The River of Wind

by Kathryn Lasky

  The River of Wind

  Guardians of Ga’Hoole

  The Legends

  By

  Kathryn Lasky

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Title Page

  Southern Kingdoms

  Illustration

  Northern Kingdoms

  Prologue

  CHAPTER ONE Astonishing—Absolutely Astonishing

  CHAPTER TWO Otulissa Breaks the News

  CHAPTER THREE Mrs. Plithiver Perceives

  CHAPTER FOUR Chawlets in Training

  CHAPTER FIVE The Palace of Mists

  CHAPTER SIX Where’s Bell?

  CHAPTER SEVEN The Tomorrow Line

  CHAPTER EIGHT Blue in the Night

  CHAPTER NINE The River of Wind

  CHAPTER TEN Conversations with a Blue Owl

  CHAPTER ELEVEN The Sage at the River’s End

  CHAPTER TWELVE The Hagbogey

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN The Ember, the King, and an Owlet!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN The Dragon Court

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN The Butterfly that Disturbs

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN The Desert Healer

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN The Owlery at the Mountain of Time

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN A Feather in the Wind

  CHAPTER NINETEEN A Cycle Broken?

  CHAPTER TWENTY Lessons of the Owlery

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Zong Qui

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Home

  THE GUARDIANS of GA’HOOLE

  OWLS and others from the GUARDIANS OF GA’HOOLE SERIES

  A peek at THE GUARDIANS of GA’HOOLE Book Fourteen: Exile

  Copyright

  Southern Kingdoms

  Illustration

  She set the glass down on the torn piece of parchment. “Now tell me, what do you see?”

  Northern Kingdoms

  Prologue

  Threading through the roar of the waterfall, the scratch of a pen on parchment could be heard. Heard, that is, if there was anyone to listen except for the writer. But there wasn’t. Most couldn’t stand the fall’s noise. Some said it made them deaf. But Bess, a Boreal Owl, was apparently immune. Her hearing was as sharp as the night she had arrived at the waterfall some years before to lay the bones of her father, Grimble, under the hood of the bell in the tower. Among Boreal Owls it was thought that if such an owl died beneath the clapper of a bell, or if its bones could be put to rest there, then its scroom would go straight to glaumora. Was it a myth? An old story half-believed, half-scoffed at? A superstition? Who was to judge? The Boreals believed it.

  Bess wrote:

  My Dearest Otulissa,

  It has been a long time since we have communicated or you have visited me here in the Palace of Mists. I have been in a deep study of—or should I say “lost in”?—what we call “The Elsewhere.” But now I am found, or rather I have found some astonishing documents pertaining to this region where the stars configure themselves into constellations we have never seen in the Five Kingdoms. As you know, until this time I had uncovered precious little documentation of The Elsewhere. Only star maps. I had always assumed that these were the creations of the Others—their astronomers and cartographers. But such is not the case…

  CHAPTER ONE

  Astonishing—Absolutely Astonishing

  Otulissa inhaled sharply, and reread the sentence. But such is not the case. These star maps were not created by the Others, but by owls. There is in fact a sixth kingdom of owls. It is called the Middle Kingdom, and I believe it is within wingreach. The parchment trembled as Otulissa read. She could not keep her talons still. “This is absolutely incredible,” she whispered to herself. “Another kingdom of owls—but where? How?” For centuries—millennia—it was thought there were only five owl kingdoms. Six! Since when? Why had no one heard of it before now? And it was within wingreach! One could fly there!

  How could that be? The Elsewhere was across the vastest of oceans. She read on: About a year ago, I discovered a deep recess in the library here that I had not even known existed. It had been concealed purposely behind a false wall, it turned out, constructed with some sort of clay and wattle at the back of an almost empty section of the library. The wall looked more like an ill-made bird’s nest, a seagull-type of construction, or perhaps even a pack rat’s cache. It wasn’t.

