and seen him as more than a young orphaned Barn Owl, more than just an owl scarred by the horrors of St Aggie’s. Ezylryb had seen Soren as a real, thinking owl who knew things not only through books and the information that the rybs taught, but through his gizzard. Gizzuition was, according to Ezylryb, a kind of mysterious thinking beyond normal reasoning, by which an owl immediately perceived the truth.
Gylfie gave Soren a nudge. Soren looked up. Otulissa had just entered the library with Eglantine. And suddenly Dewlap had appeared behind the circulation desk with the book matron. Soren felt his gizzard turn squishy. He saw Otulissa’s feathers droop as an owl’s feathers do when he or she feels fear. She seemed to shrink. But then Soren watched and saw a fierce glint in the amber of her eyes. Otulissa’s feathers seemed to puff up slightly and she flew the short distance between where she had stood and the desk. “Book Matron, would you be so kind as to look for a book that I can’t seem to find on the shelves?”
“Certainly, dear. What is the title?”
“Fleckasia and Other Disorders of the Gizzard.”
Complete silence fell upon the library. It loomed up as thick as fog on a humid summer night. Soren lifted his eyes towards Ezylryb, who was staring directly at Dewlap. His gaze bore into her like two fierce points of golden light. The book matron stammered, “Let me go see if I can find it.”
“Oh no, Book Matron,” Dewlap said. “That is one of the books that has been temporarily removed from the shelves until certain decisions are made by the parliament.”
“Removing books? Decisions? Since when are there decisions about books I want to read?” Otulissa drew herself up taller. Her feathers were now fully fluffed up. Otulissa’s plumage was puffed to a degree that was most often associated with a posture of attack. She looked huge.
“There are plenty of other good books for you to read, my dear,” Dewlap said in a soft voice.
“But I want to read that book,” Otulissa replied. She paused a second. “Strix Emerilla, one of my distinguished ancestors, the renowned weathertrix, who has written several books on atmospheric pressure and weather turbulations, mentioned it.”
Dewlap interrupted her. “The book you have requested has nothing whatsoever to do with weather.”
“That’s possible. But you see, Strix Emerilla had a wide-ranging mind, and I think that she mentioned this book as referring to a possible connection between gizzard disorders and atmospheric pressure variations.”
“So?” Dewlap said.
“So, I have a wide-ranging mind too. Now, please may I have the book?”
Glaux bless Strix Emerilla, Soren thought. If anyone had ever told him that he would be blessing Strix Emerilla, whom Otulissa brought up whenever possible, he would have said they were completely yoicks.
“I’m very sorry, my dear, but that is absolutely impossible. That book has been declared temporarily spronk,” Dewlap said primly and turned to the list she had been making.
“SPRONK!” Otulissa gasped. There was such emotion in her voice that every owl in the library looked up in genuine alarm.
“Yes, spronk.” A testy note had crept into Dewlap’s voice.
“There is nothing more ordinary, less noble, more ignoble, less intelligent, more common and completely vulgar than spronking the written word,” Otulissa sputtered. “It is completely lower class.”
“Well, the book is spronk,” Dewlap growled.
Then Otulissa swelled up to twice her normal size. “Well, SPRINK ON YOUR SPRONK!”
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_3b4d049c-0c58-5549-bfa4-6b2334df74e6)
A Mission Most Dreadful (#ulink_3b4d049c-0c58-5549-bfa4-6b2334df74e6)
“She fainted? Dewlap actually fainted?” Twilight said with stunned disbelief.
“Yes, they rushed her to the infirmary,” Soren said.
Soren, Gylfie, Twilight, Digger and Eglantine swung their heads towards Otulissa, who stood very still except for her quivering beak. “I don’t regret a word. Not even the you-know-what word. I shall not apologise. Spronking is very lower class, and it is against everything that the Guardians of Ga’Hoole are and everything they stand for. I don’t care if I get a flint mop for this. I don’t care if I get chaw-chopped.”
The other owls blinked in horror. To be chaw-chopped was not simply a flint mop, which was the owls’ form of punishment. It was the ultimate humiliation that could befall an owl of Ga’Hoole. It meant being dropped for an indefinite period of time from one’s chaw.
The five owls had returned to their hollow after the episode in the library. Otulissa had come too. They peered at her now in awe and wonder. This very prim and proper owl had not only said the worst curse word in the owl vocabulary, but she had spat it at a ryb. What would happen to her? They could only imagine.
Suddenly the parliament matron poked her head into the hollow.
“The lot of you are required in parliament immediately!” She did not sound pleased. “Except for Eglantine – she can stay.”
Oh Glaux! they all thought.
“Why don’t I get to go?” Eglantine asked in a quavering voice. “I want to be included.”
“You want to be included in a flint mop?” Twilight asked. “The last flint mop we got, if you recall, was having to bury pellets for Dewlap for three days. You were excluded from that too and, believe me, you were lucky.”
As the owls made their way down to the parliament hollow, Gylfie muttered, “Good Glaux, we’re going to be burying pellets from now until summer.”
“You didn’t say the word, I did,” Otulissa muttered. “It just sort of came out. I was amazed myself.” But then she quickly added, “But I’m still glad I said it!”
Secretly, they were all glad she had said it. There was something terribly wrong with this whole idea of spronking. It did not fit in Soren’s mind with the values of Ga’Hoole. It is a sprinky kind of thing, Soren thought. Yes, good for Otulissa!
When they were ushered into the parliament chamber, Dewlap was not there. Only Ezylryb and Boron and his mate Barran, the two Snowy Owls who were the monarchs of the tree, were in attendance. And much to Soren’s surprise, two other members of the weather chaw, Ruby, a Short-eared Owl and the best flier in the chaw, and Soren’s flight partner Martin, a tiny Northern Saw-whet.
What’s going on here? Why Ruby and Martin? Soren blinked at them in dismay, and they seemed equally puzzled as to why they had been called.
Barran coughed several times to clear her throat and began to speak. “The seven of you have been called here for a reason.” Dread swam in all of their gizzards. What was it to be? Burying pellets? Or would they be chaw-chopped?
Boron was now speaking. “The seven of you combine an interesting array of talents.” He paused. “As was proven in the extraordinary rescue of Ezylryb.” Ezylryb nodded and seemed to fix his gaze on Soren. “Some have come to refer to you as ‘the Chaw of Chaws’.” Soren almost gasped, and he felt his gizzard give a thrilled little twitch.
“To get to the point,” Boron continued, “your special talents as the Chaw of Chaws are now needed.” One could have heard a blade of grass drop in the parliament hollow.
Glaux, Soren thought, if Twilight pipes up about war and battle claws, I’ll smack him. That was all the Great Grey ever thought about. But of course he was brilliant in battle.
Then it was as if Barran had read Soren’s thoughts. She swung her head round and fixed Twilight with a piercing stare. The light from her yellow eyes was like sharp, bright-golden needles. “In a sense, it is much more dangerous than war. Although the stakes are as high, for you could be killed.”
Whether Soren and his friends drew a breath for the next several seconds was questionable.
“Your mission is to penetrate the St Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls.”
What! Soren thought. Go back? He and Gylfie were horrified.
The two owls almost fell off the parliament perches. They were being asked to go back to the place that had attempted to destroy their personalities and their wills, through the brutal processes called moon blinking and moon scalding.
“We have reason to believe that a dangerous group of owls, the ones that call themselves the Pure Ones, have possibly already infiltrated St Aggie’s with the intention of capturing the immense stores of flecks. We have had intelligence reports from Ambala that suggest this,” said Boron.
“Ambala?” Digger said. “Isn’t that where the slipgizzle was, the Barred Owl?”
“Was is right,” Boron said. “As you know, he was killed. Over the last several months, we have been cultivating a new slipgizzle. She is rather frail and quite eccentric. They call her Mist, and she is perfectly suited for this work because through some odd accident, an almost terminal shock to her gizzard, she has lost all her colouration. Her feathers have turned a pale, almost foggy grey. Some might think she is a scroom. But she isn’t. She does not fly well, but she has incredible powers of observation. The reports she has been sending about the Pure Ones are most disturbing.”
Soren blinked. “Why?”
