The War of the Ember

by Kathryn Lasky

  Dumpy paused and looked at his audience of owls. “Hey, what happened to you guys? You all got so skinny,” Dumpy said.

  In the space of Dumpy’s very admirable recitation all the owls had wilfed to half their normal size.

  Soren regained his composure first. “Dumpy, that was an excellent job you did just now. I have one question.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why do you keep calling the one owl the ‘dark owl’?”

  “Well, at first I thought the owl was a Barn Owl, the shape of her face, you know, and the length of her wings, and her height. And I thought I saw some of those speckles like you have on your shoulders. But her feathers weren’t that pretty golden color like yours.”

  Otulissa blinked. This was a rather detailed description for a puffin to be rendering. In fact, all the owls in the hollow were astonished that a puffin could hold so many logically connected thoughts in its mind. “But,” Dumpy continued, “her feathers were so dark, almost black. And they were long and shaggy. At least the edges were. She almost looked like a crow, but uglier.”

  Hagsfiend! The word hung unspoken and dreadful in the dim light of the hollow like a curse rising from hagsmire. And each owl felt a terrible clench deep in its gizzard.

  Gylfie was the first to speak. “And the face. You say it was the shape of a Barn Owl’s”

  Dumpy nodded.

  “But what else about it? Were her feathers white like Soren’s and her eyes black?”

  “Her face was scarred. Especially on one side. I didn’t see it at first until she took off the mask and hung it on an ice pick. But then it was awful. I’d never seen such an awful face. One scar…” Dumpy hesitated and stole a glance at Coryn. “One scar cut across her face like yours—begging your pardon, your face is much more handsome—and her eyes, well, they weren’t completely black like yours. Something flickered deep inside them—a pale yellow light.”

  Coryn’s anguish was palpable. He sighed deeply. “So we now know for certain that Nyra lives. Indeed, she wears a mask like that of my father, Kludd, made presumably from its scraps. And she grows haggish.”

  “Where she found a Rogue smith to fix that mask for her, I’ll never know!” Gwyndor seethed.

  “Any kind of creature can be bought. Owls ain’t no different,” Bubo said.

  This news was shocking. But Coryn seemed to recover and to expand. His plumage puffed until he was enormous. “The Striga and Nyra are in collusion. Now we know. We shall act. We shall not let ourselves be terrorized or intimidated. We have the advantage of knowing that they are up to something.” Coryn’s eyes were blazing. Soren felt his gizzard stir with pride. He had not seen Coryn so strong, so steady, so resolute in a long time. The young king had spent a large part of his life haunted by the violent history of his parents, Kludd and Nyra. Raised by the most ruthless mother owl imaginable, he was no stranger to tyranny. He now turned to the puffin, Gwyndor, and Bess, who stood side by side, and began to speak. “You three birds have shown extraordinary courage and wit.”

  Dumpy blinked.

  Wit! He’s saying I have wit!

  “Each of you was alert and ready to act. Gwyndor, with your keen ear for the wolves, you were able to discern the voice of my dear friend Gyllbane and realized that even though you were not sure of the exact meaning of the howls, that she was deeply agitated. You knew that she was skreeling as she had when she led the byrrgis for the battle of the Book of Kreeth.

  “And you, dear Bess, defended the ember with a courage the equal of any in battle. You left your cherished refuge and flew for the first time into the night world of owls and crossed the Sea of Hoolemere. We know how difficult this must have been.”

  Coryn took a step closer to the puffin. “And you, Dumpy, the debt we owe you is incalculable. You observed carefully, remembered all, and first flew to the polar bear. It was she who said ‘This is owl business’ and that you must go to the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. And you did! You found us and you related what you saw and what you heard with great intelligence.”

  Dumpy blinked rapidly. “I think I’m going to faint.” His squat, usually well-balanced body suddenly wobbled. Bubo stepped in and propped him up.

  “Here you go, lad. Now steady there.”

  When Dumpy had regained his balance, Coryn continued. “It seems we have a situation developing here. There are two issues. First, the ember. Someone is hunting for it. Obviously someone knows it is no longer here at the great tree. How many owls know? Was this Boreal an agent for others? We cannot be sure. Bess?”

  “It is possible, Coryn, that this owl was working alone. If there were others, why would they not have come to help? He duped me, yes, with the ruse of being poisoned. Had he come with cohorts, they could have easily infiltrated the palace while I…I…” She hesitated. “Tolled him to glaumora.”

  “And instead, you sent him to hagsmire!” Twilight boomed. “I like it! I like it a lot! A most artistic balance. Like a good story. All set to rights in the end.”