  Do you remember the slight earthquake we had many moon cycles ago? Well, apparently it loosened the wattle and stones. For it was after the quake that I discovered the recess and in it what appeared to be fragments of parchment and scraped skins—perhaps mole or even lemming, the kind of coverings that the ancient owls often used to protect writings. They were not books such as the Others had left here in this library. These were fragments of writings, badly damaged and barely decipherable, but nonetheless, I could tell immediately that they were not the writings of the Others. It was not handwriting, but bore the distinct marks of a talon, perhaps more than one talon. I cannot even begin to describe to you the tumult in my gizzard. I suspect you might be feeling something of this now as you read this letter…

  “To put it mildly,” Otulissa muttered to herself.

  I am not sure how these fragments got here. From studying the talon writing, I sense there was more than one writer, but not many. Perhaps there were traveling scholars in those days who flew here from this distant kingdom to exchange information—but with whom? I know you must wonder why I have waited so long to write you about this discovery. First, I was not exactly sure what I had discovered. I kept hoping that I might find more. I found very little. And then, quite honestly, I was not sure what the existence of another kingdom, the sixth kingdom, would mean for our world. We have, after all, just come through a bad time—the Guardians in particular—with that dark period of the Golden Tree, the terrible arrests, and then the Battle in the Beyond with Nyra. We all hope she is gone, but do we know with any real certainty? What would she make of the news of yet another kingdom? I felt that it was best to wait. But I have waited long enough.

  Otulissa shook her head violently. It seemed suddenly that her brain was too small to accommodate this bizarre idea. A sixth kingdom? But she was compelled to read on.

  I feel that it is imperative that you and the Band and, yes, possibly even the Chaw of Chaws, come immediately to the Palace of Mists. I do not want to elaborate any further about what I have learned is called the Middle Kingdom. Because of the uncertainty surrounding Nyra and the condition of her troops, I feel that news of this kingdom must be kept absolutely secret. The rest must know nothing until we decide what to do. Destroy this letter immediately upon reading it.

  Your dear friend, Bess

  Otulissa read the letter once more, committing it to memory, and then held it over the flame of the small fire in the grate of her hollow. She watched, transfixed, as the edges of the parchment singed a tawny amber, then began to curl. There was a crackling, followed by a small burst of devouring flames. The parchment blackened and then there were only ashes. She took a small metal rod and poked at them, making sure that no legible pieces had survived. Satisfied, she went to her cupboard and poured a small drop of bingle juice into a nut cup—a rare act for Otulissa—then did a short hop to the window ledge of her hollow and peered into the day. While the rest of the tree slept peacefully, outside it was wild and blustery. It was that cusp between winter and spring that could bring any kind of weather. But thank Glaux, Otulissa thought as she looked out, the Great Ga’Hoole Tree looks normal. “Normal” meant that its branches were bare of leaves, and the vines of milkberries were white, as they should be in these, the last stages of winter, the season of the White Rain. There was the faintest glimmer of silver in the berries, indicating that spring would be coming soon.

  Recently, the tree had been stra
ngely afflicted, and although the seasons changed, the tree did not. The milkberries had remained the same bright golden hue of summer—through autumn, winter, and spring. It had not only been the tree that had been affected, but most of its inhabitants as well. The Band, with young King Coryn, had been away on a long journey. In their absence, the ember, which Coryn had retrieved, became an object of worship for many in the tree. The Guardians of Ga’Hoole had forgotten their owl ways and become quite…quite Other-ish. It sent a tremor through Otulissa’s gizzard to remember it. She herself had been imprisoned for “blaspheming the ember.”

  Glaux! she thought. The brainpower that had been wasted—absolutely squandered—on contriving countless silly rituals surrounding the ember. Anyone who dared to question the rituals was immediately arrested. A prison—an actual prison!—had been constructed in one of the hollows, and Bubo had been fooled into making bars for it in his forge. Was there anything more un-Ga’Hoolian than prison bars! The true bars were on the minds of the Guardians who had conceived such a thing! Those owls were gone now. Not imprisoned, but “retired” to various Glauxian retreats in the Northern Kingdoms. The tree had been restored to rights, and the ember had been sequestered away where it would never again become an object of such outrageous idolatry. Its peculiar powers, if not exactly lessened, were at least better understood: It was now realized that the ember was neither purely good nor purely evil.