“They want flecks,” Barran said, “and St Aggie’s has the largest repository of flecks in existence. But Mist thinks their interest extends beyond the flecks, and that is what we want you to find out. The two greatest threats to the owl kingdoms are St Aggie’s and the Pure Ones. The very idea of their being brought together in some sort of grand mischief is …” Barran hesitated. “… gizzard-chilling, to put it mildly.”
Then Boron resumed. “So, you see how important the seven of you are. We have faith in you. Now the question is, will you accept this mission?”
The owls were stunned. They had come in expecting a scolding or a flint mop and instead they had been charged with this important mission. Soren felt Ezylryb’s gaze upon him. And Boron began to speak. “Soren and Gylfie, we realise that going back to St Aggie’s will be most difficult for you.”
“Yes,” Soren said slowly. “But Boron, won’t they recognise us?”
“Never!” Barran said quickly. “You were an owlet when you were there before. Your flight feathers had not fledged, nor had your face fledged white, and you were half your size. Gylfie – you too looked quite different.”
“And,” Ezylryb began to speak for the first time, “as you two well know, they are stupid, these owls of St Aggie’s.” He paused. “But still, you’ll need a cover story.”
“A cover story?” Martin asked.
“Yes, where you came from, why you are there,” said Ezylryb.
Otulissa raised her talon now to speak. “Can we say something like we got sick of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree? We didn’t trust the Guardians – something like that.”
“No,” snapped Ezylryb. “They’ll never believe you. It will raise their suspicions if they think you have anything to do with the great tree. You need to come from a place that they know very little about.”
Soren suddenly realised that Ezylryb had thought out this entire cover story.
“A place like what?” Soren asked.
“A place like the Northern Kingdoms,” said Ezylryb.
“Hold on a second.” Digger had now raised a talon to speak. “Ezylryb, Gylfie and I are desert owls. The chances of our coming from the Northern Kingdoms are just about zero.”
“I have it figured out,” Ezylryb replied. I thought so. Soren blinked.
Ezylryb continued, but he did not stand still on the perch. He began sweeping through the air.
“Last summer, before certain unfortunate incidents like the Great Downing and my own entrapment in the Devil’s Triangle, I had commenced a set of weather interpretation experiments. My original intention had been to pick up information on atmospheric particles and subparticles as they are related to the displays we call the Aurora Glaucora, those magnificent colours in the summer sky when the entire night seems to pulsate with glorious lights. There was one last summer, as I recall, just around the time of my entrapment. Well, as often happens with scientific inquiry, one sets out to solve one problem and, quite by accident and happy surprise, one finds the answer to something entirely different. What I stumbled across was a new method for detecting distant williwaws.”
“Williwaws!” Soren, Gylfie, Twilight and Digger blurted out together.
“We know williwaws!” Gylfie said.
“Oh, you do, do you?” There was a churr, a kind of owl chuckle embedded in Ezylryb’s voice.
“Yes sir,” Gylfie continued. “On our journey to the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, we thought we were right on course for the island when somehow we got sucked up into the Ice Narrows …” Gylfie’s voice began to dwindle off as the realisation dawned.
Now Ezylryb really did laugh. “Aha!” he exclaimed. “You’re getting the picture! Yes, you see, that’s how desert owls get to the Northern Kingdoms. They get sucked up there. For what is a williwaw but a sudden violent wind?”
“He is so clever!” Otulissa said, her voice drenched in awe.
“Winds become confused. It is essentially a thermal inversion anomaly. Or, to make a long story short: you got your cover. You were sucked up, all of you, to the Northern Kingdoms,” said Ezylryb.
“And then what?” Soren said.
Ezylryb stopped flying and lighted down beside Soren.
“Yes, and then what? Perhaps Gylfie and Digger, due to your desert background, did not find this cold place comfortable. And you other five, you felt that there was too much clan warfare going on. One clan chief fighting against another. Very disorganised. Disorganised is a key word to use with the St Aggie’s owls.”
“Oh yes!” Gylfie exclaimed. If there was one thing that St Aggie’s prided itself on, it was organisation and efficiency.
Ezylryb continued. “You must say that you find clans an inefficient, cumbersome method of social and military organisation.” The old Whiskered Screech paused. “But if you just mention the Northern Kingdoms, the land of the Great North Waters where I come from, every St Aggie’s owl will be intrigued. It is the last frontier to be conquered. If an owl has been there, every other owl is consumed with curiosity about what they have seen or experienced. And if you suggest that the Northern Kingdoms might be vulnerable, you shall be welcomed.”
“But we can’t fake it. I mean, we only got as far as the Ice Narrows. We don’t know that much about the Northern Kingdoms,” Gylfie said.
“You will by the time I get through with you,” Ezylryb said bluntly.
The seven young owls exchanged nervous glances. Then Boron began to speak again. “The seven of you shall report to Ezylryb’s hollow daily for the next week. During that time, Ezylryb will give you intense tutorials in the history and culture of the Northern Kingdoms.”
Soren could sense Otulissa swelling with excitement over the prospect of yet another intellectual challenge.
“I cannot impress upon you too much the need for absolute secrecy. No one is to know about this mission. Talk of it must not go beyond these walls or the walls of Ezylryb’s hollow,” Boron said.
“What about our own hollow?” Soren asked. He was thinking of his sister, Eglantine. It would be hard to keep this from her. “And when we are with Ezylryb, won’t the rybs miss us for our usual classes?”
“We’ve thought of that,” Barran said. “In regard to Eglantine, we have felt, as I am sure you have, that your hollow is a bit crowded with five of you in there. Primrose is knocking about in that hollow of hers all alone since that Masked Owl from the Great Downing died of summer flux.
“Primrose has asked time and time again if Eglantine could move in with her since they are such close friends. I think Eglantine would like to, but she felt that you might be hurt. In truth, I think that she would be more comfortable with Primrose, who is somewhat closer to her age. I shall handle her move. I’ll tell her that we have discussed it with you, and you understand.”
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Kathryn Lasky
Fourth title in a mythic adventure series in which the heroes are owls!In the owl kingdom, a war between good and evil is raging. On one side, Soren and the noble owls of the Great Ga’hoole tree. On the other, Soren’s fearsome brother Kludd, who wears a terrifying metal mask to cover his battle scars. Driven by an all-consuming lust for power, Kludd leads his forces in a brutal attack on the Great Ga'Hoole Tree.Meanwhile, Soren is asked to lead a mission back to the one place he never wanted to see again – St Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls. He and his crew will have to enter St Aggie's as spies, then leave without being noticed…or caught.Soren escaped the rocky confines of St Aggie's once. If the Ga’Hoole tree is to be saved he must do it again…
COPYRIGHT (#ulink_bf6a7349-2acb-552d-b3ad-151353f5059d)
HarperCollins Children’s Books
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First published in the USA by Scholastic Inc 2004
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2007
Text copyright © Kathryn Lasky 2007
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Source ISBN: 9780007215201
Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2016 ISBN: 9780008226824
Version: 2016-12-05
AUTHOR’S NOTE (#ulink_0942d221-0099-5643-824b-bbcbe84d1892)
Winston Churchill was Prime Minister of England during World War II. For months, citizens of London were subjected to ceaseless bombings by the Nazis. It was called the Battle of Britain and the courage of the men, women and children was remarkable during this terrifying time. Churchill’s radio addresses helped rally an exhausted and frightened nation. It was said that Winston Churchill was the man who mobilised the English language. I would like to acknowledge a great debt to Churchill, for I very closely modelled many of Ezylryb’s speeches in chapters Eighteen, Twenty and Twenty-two after some of Mr Churchill’s most stirring addresses.
When I was a child, a popular reply to a bully was: Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me.
Now that I am an adult, I think this is not true. Words can hurt. But I never would have dreamed back then when I was a child that words like Mr Churchill’s could give such courage, strength, stamina and valour to the citizens who were facing the most horrific circumstances of war.