  Gylfie gave the Great Gray a withering look.

  “Well,” Coryn said, “his part of the story has ended but we must try to set the rest to rights. Which brings me to the second issue. It appears that Nyra herself is…is…” For the first time, Coryn faltered, then regained his confidence. “Is becoming more haggish. How this is happening, what peculiar physiological changes are occurring…” He swiveled his head toward Otulissa as if seeking some clue, some thread of an explanation.

  “It’s very strange,” Otulissa said. “We have all read about hagsfiends in the past. The Book of Kreeth is mostly a speculative work on how one might create monstrous haggish offspring through various experiments. But what Dumpy describes suggests a morphological reversion to a more primitive form. We know from the battle in the canyonlands that in certain phases of the moon, given the right conditions and the ingestion of contaminated water, wolves, corrupt ones such as those of the MacHeath clan, could become vyrwolves, while other wolves were completely immune to such changes. Perhaps we have a similar situation here.”

  Soren swiveled his head toward Otulissa. “These thoughts of yours are interesting, Otulissa, but we must plan. Now is not the time for speculation.”

  “You are right, Soren.” Otulissa nodded in agreement.

  “I think,” Soren said, swiveling his head toward his nephew, Coryn, “we need a plan to secure the ember. We can hope that the Boreal Owl Bess killed was the only one who knew about it. If this is the case we must assume that he planned to steal it for his own purposes.”

  “What purposes?” asked Digger.

  “Well, perhaps he wanted to ransom it or sell it to the highest bidder. Perhaps he was planning to approach Nyra.”

  “In any case,” Otulissa said, “the ember must be removed as soon as possible from the Palace of Mists. We have to assume that the palace is now vulnerable. It is just too risky to suppose that the Boreal was working alone.”

  Bess sighed. “I am so glad you said that, Otulissa. The owl had battle claws. I killed him with the stone points. But I shudder to think what might have happened if that owl had brought fire into the palace.” A silence fell upon the group. The Palace of Mists possessed a treasury of books, maps, documents, and artifacts that had in the last few years advanced the culture and technologies of owls in ways they could never have imagined.

  “But if we send someone to retrieve the ember,” Bubo said, “that owl could be followed.”

  “That’s true,” Soren said slowly. He blinked his eyes shut for several seconds. Gylfie, Soren’s oldest friend, looked at him. After years of diving into forest fires his beak had lost its tawny glow and was permanently smudged. But he still had that dark sparkle in his eyes, and his face feathers had retained their luster. The two owls knew each other so well that words were not always necessary. Right now, Gylfie sensed what Soren was thinking. “Gylfie,” Soren turned to the Elf Owl. “Do your remember back at St. Aggie’s when we discovered that Hortense was actually an infiltrato
r, and how she told us she had arrived there?”

  “Of course!” Gylfie’s yellow eyes blazed. She knew exactly where Soren was heading with this. “HALO!” she exclaimed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Tactics

  HALO?” Gwyndor asked.

  “High Altitude Low Opening situation,” Otulissa replied. “Of course!”

  “What?” Bubo asked.

  “Huh?” Dumpy said. “What’s altitude?”

  Coryn shot Otulissa a warning glance as she sighed and muttered something about Dumpy’s limited vocabulary. Gylfie began to explain. “It’s a stealth strategy for getting into an area without being noticed. You wait for a night with thick cloud cover, and then you drop into the cloud bank from a high altitude and then down into the target zone.”

  “You see what I’m getting at?” Soren addressed everyone, but his eyes were fastened on Gylfie. “We’ve got a front coming in tonight. As a matter of fact, it’s going to be miserable. Drenching rains, thick oily clouds, sooty as a forest fire—with sleet and all sorts of mess. If we dropped three owls into the Palace of Mists with coals, bonk coals…”

  “What?” Bubo said. “I mean, you’re welcome to any bonks from my forge, but why?” Then the light began to twinkle in the Great Horned’s amber eyes. “Oh! I get it! The old shell game!”

  “Precisely!” Soren said. “Who has the Ember of Hoole? When these three owls fly out, each one will be carrying botkins, each botkin filled with several bonk embers. As we know, bonk coals are nearly indistinguishable from the true Ember of Hoole. It takes a careful eye to detect the true ember.” He glanced over at Bubo who, indeed, had such an eye. “So who’s to know which owl has the real Ember of Hoole?”

  “Brilliant!” Digger exclaimed. “But a note of caution here. These owls should not be—well, how should I put it? High-profile owls.”

  “In other words, not the Band,” Otulissa said.

  “Yes,” Soren replied. “Not the Band, and certainly not Coryn.” He paused. “But there is another suggestion that I would like to make. None of the three, nor any of us, for that matter, should know who carries the true ember.”