  Otulissa took a tiny sip from the nut cup and felt her gizzard calm as she looked out into the sleet-slashed day. The branches tossed wildly and the entire tree gave an occasional moan. The milkberry vines tangled in the wind. Dirty weather. The kind that old Ezylryb liked to take the weather-interpretation chaw out in—supposedly for instructional purposes, but really just for a great ride. There were always seagulls out on this kind of a day, full of foul language and dirty jokes to match the weather. And no one had enjoyed a dirty joke more than the legendary old ryb Ezylryb.

  But her mind was wandering. She had to inform the Band. A sixth kingdom! Astonishing—absolutely astonishing. She had better go and wake them up. But should she wake the king? No one except the Band, herself, and the late Ezylryb knew about the Palace of Mists. But Bess was now suggesting that the Chaw of Chaws—which included Martin and Ruby, who knew nothing of Bess or the Palace—should come to this secret place. The Chaw of Chaws was probably the most efficient combat unit in the history of owls. Their combination of talents, which ranged from superb flying abilities to colliering skills and deftness with battle claws, made them a formidable fighting force. But their real power did not come from any one specific weapon or skill but rather from their uncanny ability to work together.

  “Chaw of Chaws,” Otulissa whispered to herself. She would ask Soren who should be informed and when. Despite her resolve to stay calm, her gizzard was seized by a sudden swirling agitation at the very thought of a new kingdom—a new world!

  CHAPTER TWO

  Otulissa Breaks the News

  From outside Soren’s hollow Otulissa heard movements. What’s he doing up at this time of day? she wondered. She knew that Soren’s chicks, Bell, Bash, and Blythe—the three B’s, as they had come to be called—were off with their aunt Eglantine, her friend Primrose, and their mum, Pelli, on their first training mission. A forest fire in Silverveil afforded an opportunity for teaching the colliering, search-and-rescue, and tracking chawlets, which were groups of young owls in training before it was decided to which chaw they were best suited. Pelli was now ryb of search-and-rescue and was off leading one of the chawlets. Soren must have been lonely without them, Otulissa thought, but he put up a good front.

  “Soren?” Otulissa tapped lightly on the edge of the entry port and peeked in.

  “Otulissa! What brings you here this time of the day? Why aren’t you asleep?”

  “I might ask the same of you.”

  “Yes, well…with Pelli and the young’uns gone, I rattle around in here like a loose milkberry. It’s hard to sleep, you know.”

  “Well, I’m afraid my news will not help,” Otulissa said matter-of-factly.

  “Oh, Glaux, what is it now?”

  “It’s not bad news—no, not at all.” She hesitated. “It’s just…rather astonishing.”

  A perplexed light flashed deep within Soren’s black eyes. “What is it?”

  “It’s rather unbelievable, really.”

  Soren had never seen Otulissa so tentative. Almost at a loss for words, although that was unimaginable. The Spotted Owl was always so talkative. “Soren, I have had word from Bess,” she finally said.

  “Written in the usual code?”

  “Yes, of course. We always use the code.” Otulissa exhaled with a great whoosh. “Soren, Bess thinks there is a sixth owl kingdom.”

  “Whhhhhhaaaat?” Soren staggered on his perch.

  “She thinks there is another kingdom of owls.”

  “She thinks? Does she know? Where? How?”

  “I think she knows,” Otulissa replied.

  “You think she knows? What in hagsmire does that mean?”

  “Well, I know she knows. She didn’t want to elaborate on it in the letter—even in code. I had to destroy it as soon as I read it. But she has evidence.”

  “Evidence? What kind of evidence?” Soren blinked rapidly.

  “Fragments of documents, apparently. Just let me recite the letter to you.”

  Soren looked around nervously. “Come to the back of the hollow and keep your voice low.”

  Soren listened quietly and then asked her to repeat it. “Now say that part about the star maps again.”