As Dewlap lashed out in futile desperation against the wind and water, the book she had left on the rock tumbled end over end into the sea …
CONTENTS
Cover (#uc6cc451a-f869-5d8a-9101-4c0c556913f5)
Title Page (#ude0148d2-372c-545f-8b98-9809a01ae18a)
Copyright (#ulink_2f68a02a-c334-5842-a2fe-9fc267118eab)
Author’s Note (#ulink_40d747e6-771c-51b3-85aa-d5294cb5c966)
Prologue (#ulink_c617699a-d148-5fc5-a28f-2686b2c8c460)
Chapter One: The Pilgrim (#ulink_ab1972ed-ced2-5d89-83d7-0a2b9fae74b2)
Chapter Two: The Watcher in the woods (#ulink_5f0607f3-4b78-58e2-9065-59f2d0508fb7)
Chapter Three: At the Great GaHoole Tree (#ulink_d9de5001-17e9-53c4-9fe4-9c2a40acd3ef)
Chapter Four: Sprink on Your Spronk! (#ulink_fd704153-fced-5319-8e83-c9c8888037ae)
Chapter Five: A Mission Most Dreadful (#ulink_a2f3e987-b508-52f0-88c8-787a658a0498)
Chapter Six: Learning by Heart and by Gizzard (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven: A Special Flint Mop (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight: Across the Sea and to the St Aegolius Canyons (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine: The Most Dreadful Place on Earth (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten: To Fear the Moon (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven: Flecks in the Nest (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve: The World According to Otulissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen: A Rogue Smith Is Called (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen: Escape (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen: An Old Friend Discovered (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen: Let Us Fly, Mates! Let Us Fly! (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen: A Sodden Book (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen: The Great Tree Prepares (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen: At War (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty: The News Is Not Good (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One: Besieged (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two: Coo-Coo-Coo-Roo (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Last Battle (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four: A New Constellation Rises (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Other Books By (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_4ad371e3-53fa-5df0-b4f6-e9f38f8df2b2)
Sparks flew off his beak as the owl, mad with rage, careened through the night sky.
“I must find water! I must find water! This mask will melt my eyes. Glaux blood on my brother’s gizzard!” the Barn Owl screeched as his glowing beak sliced the blackness of the night. The curse, the worst that an owl could say, seemed to relieve Kludd of the terrible feelings that stormed within him. But hate still fed him, fed his flight, fed his desperate search for a cool pond in which to plunge his mask of molten metal, his singed feathers set aflame by his brother Soren in a battle that had gone wrong. All wrong!
Below, he spotted the glint of the moon off a smooth liquid surface. Water! The huge Barn Owl banked and began to spiral downwards. Soon, cool water. He had lost his beak in one battle. He had lost all of his face feathers in another. His ear slits had been scarred this time but he still had one eye and, most important, he still had his hatred. Kludd fed and coddled his hatred as a mother owl fed and coddled her baby chicks.
Thank Glaux he still could hate!
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_11089d99-6da1-508a-ad8c-459ae80cc2b2)
The Pilgrim (#ulink_11089d99-6da1-508a-ad8c-459ae80cc2b2)
The Brown Fish Owl looked up and blinked. The red comet had passed by for the last time nearly three months before. What could this glowing point in the sky be? It was hurtling towards the lake at an alarming speed. Great Glaux, it was screeching the most horrid, foulest oaths imaginable!
The Brown Fish Owl stepped further out on the sycamore branch that extended over the lake. If this were not a Fish Owl, it would need rescuing. Most species of owls, save for Fish Owls and Eagle Owls, were completely helpless in the water. The Brown Fish Owl began to spread his wings and was ready to flap them quickly for a power take-off. Within the silver of a second before he heard the splash, he was off.
There was a sizzling sound as the owl hit the water, and then there were wisps of steam. Simon, the Brown Fish Owl, had never seen anything like this – an owl glowing like a coal from a forest fire, plunging into the pond. Was it a collier owl? But colliers would know better. Remarkable as it seemed, a collier owl could do its work without ever getting burned. The Brown Fish Owl grabbed the mysterious owl with his talons just in time. But his gizzard went cold as he saw the owl’s face – a mangled deformity of molten metal and feathers. What was this?
Well, better not worry now. At least it was alive, and as a pilgrim owl of the Glauxian Brothers of the Northern Kingdoms, Simon’s duty was not to question, nor convert, nor preach, but simply to help; to give solace, peace and love. This owl seemed sorely in need of all. And this was precisely why the brothers took seasons away from their retreat and study; to go out into the world and fulfil their sacred obligation. The Brother Superior often said, “To study too much in retreat can become an inexcusable indulgence. It behooves us to share what we have learned, to practise in administering to others what we have gathered from our experience with books.”
This was Pilgrim Simon’s first season of pilgrimming and this seemed to be his first big challenge. The burned owl would need tending. No doubt about it. Restoring fallen owlets to nests, making peace between warring factions of crows – the Glauxian Brothers were among the few owls who could speak sense to crows – all that was nothing compared to this. It would take all of Simon’s medicinal and herbal knowledge to fix up this poor owl.
“Easy there, easy there, fellow,” Simon spoke in a low soothing voice as he helped the wounded owl into the hollow of the sycamore. “We’re going to fix you up just fine.” This was when Simon could have used a nest-maid snake or two. What a luxury they had been back at the retreat in the Northern Kingdoms. But here the pilgrims were charged to live simply To avail themselves of the blind snakes that tended so many owls’ nests, keeping them free of vermin, was not deemed appropriate for the pilgrim owls who were dedicated to service. They had been instructed to live as sparely as possible. Simon would have to go out and dig the medicinal worms himself. Leeches were the best for healing these kinds of wounds, and being a Fish Owl, he was fairly adept at leech gathering.
As soon as Simon had Kludd arranged in the hollow, on a soft bed made of down plucked from his own breast and a combination of mosses, he set out to gather the leeches. As he flew to a coiner of the lake that was rich with leeches, he reflected on how this owl, which might be a Barn Owl, had fought when he had tried to preen him. This was very odd. He had never known an owl who had resisted being preened. This owl’s feathers were a dirty, tangled mess. That he could have flown at all was amazing. Smooth flight depended on smooth feathers. On every flight feather there were tiny almost invisible hooks, or barbules, that locked together to produce an even surface over which the air could glide. This owl’s barbules had become unhooked in the worst way. They needed to be lined up and smoothed out again. But when Simon had first tried, the owl had pulled away. Odd, very odd.
Simon returned in a short while with a beakful of leeches and began placing them around the curled edges of the strange metal mask that had melted over most of the owl’s face. He didn’t dare try to remove it. Upon closer examination, Simon was stue that this was a Barn Owl, an exceptionally large one at that. With patches of soaked moss, he squeezed drops of water into the owl’s beak. Occasionally, the owl’s eyes would flutter open, but he was clearly delirious. In this state he spewed a nearly constant stream of curses laced with tirades of vengeance and death addressed to some creature he called Soren.
Day and night Simon treated the strange Barn Owl, changing the leeches, squeezing drops of water beneath the twisted piece of metal that was where a beak must once have been. The owl’s agitation calmed; the rancorous curses fewer – most thankfully, for the Brothers of Glaux were a gentle order who eschewed fighting. For two days the Barn Owl had slept long uninterrupted stretches, and now on the third day, his eyes blinked open. Simon could tell that he was fully conscious at last. But the first words out of that metallic beak shocked the pilgrim Brown Fish Owl almost as much as the curses had.
“You are not a Pure One.”
A Pure One? What in the name of Glaux is this owl talking about? “Forgive me, but I am afraid I do not understand what you are talking about,” said Simon.
Kludd blinked. This owl should be afraid. “Never mind. I suppose I must thank you.”
“Oh, don’t suppose anything. You need not thank me. I am a pilgrim. I am merely doing my Glauxian duty.”
“Duty to what?”
“Duty to our species.”
“You are not of my species!” Kludd barked with a ferocity that shocked the Fish Owl. “I am a Barn Owl, Tyto alba. You are” – Kludd sniffed – “judging from your stink, a Fish Owl – not my species.”
“Well, I was speaking generally, of course. My Glauxian duty extends to all owlkind.”
Kludd responded with a low, growlish hoot and shut his eyes.
“I’ll leave you now,” said Simon.
“If you’re going hunting, I would prefer red meat to fish – vole, to be precise.”
“Yes, yes. I’ll do my best. I’m sure you’ll be feeling better as soon as I get you some meat.”
Kludd glared at the Brown Fish Owl. You can be sure of nothing with me. Glaux, what an ugly owl – flattish head, muddled colour, not quite brown, not quite grey or white. Miserable little ear tufts. It doesn’t get much uglier than a Brown Fish Owl, that’s for sure.
Kludd, however, thought he had heard of these pilgrim-type owls. Might as well learn a bit more. “So you say you’re a pilgrim. Where are you from?”
Simon was delighted that the Barn Owl was taking any notice at all. “The Northern Kingdoms.”
This interested Kludd. He had heard of the Northern Kingdoms. That was where the ancient and brilliant owl Ezylryb, whom he had almost captured, had come from. It was because of Ezylryb that he had nearly died in this last battle. “I thought the Northern Kingdoms were known for their warriors, not their pilgrims.”
“Owls of the Northern Kingdoms are very fierce, but one can be fierce in love and in peace as well as in hatred and in battle.”
Glaux, this owl frinked him off. Made him want to yarp a dozen pellets right in his ugly face. “I see,” Kludd said. But of course he didn’t see at all. Still, sometimes diplomacy was necessary. And this was what Kludd considered a diplomatic response to an owl that made his gizzard turn green.
“Well, why don’t you fly off and get me some good red meat, nice and furry, good bones — my gizzard needs something to grind.” And I need time to think.
The Northern Kingdoms! The mere mention of them by the disgusting Brown Fish Owl had set Kludd’s mind ablaze. He had to plan carefully now. The capture of the old Whiskered Screech Ezylryb had failed miserably. Of course, one could hardly have called it a great scheme. No, the great scheme had been to build a force large enough to lay siege to St Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls, better known as St Aggie’s. The academy had been snatching owlets for years and training them to mine flecks, among other things. With flecks, one could create weapons of unbelievable power. Not simply weapons that killed, but weapons that could warp the minds of owls. St Aggie’s had the largest known supply of flecks. But the owls of St Aggie’s didn’t know what to do with them.
Still, ignorant as they were, they had found the stronghold of the Pure Ones in the castle ruins and tried to make off with the owlets that Kludd and scores of Tytos had captured. The Pure Ones, of course, fought back to recover what was in their minds rightfully theirs. This resulted in the Great Downing. Scores of baby owls dropped while the two powerful and lawless forces battled it out. And it was the Great Downing that had alerted the owl world – in particular, those noble owls known as the Guardians of Ga’Hoole, who rose in the darkness of the night from the Great Ga’Hoole Tree – that there was something out there more fearful than St Aggie’s.
Before the Great Downing, the organisation of the Pure Ones had been secret, and this state afforded them valuable time and opportunity to build their forces and develop their strategies. The Great Downing had brought the Ga’Hoolian owls out in full force. And, most significantly, it had brought out the legendary warrior from the Northern Kingdoms, known there as Lyze of Kiel and now in the Southern Kingdoms as Ezylryb. But it was not Lyze of Kiel the warrior who had interested Kludd. It was Ezylryb the scholar. It was said that this owl had the deepest knowledge of everything – from weather to fire, from poetry to the very elements of life and the earth. And this owl best understood the lurking powers of the flecks.
So when the Pure Ones had lost the owlets, their source for new owl power, Kludd had abruptly decided to change tactics. The capture of one owl like Ezylryb would be worth more than one hundred baby owls. The only way he could think of capturing the old one was through a Devil’s Triangle. By placing three bags of flecks in three different trees to form a triangle, Kludd had laid a trap that had ensnared the old Whiskered Screech by causing massive disruptions to his powers of navigation. The flecks set up a magnetic field. That this field had been broken was not only unexpected, but disastrous. And it had been broken. Other owls had come to Ezylryb’s rescue. They had snapped the power of this field as if it had been no more than a brittle twig. Higher magnetics! Ezylryb knew these dark sciences. And that was why Kludd had wanted him.
There had been a fierce battle with the owls who had come to rescue Ezylryb. Much to Kludd’s horror, one of them had been his own baby brother, Soren, whom he had pushed out of the family’s nest when Soren was an owlet too young to fly. At the time, Kludd thought that he had been delivering up his younger brother to the Grand Tyto Most Pure, for that had been the requirement – to sacrifice a family member and thus assure one’s own admission to the highest ranks of the Pure Ones. But something had gone wrong. St Aggie’s had shown up and taken his brother. Now this very brother had nearly killed him. And not only had the Pure Ones had their new recruits stolen from them, not only had they lost Ezylryb, but their stronghold had been discovered. They needed to find a new place to roost, a headquarters from which to plan their war for supremacy.
Well, no need to think about all that now. There were other more important matters – like higher magnetics. All this time, Kludd thought, I have dreamed of flecks, of controlling the owl universe and making it pure. I have dreamed of conquering St Aggie’s, with its great reservoirs of flecks and its thousands of owls to mine them. And then I dreamed of capturing Ezylryb. But now I know what I must do. I must lay siege to the great tree on the Island of Hoole, in the middle of the Sea of Hoolemere. Yes, the Great Ga’Hoole Tree must be ours, with its secrets of fire and magnetics, with its warriors and its scholars, it must be ours. I shall bide my time. I shall gain my strength. I shall find my scattered army and then we shall rise – rise a thousand times more powerful than we ever were, against the Guardians of Ga’Hoole.
“A nice plump vole for you, sir. Strong bones and plenty of fur. Its winter pelt is fully grown. That should set your gizzard grinding just fine.” The Brown Fish Owl pilgrim had just returned.
Yes, and so will you, pilgrim. For Kludd had decided that upon regaining his strength, he would kill this owl immediately. His own survival must remain a secret for some time if all his plans were to work. Yes, by tomorrow with the vole’s bones like grist in his gizzard, he would be ready to kill the stinking Brown Fish Owl. Kludd, like the best of killers, was patient.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_8e345c50-616c-52c7-8ca1-baa31e2b19d7)
The Watcher in the woods (#ulink_8e345c50-616c-52c7-8ca1-baa31e2b19d7)
Some might have thought her a scroom, a ghost owl, but she was not. Her feathers had turned a misty grey colour with spots of white. She was, indeed, a Spotted Owl, but an odd one. She had perched in a tree not far from the sycamore. Her wings, slightly crippled, made long flights difficult and, when she did fly, her path was often crooked. Nonetheless, she went out scouting every day.
She was almost invisible to the others in Ambala. When they saw her, which was seldom, they called her Mist. But although she was not often seen, she seemed to see all. When she sensed danger or saw something disturbing, she flew to the eagles with whom she shared a nest. In the past, there had been slipgizzles to keep an eye on such things. But since the Barred Owl who had watched in the borderlands between The Beaks and Ambala had been murdered, there had been no one. Now the owl called Mist sensed that there was great peril nearby.
She had watched the strange sight a few nights before when a smouldering owl had plunged into the lake. She had seen the pilgrim owl rescue it and had been amazed when she observed the pilgrim flying out to fetch leeches. She could not imagine how that owl had survived its plunge, let alone the embers that encrusted its face. But it must have, for the next day she had seen the good pilgrim go out hunting, and had heard him fretting over finding a vole. He was muttering to himself in a taut voice that the injured owl had demanded meat and not fish. Mist could not imagine how that owl could be so demanding of the pilgrim who had saved his life. And now she watched as the pilgrim went out several times each day and always for red meat – rat, vole, squirrel, but never fish.
She had become more and more curious about the owl recovering in the hollow of the sycamore. How close did she dare come? Most animals in this forest, especially owls, never really saw her. They looked through her. To them she appeared like fog or mist. But even when they did see her, they never seemed to recognise her as an owl, or as any creature they knew. And this was fine with her. The only ones who did know her were the eagles with whom she lived, Zan and Streak.
So she crept forwards on the branch of the fir tree where she perched. It was a short flight to the spruce that grew next to the sycamore where the wounded owl was recovering. A few minutes later, she lighted down on to the spruce. There was one branch that extended further than the others and nearly touched the sycamore. From this branch she had a perfect view into the hollow where the wounded owl rested.
The Spotted Owl gasped at what she saw. The injured owl was immense and his face was hidden behind a metal mask that made him appear horrifyingly brutal. She felt her gizzard twitch and a slow dread begin to build. She must get back to the eagles. There was something about this owl that was more evil than anything she had ever seen. But just then, she heard the approach of the pilgrim. Suddenly the entire world seemed to turn into a blizzard of bloody feathers. A terrible shriek shattered the forest. And then it was over. In a matter of seconds, the Brown Fish Owl lay dead on the forest floor. One wing ripped off, his head nearly split open. As the blackness of the night gathered in the forest, the huge owl with the metal mask raised its wings up, then flapped and lifted into the sky.