  “These star maps,” Otulissa reiterated, “were not created by the Others, but by owls. There is in fact a sixth kingdom of owls. It is called the Middle Kingdom…About a year ago, I discovered…fragments of writings, badly damaged and barely decipherable, but nonetheless, I could tell immediately that they were not the writings of the Others. It was not handwriting, but bore the distinct marks of a talon, perhaps more than one talon,” she recited a bit more.

  Soren ran a talon through his port wing feathers, a habit of his when thinking deeply. “She can really tell that there was more than one owl who wrote this stuff, eh?”

  “Yes, she’s very good at that sort of thing,” Otulissa replied softly.

  “Bess is good at a lot of things. She thinks that these owls might have been some sort of scholars trading in information the way Trader Mags trades in goods?”

  Otulissa sniffed haughtily. “Well, it’s hard to use the words ‘Trader Mags’ and ‘scholars’ in the same sentence—but basically, yes.”

  “Curious idea, isn’t it? Itinerant scholar-owls,” Soren mused.

  “Strictly hypothetical, of course. I mean, she couches her supposition in all sorts of very conditional language.” Otulissa was back to her old academic self. Big words, convoluted, scholarly surmises, and interpretations. It was enough to drive one yoicks.

  “Otulissa!” Soren said somewhat sharply. “Here’s something that’s not so hypothetical. Sometime in the past owls from a sixth kingdom have come here. Therefore, I would say that they were more advanced than we are. I mean, our ancestors didn’t even know of its existence, much less go there. And who knows what was involved crossing a sea so vast that we have never even bothered to name it. For centuries, owls of the Five Kingdoms have called it the Unnamed Sea.”

  Otulissa blinked. There was no owl like Soren for cutting so directly to the chase, she thought.

  “Well, we need to tell the Band and Coryn,” Soren said, his black eyes sparkling now.

  “But does Coryn know about Bess and the Palace of Mists?”

  “Well…” Soren began somewhat sheepishly. “You know when we went on that trip before all that emberworship nonsense? We were hollowed up with bad weather in Silverveil. You know how you can get stuck there. We began telling stories.”

  “Yes, I remember. A male-bonding thing no doubt,” Otulissa huffed.

  Soren suddenly swelled
up. “Male bonding, my talon! How can you say that! Gylfie was there.” He stomped on his perch. “Anyway, that’s when we told Coryn about Bess and the palace. He was fascinated.”

  “Who wouldn’t be?” Otulissa said in a somewhat more conciliatory tone. “All right, it makes sense that he should go. If there is a sixth kingdom…well, it’s logical that our own king should know about it.”

  “Yes.” Soren nodded firmly and blinked. “I think I should gather the rest of the Chaw of Chaws and take them to Coryn’s hollow at once.” He hopped off his perch and lighted down on the rim and looked out. “It’s not long until tween time.”

  Tween time occurred between the last drop of daylight as the sun set and the first bit of darkness, often called First Lavender, which preceded First Black, for it never turned dark all at once. It was at this time that tweener, the largest meal for owls, was served. Coryn and the rest of the Chaw of Chaws—minus Ruby—waited impatiently in Coryn’s hollow to find out why Otulissa and Soren had called them to meet so suddenly.

  “Where’s Ruby?” Otulissa said.

  “You know how Ruby hates to get up early,” Martin said.

  “Can’t say I’m loving this myself.” Twilight yawned noisily. “Better be good.”

  Indeed they all seemed rather sleepy, except for Soren and Otulissa.

  “Sorry…sorry, I’m late,” Ruby said, landing in the hollow.

  Otulissa looked at Soren. “Do you want to begin?”

  Where to begin? Soren thought. Ruby and Martin didn’t even know about the Palace of Mists. So first that had to be explained.

  Soren began slowly. “There is this place, Ruby and Martin, that we discovered when we were youngsters. It is called the Palace of Mists.”

  “Palace of Mists,” Ruby said with wonder. Soren went on to explain that they had promised Bess they would keep it a secret, except for telling Otulissa. Bess was a scholar and she had agreed to share the library and what she knew with the two most scholarly owls of the Great Tree—Otulissa and the late Ezylryb. Soren then turned to Otulissa. “I think you should tell them about the letter from Bess.”