The Spotted Owl’s gizzard turned to ice as the owl settled on the very same limb upon which she perched. She had survived so much. Was she now to die in the talons of this monster owl? The monster turned towards her. The Spotted Owl dared not breathe. Never had she perched this close to an owl and remained imperceptible. The monster blinked. Incredible! He sees straight through me. I am indeed mist.
The branch shook as Kludd flapped his wings again and rose into the night to seek his Pure Ones. With this murder finished, the time for revenge had arrived. Vengeance and glory would be his. His gizzard quivered in exultation. A silent scream filled his brain. Kludd Rules Supreme!
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_acbe3c4e-98a8-545d-9a73-4e14b3dde0c8)
At the Great GaHoole Tree (#ulink_acbe3c4e-98a8-545d-9a73-4e14b3dde0c8)
The big limbs of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree shook with the blasts from the first winter’s gale. It was the season of the white rain, when the vines that hung from the tree turned a glistening ivory. The best of the milkberries had all been harvested weeks before in the time of the copper-rose rain, when the vines were burnished a deep copper-rose colour.
The weather chaw to which Soren belonged had just returned from an interpretation flight led by Ezylryb, captain of the chaw. It had been Ezylryb’s first flight since his rescue from the Devil’s Triangle. And it had been wonderful – a loud, boisterous mission with plenty of wet poop jokes and singing. But they had come back with good information despite Otulissa’s dire prediction that they would learn nothing if they didn’t stop all the gleeking about. Gleeking was the owl word for messing around and not being serious. Some chaw leaders such as Strix Struma never permitted such gleeking, but Ezylryb was different. He believed that gleeking was good, building trust and fellowship.
Otulissa, however, a serious and proper young Spotted Owl, abhorred gleeking about in general, and wet poop jokes in particular. It was a never-ending debate between her and Soren.
“Soren, I just don’t believe that exchanging wet poop jokes with seagulls should be part of any mission.”
Otulissa and Soren, both members of the weather chaw, perched on a branch just outside the dining hollow waiting for Matron to announce that breaklight was ready. Breaklight was the meal the owls enjoyed at the end of the night, just before the break of dawn. After this, they would sleep for the rest of the daylight hours until the evening shadows began to creep over the earth and darken the sky.
“You can learn a lot from seagulls, Otulissa,” Soren was saying.
“I beg to differ. All that churring and guffawing and giggling over their pathetic humour interrupts the pressure-front vibrations.” Spotted Owls were known for their extreme sensitivities to atmospheric pressure that came with changes in the weather.
“Well, you picked up on the fact that a blizzard was behind this gale, and look, it’s starting to snow now. So I don’t see how it damaged your prediction.”
“Soren, I could have predicted a lot more precisely when and how much snow we would be getting if there hadn’t been all that gleeking about. Also, I just don’t find wet poop jokes funny. As owls, we should be proud of our digestive system and our unique manner of eliminating waste.”
“Oh, it’s yarping, for Glaux’s sake.” A large Great Grey Owl named Twilight had just lighted down on to the branch next to them. Twilight was one of Soren’s closest friends.
“It’s not simply yarping, Twilight. That we pack the bones and fur of our waste into neat little packets for excretion is quite extraordinary in the bird kingdom. That so little of our waste is liquid is exceptional. Yarping pellets through our mouths is magnificent,” said Otulissa.
“Seen one pellet, seen them all,” Twilight growled.
“I’m getting cold,” Soren said. “When is breaklight going to be ready? I, for one, am ready for something hot.”
Before a mission, the owls of the weather chaw were not permitted to eat their food cooked. Ezylryb insisted that they eat their food raw and with all the ‘hair’ – as he called it – on the meat. Of course, the owls of the Ga’Hoole Tree were special in that they often ate cooked food. Most owls ate their food raw and bloody because, unlike the owls of the great tree, they did not possess knowledge of fire.
The owls of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree enjoyed a civilisation unrivalled by any of the other kingdoms of owls. With their knowledge, they tried to protect the lives of owls in other kingdoms. Lately, however, the dangers had increased alarmingly. Not the least of these dangers were the evil owls of St Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls where Soren had once been imprisoned. At St Aggie’s he had met his best friend Gylfie, an Elf Owl. And now there was an even more destructive group, the Pure Ones. It had been on the mission to rescue Ezylryb that Soren had discovered that his own brother, Kludd, was the leader of this group.
Matron, a bunchy Barred Owl, poked her beak out of an opening near the branch where Soren and the others perched. “Breaklight!” she announced cheerfully.
“At last!” Soren said.
“Ooh, bats! I smell roasted bat wings!” Gylfie suddenly swooped in.
“Where’ve you been?” Soren turned to the Elf Owl.
“Helping Octavia in the library,” she replied.
“Octavia in the library? Why?” Soren asked.
“Orders from the top, I guess. We were supposed to organise all the books on higher magnetics and flecks.” Soren felt his gizzard lurch. He would never get used to hearing the word ‘flecks’.
“But Octavia? Why Octavia? What use is a blind snake in the library? No offence, Mrs P,” Otulissa asked as they crowded around Mrs Plithiver, another blind snake.
“None taken, dear,” the rosy-coloured snake replied.
For centuries, blind snakes had served as maids in the nests of owls, keeping them free of vermin and pests. In the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, they served in other tasks as well. Among such tasks were providing the dining tables upon which the owls ate. They could easily and quickly extend their bodies to accommodate more diners.
Answering Otulissa’s question, Gylfie replied, “Why Octavia? Well, she might be blind, but she has served Ezylryb for so long that she knows which books he wants on the special reserve shelf for higher magnetics. And it was too much work for just the book matron. She doesn’t know the collection as well as Octavia – at least not these books. But then, of course, Dewlap came in and started bossing us around.”
There was a sigh from the owls. Dewlap was the most boring teacher, or ryb, of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree.
“What’s she doing in the library?” Soren asked. “Higher magnetics has nothing to do with the stuff she teaches.”
Otulissa plumped up her feathers. “Oh, never mind. I am just so excited about studying higher magnetics, I can’t tell you.”
“Then don’t,” said Twilight.
“Yes, spare us, learned one,” Gylfie said under her breath in a barely audible whisper to Soren, who laughed. Otulissa was a very smart owl. No one would deny that. She had been the one to figure out how the Devil’s Triangle worked, and how to destroy it with fire. And she knew of the protective qualities of mu metal that guarded against the hazards of the magnetic flecks. But she wasn’t shy about flaunting her knowledge and sometimes it became boring. Especially now as she began talking about her long list of distinguished relatives who were all scholars, in particular the genius, long gone, great-great-great-aunt of hers, Strix Emerilla, who had written countless scientific books. It was always Strix Emerilla this or Strix Emerilla that. After a little while, the other owls at Mrs P’s table ignored her and went on with their own conversations.
Gylfie turned to Soren again and whispered in his ear, “You notice that Ezylryb and none of the other parliament members are here?”
Soren nodded.
“Well, big doings,” Gylfie said, then blinked with one eye. Soren felt a surge of excitement. Gylfie must be on to something. Soren needed a distraction. Life had been, well, not quite the same since the appalling revelation that his own brother had trapped Ezylryb in the Devil’s Triangle. And his own brother had vowed to kill him. Soren spent entirely too much time remembering those dreadful images of Kludd flying off, his face molten as the hot metal mask melted, screaming, “Death to the Impure! Death to Soren!”
My own brother. My very own brother is Metal Beak and he wants to kill me.
After breaklight, the owls departed the dining hollow and made their way back to their respective hollows. Outside the great tree, the blizzard lashed. The gale-force winds had turned the sky white. It had been on a night like this in the thick of a blizzard that Soren, Gylfie, Twilight and Digger had first arrived at the great tree. Now as soon as the four friends and Soren’s sister, Eglantine, were alone Gylfie spoke in a low voice.
“As I said to Soren at breaklight, something big is going on.”
“How do you know?” Digger asked.
“Not one of the parliament members was in the dining hollow. There’s an important meeting taking place.”
“Getting ready for war, I bet!” Twilight said. “I’ll bet they’ll put us each in charge of a division.”
“It’s not war, Twilight. Hate to disappoint you,” Gylfie said.
Twilight was disappointed. He loved fighting, and with his amazing quickness and ferocity, Twilight had proved that he had no equal.
“No, no war,” repeated Gylfie. “It’s higher magnetics.”
“Oh, for Glaux’s sake,” Twilight growled. “How boring. As if we don’t get enough of HM, as she now calls it, from Otulissa all the time.”
“It’s important, Twilight. We have to learn about this stuff,” Digger said.
“That’s just the problem,” Gylfie said in a low hiss. “This stuff is spronk.”
“Spronk?” the three other owls said at once.
“What’s ‘spronk’?” Soren asked.
“Spronk is forbidden knowledge,” said Gylfie. There was a deep silence in the hollow.
“Forbidden knowledge? No, Gylfie,” Soren said, “You have to be wrong. Nothing is spronk in the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. That’s just not the Guardians’ way. They would never forbid knowledge. They only want us to learn.”
“Maybe not forbidden forever, but at least some things are spronk for right now,” she replied.
“Well, I don’t like it,” Soren said firmly. “I’m completely against things being declared spronk.”
“Me too,” Twilight said.
Digger blinked and then in that slow way he had of speaking when he was considering a problem, he said, “Yes, I think it’s awful when they keep knowledge from young owls. Just suppose that Otulissa had not been permitted to read that book about the Devil’s Triangle. We might never have been able to free Ezylryb.”
“I think we should go and tell them that this is all wrong,” Eglantine spoke up for the first time.
“Before we do anything,” Soren said now in a firm voice, “I think that we have to find out for sure.”
“To the roots, Soren?” Gylfie asked.
“That’s how you found out isn’t it, Gylfie?” Soren asked.
Gylfie nodded. She was a bit embarrassed, for this was an acknowledgment that she had been engaged in the less-than-admirable activity of eavesdropping on the parliament.
Thousands of inner passages wound their way through the Great Ga’Hoole Tree and some months before, Gylfie, who often had trouble sleeping and would rise for a wander through the tree, had discovered a place deep in the roots where there was a strange phenomenon. Something happened to the timber at a certain point so that the sounds coming from the owl’s parliament chamber resonated within the roots. Entering the root structure itself was a challenge for the roots were huge and tangled, but Soren and his friends had found an ideal place where they could listen.
“Oh, I’m so excited!” Eglantine was nearly hopping up and down. “I’ve heard you talk about going to the roots but I’ve never been there. I’ve been dying to go.”
There was a sudden silence as the other four owls exchanged glances. “You’re not thinking of leaving me out. You’d better not leave me out. No fair!” Eglantine said in a desperate voice.
“I’m just not sure, Eglantine,” Soren said. “I mean, first of all you would have to promise not to tell Primrose.” Primrose, a Pygmy Owl, was Eglantine’s best friend, and she told her everything.
“I won’t, I won’t, I promise. Listen, if it hadn’t been for me, none of this stuff with higher magnetics would have started,” Eglantine said.
This was true. If it hadn’t been for Eglantine, who had been captured by the Pure Ones, imprisoned in the stone crypt of a ruined castle and exposed to the destructive powers of the flecks, none of this would ever have happened.
“Well, all right,” Soren finally said. “But not a word of this to anyone. Promise?”
“Promise.” The young Barn Owl nodded her lovely heart-shaped face solemnly.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_9a748bcd-ae10-5198-a618-d31b5cd9df8d)
Sprink on Your Spronk! (#ulink_9a748bcd-ae10-5198-a618-d31b5cd9df8d)
“I cannot believe that teaching young and impressionable owls about such matters can really be helpful in the long run. Higher magnetics is a strange business. We ourselves have only begun to understand it all.” Dewlap, the Ga’Hoolology ryb, was speaking.
The five young owls were perched among the roots, listening to the parliament’s debate. Soren was ready to explode. Of course higher magnetics was a strange business, especially compared to Ga’Hoolology, which was one of the most boring studies and chaws of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. Ga’Hoolology was important, for it taught the processes of the tree itself and how to best keep the environment healthy and thriving, but it was also dull.
In this debate, Dewlap and Elvan, another ryb, were on the spronk side while Ezylryb and Bubo, the blacksmith at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, were on the antispronk side. Strix Struma was undecided. Suddenly the five young owls were aware of another presence. They felt a shadow slide over them in this darkest of places within the tree and they froze. Then all of them together flipped their heads around. It was Otulissa!
What was she doing here? Soren was furious. Racdrops! he thought. Then Twilight beaked silently the words they were all thinking. “This really frinks me off!”
‘Racdrops’ and ‘frinks’ were two of the worst curse words an owl could say. There was only one worse – sprink, but no one ever said that. Not even Twilight. Say these words in the dining hollow and you were out in a flash. But Otulissa seemed unrattled. She merely lifted a talon to her beak to warn Twilight not to make any noise. Soren settled back down. There was absolutely nothing he could do about this now. They might as well just listen as the debate continued.
“Higher magnetics is not a science,” Dewlap was saying. “It’s dark magic, one of the shadow arts. And that book, Fleckasia and Other Disorders of the Gizzard, says as much and must instantly be removed from the shelves.”
“Wrong!” a voice boomed and sent the roots quivering so hard that little Gylfie nearly fell from her perch. It was Ezylryb speaking. “First, with all due respect, Dewlap, I must take issue with the term ‘dark magic’. You use it in a derisive manner, as if something that is dark is negative. How can darkness in our world of owls ever be thought of as negative, something less than good? For is it not in darkness that we come alive, that we rise in the night to fly, to hunt, to find, to explore, to defend and to challenge? It is in darkness that our true nobility begins to bloom. Like the flowers that open to the sunshine, we open to the dark. So let us hear no more of such expressions as ‘dark magic’. It is neither dark, nor is it magic. It is science. A science that we do not fully understand.”
“All right, we need an explanation, Otulissa!” Soren demanded when they were back in the hollow. “You followed us. Who gave you permission?” But Otulissa cut him off.
“Who gave you permission to eavesdrop?” she shot back.
“Well, no matter,” said Soren. “How come you’re following us around?”
“I have as much right to as anyone. I don’t want to be left out. I flew with you to rescue Ezylryb. You know that’s true. And who was it who figured out the Devil’s Triangle? Tell me that. And who knew about mu metal? Tell me that. Not to mention the fact that it was I who knew that fire destroyed magnetic properties. So who has more right to know about higher magnetics?”
Now it was Digger who stepped forwards. “You,” he said simply. Otulissa breathed a sigh of relief. “And,” he paused, “I honestly don’t believe that one owl has more of a right than anyone else to know something. Isn’t that what our objection to this whole spronk thing is about – our right to know? We should all be able to know.” A stillness had fallen on the group. “Now, tell us, what do you think is spronk about higher magnetics, and why don’t they want us to know about it? What are they scared of?”
“I don’t know really. I think it probably has something to do with …” she hesitated. “Well, with what happened to Eglantine after the Great Downing – to her mind, to her gizzard.”
“Was that different from what happened to Ezylryb?” Soren asked.
“Yes, I think so. Ezylryb just lost his sense of direction. He couldn’t navigate, but Eglantine …” Otulissa turned to Eglantine.
“I couldn’t feel. I was like stone – like the stone crypts they kept us in,” Eglantine said.
“So why don’t they want us to know about this?” Soren asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe because they don’t know that much about it themselves,” said Otulissa.
“So,” said Soren, “what do we do about all this?”
“We need to confront them,” Twilight said. “I’m not much for book learning, but I don’t like the idea that someone can tell me I can’t learn something. Makes me want to learn it all the more.”
“But if we confront them,” Gylfie said, “we’re back to that same old problem again.”
“What’s that?” asked Otulissa.
“The last time we listened in at the roots and found something out and wanted to say something about it, way back last summer, well, we couldn’t because then we would have had to admit that we had been eavesdropping and we would get into really big trouble,” said Gylfie.
“Hmmm,” Otulissa blinked her eyes shut and kept them that way while she thought a moment. “I see the problem.” Then suddenly she opened her eyes. The amber light in them flickered with a new brightness. “I have an idea. Remember that book they were talking about, the book that had to be removed from the shelves – Fleckasia and Other Disorders of the Gizzard?”
“Yes,” Soren replied.
“Well, what if I go to the library and ask the book matron to fetch it for me? Then we’ll see what happens. This will be a test case, so to speak,” said Otulissa.
The other owls looked at one another. Otulissa was smart. And this was a very good idea.
So it was planned that as tween time neared, when the last drop of the day’s sun began to vanish and the first shadows of twilight gathered, they would all go to the library and Otulissa would request the forbidden book. Of course, they would not go in all at once. Soren and Gylfie would already be there, and Otulissa would arrive with Eglantine and Digger. It was decided that Twilight would not be there at all because he was seldom in the library. Now Soren wondered if Ezylryb would be there, for he often was. What would he say when Otulissa requested the book?
The whole idea of forbidden books sickened Soren. At St Aggie’s, all books were forbidden. Entry into the library was not permitted for any owl except Skench and Spoorn, the brutal leaders of the academy. Academy! What a name. No one had learned anything there except how to become a slave and stop thinking.
Soren and Gylfie could hardly concentrate on the weather charts they were studying in the Ga’Hoolian weather atlas. Ezylryb was in the library, his usual uncommunicative self, sitting at his special desk. The only sound that came from that desk was the crunching of the dried caterpillars that he munched while he read.
He was the most inscrutable of owls and only rarely revealed anything that could be called emotion. Yet Soren was drawn to him. He loved the old Whiskered Screech because it was Ezylryb who had first looked upon him and seen him as more than a young orphaned Barn Owl, more than just an owl scarred by the horrors of St Aggie’s. Ezylryb had seen Soren as a real, thinking owl who knew things not only through books and the information that the rybs taught, but through his gizzard. Gizzuition was, according to Ezylryb, a kind of mysterious thinking beyond normal reasoning, by which an owl immediately perceived the truth.
Gylfie gave Soren a nudge. Soren looked up. Otulissa had just entered the library with Eglantine. And suddenly Dewlap had appeared behind the circulation desk with the book matron. Soren felt his gizzard turn squishy. He saw Otulissa’s feathers droop as an owl’s feathers do when he or she feels fear. She seemed to shrink. But then Soren watched and saw a fierce glint in the amber of her eyes. Otulissa’s feathers seemed to puff up slightly and she flew the short distance between where she had stood and the desk. “Book Matron, would you be so kind as to look for a book that I can’t seem to find on the shelves?”
“Certainly, dear. What is the title?”
“Fleckasia and Other Disorders of the Gizzard.”
Complete silence fell upon the library. It loomed up as thick as fog on a humid summer night. Soren lifted his eyes towards Ezylryb, who was staring directly at Dewlap. His gaze bore into her like two fierce points of golden light. The book matron stammered, “Let me go see if I can find it.”
“Oh no, Book Matron,” Dewlap said. “That is one of the books that has been temporarily removed from the shelves until certain decisions are made by the parliament.”
“Removing books? Decisions? Since when are there decisions about books I want to read?” Otulissa drew herself up taller. Her feathers were now fully fluffed up. Otulissa’s plumage was puffed to a degree that was most often associated with a posture of attack. She looked huge.
“There are plenty of other good books for you to read, my dear,” Dewlap said in a soft voice.
“But I want to read that book,” Otulissa replied. She paused a second. “Strix Emerilla, one of my distinguished ancestors, the renowned weathertrix, who has written several books on atmospheric pressure and weather turbulations, mentioned it.”
Dewlap interrupted her. “The book you have requested has nothing whatsoever to do with weather.”
“That’s possible. But you see, Strix Emerilla had a wide-ranging mind, and I think that she mentioned this book as referring to a possible connection between gizzard disorders and atmospheric pressure variations.”
“So?” Dewlap said.
“So, I have a wide-ranging mind too. Now, please may I have the book?”
Glaux bless Strix Emerilla, Soren thought. If anyone had ever told him that he would be blessing Strix Emerilla, whom Otulissa brought up whenever possible, he would have said they were completely yoicks.
“I’m very sorry, my dear, but that is absolutely impossible. That book has been declared temporarily spronk,” Dewlap said primly and turned to the list she had been making.
“SPRONK!” Otulissa gasped. There was such emotion in her voice that every owl in the library looked up in genuine alarm.
“Yes, spronk.” A testy note had crept into Dewlap’s voice.
“There is nothing more ordinary, less noble, more ignoble, less intelligent, more common and completely vulgar than spronking the written word,” Otulissa sputtered. “It is completely lower class.”
“Well, the book is spronk,” Dewlap growled.
Then Otulissa swelled up to twice her normal size. “Well, SPRINK ON YOUR SPRONK!”
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_3b4d049c-0c58-5549-bfa4-6b2334df74e6)
A Mission Most Dreadful (#ulink_3b4d049c-0c58-5549-bfa4-6b2334df74e6)
“She fainted? Dewlap actually fainted?” Twilight said with stunned disbelief.
“Yes, they rushed her to the infirmary,” Soren said.
Soren, Gylfie, Twilight, Digger and Eglantine swung their heads towards Otulissa, who stood very still except for her quivering beak. “I don’t regret a word. Not even the you-know-what word. I shall not apologise. Spronking is very lower class, and it is against everything that the Guardians of Ga’Hoole are and everything they stand for. I don’t care if I get a flint mop for this. I don’t care if I get chaw-chopped.”
The other owls blinked in horror. To be chaw-chopped was not simply a flint mop, which was the owls’ form of punishment. It was the ultimate humiliation that could befall an owl of Ga’Hoole. It meant being dropped for an indefinite period of time from one’s chaw.
The five owls had returned to their hollow after the episode in the library. Otulissa had come too. They peered at her now in awe and wonder. This very prim and proper owl had not only said the worst curse word in the owl vocabulary, but she had spat it at a ryb. What would happen to her? They could only imagine.
Suddenly the parliament matron poked her head into the hollow.
“The lot of you are required in parliament immediately!” She did not sound pleased. “Except for Eglantine – she can stay.”
Oh Glaux! they all thought.
“Why don’t I get to go?” Eglantine asked in a quavering voice. “I want to be included.”
“You want to be included in a flint mop?” Twilight asked. “The last flint mop we got, if you recall, was having to bury pellets for Dewlap for three days. You were excluded from that too and, believe me, you were lucky.”
As the owls made their way down to the parliament hollow, Gylfie muttered, “Good Glaux, we’re going to be burying pellets from now until summer.”
“You didn’t say the word, I did,” Otulissa muttered. “It just sort of came out. I was amazed myself.” But then she quickly added, “But I’m still glad I said it!”
Secretly, they were all glad she had said it. There was something terribly wrong with this whole idea of spronking. It did not fit in Soren’s mind with the values of Ga’Hoole. It is a sprinky kind of thing, Soren thought. Yes, good for Otulissa!
When they were ushered into the parliament chamber, Dewlap was not there. Only Ezylryb and Boron and his mate Barran, the two Snowy Owls who were the monarchs of the tree, were in attendance. And much to Soren’s surprise, two other members of the weather chaw, Ruby, a Short-eared Owl and the best flier in the chaw, and Soren’s flight partner Martin, a tiny Northern Saw-whet.
What’s going on here? Why Ruby and Martin? Soren blinked at them in dismay, and they seemed equally puzzled as to why they had been called.
Barran coughed several times to clear her throat and began to speak. “The seven of you have been called here for a reason.” Dread swam in all of their gizzards. What was it to be? Burying pellets? Or would they be chaw-chopped?
Boron was now speaking. “The seven of you combine an interesting array of talents.” He paused. “As was proven in the extraordinary rescue of Ezylryb.” Ezylryb nodded and seemed to fix his gaze on Soren. “Some have come to refer to you as ‘the Chaw of Chaws’.” Soren almost gasped, and he felt his gizzard give a thrilled little twitch.
“To get to the point,” Boron continued, “your special talents as the Chaw of Chaws are now needed.” One could have heard a blade of grass drop in the parliament hollow.
Glaux, Soren thought, if Twilight pipes up about war and battle claws, I’ll smack him. That was all the Great Grey ever thought about. But of course he was brilliant in battle.
Then it was as if Barran had read Soren’s thoughts. She swung her head round and fixed Twilight with a piercing stare. The light from her yellow eyes was like sharp, bright-golden needles. “In a sense, it is much more dangerous than war. Although the stakes are as high, for you could be killed.”
Whether Soren and his friends drew a breath for the next several seconds was questionable.
“Your mission is to penetrate the St Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls.”
What! Soren thought. Go back? He and Gylfie were horrified.
The two owls almost fell off the parliament perches. They were being asked to go back to the place that had attempted to destroy their personalities and their wills, through the brutal processes called moon blinking and moon scalding.
“We have reason to believe that a dangerous group of owls, the ones that call themselves the Pure Ones, have possibly already infiltrated St Aggie’s with the intention of capturing the immense stores of flecks. We have had intelligence reports from Ambala that suggest this,” said Boron.
“Ambala?” Digger said. “Isn’t that where the slipgizzle was, the Barred Owl?”
“Was is right,” Boron said. “As you know, he was killed. Over the last several months, we have been cultivating a new slipgizzle. She is rather frail and quite eccentric. They call her Mist, and she is perfectly suited for this work because through some odd accident, an almost terminal shock to her gizzard, she has lost all her colouration. Her feathers have turned a pale, almost foggy grey. Some might think she is a scroom. But she isn’t. She does not fly well, but she has incredible powers of observation. The reports she has been sending about the Pure Ones are most disturbing.”
Soren blinked. “Why?”
“They want flecks,” Barran said, “and St Aggie’s has the largest repository of flecks in existence. But Mist thinks their interest extends beyond the flecks, and that is what we want you to find out. The two greatest threats to the owl kingdoms are St Aggie’s and the Pure Ones. The very idea of their being brought together in some sort of grand mischief is …” Barran hesitated. “… gizzard-chilling, to put it mildly.”
Then Boron resumed. “So, you see how important the seven of you are. We have faith in you. Now the question is, will you accept this mission?”
The owls were stunned. They had come in expecting a scolding or a flint mop and instead they had been charged with this important mission. Soren felt Ezylryb’s gaze upon him. And Boron began to speak. “Soren and Gylfie, we realise that going back to St Aggie’s will be most difficult for you.”
“Yes,” Soren said slowly. “But Boron, won’t they recognise us?”
“Never!” Barran said quickly. “You were an owlet when you were there before. Your flight feathers had not fledged, nor had your face fledged white, and you were half your size. Gylfie – you too looked quite different.”
“And,” Ezylryb began to speak for the first time, “as you two well know, they are stupid, these owls of St Aggie’s.” He paused. “But still, you’ll need a cover story.”
“A cover story?” Martin asked.
“Yes, where you came from, why you are there,” said Ezylryb.
Otulissa raised her talon now to speak. “Can we say something like we got sick of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree? We didn’t trust the Guardians – something like that.”
“No,” snapped Ezylryb. “They’ll never believe you. It will raise their suspicions if they think you have anything to do with the great tree. You need to come from a place that they know very little about.”
Soren suddenly realised that Ezylryb had thought out this entire cover story.
“A place like what?” Soren asked.
“A place like the Northern Kingdoms,” said Ezylryb.
“Hold on a second.” Digger had now raised a talon to speak. “Ezylryb, Gylfie and I are desert owls. The chances of our coming from the Northern Kingdoms are just about zero.”
“I have it figured out,” Ezylryb replied. I thought so. Soren blinked.
Ezylryb continued, but he did not stand still on the perch. He began sweeping through the air.
“Last summer, before certain unfortunate incidents like the Great Downing and my own entrapment in the Devil’s Triangle, I had commenced a set of weather interpretation experiments. My original intention had been to pick up information on atmospheric particles and subparticles as they are related to the displays we call the Aurora Glaucora, those magnificent colours in the summer sky when the entire night seems to pulsate with glorious lights. There was one last summer, as I recall, just around the time of my entrapment. Well, as often happens with scientific inquiry, one sets out to solve one problem and, quite by accident and happy surprise, one finds the answer to something entirely different. What I stumbled across was a new method for detecting distant williwaws.”
“Williwaws!” Soren, Gylfie, Twilight and Digger blurted out together.
“We know williwaws!” Gylfie said.
“Oh, you do, do you?” There was a churr, a kind of owl chuckle embedded in Ezylryb’s voice.
“Yes sir,” Gylfie continued. “On our journey to the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, we thought we were right on course for the island when somehow we got sucked up into the Ice Narrows …” Gylfie’s voice began to dwindle off as the realisation dawned.
Now Ezylryb really did laugh. “Aha!” he exclaimed. “You’re getting the picture! Yes, you see, that’s how desert owls get to the Northern Kingdoms. They get sucked up there. For what is a williwaw but a sudden violent wind?”
“He is so clever!” Otulissa said, her voice drenched in awe.
“Winds become confused. It is essentially a thermal inversion anomaly. Or, to make a long story short: you got your cover. You were sucked up, all of you, to the Northern Kingdoms,” said Ezylryb.
“And then what?” Soren said.
Ezylryb stopped flying and lighted down beside Soren.
“Yes, and then what? Perhaps Gylfie and Digger, due to your desert background, did not find this cold place comfortable. And you other five, you felt that there was too much clan warfare going on. One clan chief fighting against another. Very disorganised. Disorganised is a key word to use with the St Aggie’s owls.”
“Oh yes!” Gylfie exclaimed. If there was one thing that St Aggie’s prided itself on, it was organisation and efficiency.
Ezylryb continued. “You must say that you find clans an inefficient, cumbersome method of social and military organisation.” The old Whiskered Screech paused. “But if you just mention the Northern Kingdoms, the land of the Great North Waters where I come from, every St Aggie’s owl will be intrigued. It is the last frontier to be conquered. If an owl has been there, every other owl is consumed with curiosity about what they have seen or experienced. And if you suggest that the Northern Kingdoms might be vulnerable, you shall be welcomed.”
“But we can’t fake it. I mean, we only got as far as the Ice Narrows. We don’t know that much about the Northern Kingdoms,” Gylfie said.
“You will by the time I get through with you,” Ezylryb said bluntly.
The seven young owls exchanged nervous glances. Then Boron began to speak again. “The seven of you shall report to Ezylryb’s hollow daily for the next week. During that time, Ezylryb will give you intense tutorials in the history and culture of the Northern Kingdoms.”
Soren could sense Otulissa swelling with excitement over the prospect of yet another intellectual challenge.
“I cannot impress upon you too much the need for absolute secrecy. No one is to know about this mission. Talk of it must not go beyond these walls or the walls of Ezylryb’s hollow,” Boron said.
“What about our own hollow?” Soren asked. He was thinking of his sister, Eglantine. It would be hard to keep this from her. “And when we are with Ezylryb, won’t the rybs miss us for our usual classes?”
“We’ve thought of that,” Barran said. “In regard to Eglantine, we have felt, as I am sure you have, that your hollow is a bit crowded with five of you in there. Primrose is knocking about in that hollow of hers all alone since that Masked Owl from the Great Downing died of summer flux.
“Primrose has asked time and time again if Eglantine could move in with her since they are such close friends. I think Eglantine would like to, but she felt that you might be hurt. In truth, I think that she would be more comfortable with Primrose, who is somewhat closer to her age. I shall handle her move. I’ll tell her that we have discussed it with you, and you understand.”
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Кэтрин Ласки
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Природа и животные
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Fourth title in a mythic adventure series in which the heroes are owls!In the owl kingdom, a war between good and evil is raging. On one side, Soren and the noble owls of the Great Ga’hoole tree. On the other, Soren’s fearsome brother Kludd, who wears a terrifying metal mask to cover his battle scars. Driven by an all-consuming lust for power, Kludd leads his forces in a brutal attack on the Great Ga′Hoole Tree.Meanwhile, Soren is asked to lead a mission back to the one place he never wanted to see again – St Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls. He and his crew will have to enter St Aggie′s as spies, then leave without being noticed…or caught.Soren escaped the rocky confines of St Aggie′s once. If the Ga’Hoole tree is to be saved he must do it again…