  “Why?” Twilight said.

  “These are young owls. We don’t know how they’ll conduct themselves if captured, for one thing. But more important, it is always better in a situation like this if the main operatives do not have the full story. Divide up the information, so to speak, and then there is less to divulge. It’s a security measure. If, and for now let’s call him or her Owl X, is captured, and the captors demand the ember, Owl X can say, ‘I’m not sure if I have the ember. Several owls were sent out, only one has the real ember.’”

  “Ingenious!” Digger exclaimed. “That will throw them off their game.”

  “That’s the idea,” Soren replied.

  “Now.” Digger stepped forward. “It is my feeling that Owl X and Owl Y and Owl Z should all be owls that are double chawed.”

  Double chawed was a term used for those young owls bright enough and talented enough to be assigned to two chaws. Soren and Otulissa had been double chawed when they were young.

  “Well, there are Fritha and Wensel,” Otulissa offered. “They are both very reliable.”

  “I wish we could send a third owl who is older to look out for them,” Soren said. “You know, someone really experienced.”

  “What about Ruby?” Coryn said. “She’s not exactly low-profile, but she’s not as well known as the Band, and she is the best flier in the tree.”

  “But wouldn’t she be recognized?” Twilight said. “I mean, all those ruddy feathers.”

  “Not if you dipped her in a bit of bingle juice mixed with ground pellets.” It was Octavia who spoke, the ancient, portly nest-maid snake. She had slithered into the hollow unnoticed.

  “What?” several of the owls blurted out.

  Cleve cocked his head. “Yes, of course. I’ve heard of this. It’s a dye. It is also used in a very diluted form for gizzard mites. Provokes yarping.”

  “Are you saying, Octavia,” Soren swiveled his head toward the old nest-maid snake who had spiraled herself into a plump coil in the middle of the hollow, “that Ruby could dye her plumage a different color?”

  “Yes, then she wouldn’t be recognized.” She paused. “At least not by her feathers. Perhaps her flying style might give her away.”

  “Interesting idea,” Digger said.

  Soren turned toward Digger. “I think that it is a very good idea. We have Fritha and Wensel, extremely talented. Fritha, a little older, a bit more experienced. But Wensel is fantastic in all sorts of weather conditions. And he has an artist’s imagination. Somehow, I think we’ll need someone like Wensel.”

  “Where does art comes into it?” Twilight said gruffly.

  Gylfie snapped, “You were just talking about the artistry of Bess sending that owl to hagsmire instead of glaumora.”

  “Oh, so I was.” Twilight blinked.

  “And so it is decided. Fritha, Wensel, and Ruby will be the three owls to fly to the Palace of Mists and initiate the shell game,” Soren said, turning to Coryn.

  Coryn nodded. “And now the question is, where are they to take the ember?”

  “Before we get to that,” Soren said, “there is one more part to the plan. If these three owls are followed by anyone, we want to know who that is. The beauty of the weather that I see setting in is that it will allow the perfect cloud cover for the HALO drop not only for the three owls but for us, as well.”

  “For us?” Twilight asked.

  “I want to be buried in that cloud cover and track our three ember-carrying owls and anyone else who is following them.”

  “But if it’s a cloud cover, how will you see?” But as soon as Twilight asked the question, he knew the answer.

  “I’ll hear!” Soren said.

  Of course, for Soren was a Barn Owl. A Barn Owl’s auditory skills were unmatched by any other species of owl. “I can recognize Nyra’s wing beats. How many times have we battled these owls?”

  “Too many,” Digger sighed.

  “But I’ll need at least two more Barn Owls. I was thinking of Eglantine and Fiona. Fiona is young, but her hearing is extraordinary even for a Barn Owl.”

  “And now to what I feel is the most important question. Where are they to take the ember?” Everyone’s head swiveled toward Coryn. As the anointed king, the embered monarch of the owl kingdoms, he was the only one who could make this decision. There was a long pause before he spoke. Finally, he said, “I have been thinking about this question ever since we started talking about this shell game.” Indeed, he thought to himself, I have been pondering this question longer than you can imagine. “It seems to me,” he continued, “that if the three owls succeed in getting the ember out, we should take it far away.” Coryn now looked at Tengshu, who had been perched quietly in a shadowy corner of the hollow. “To the Middle Kingdom…to the Mountain of Time.”

  “I am not sure, Coryn,” Tengshu said. “You understand that the ember is…is…” He hesitated. “A powerful relic from the ancient world.”

  “Yes,” Coryn agreed. “Theo fought beside Hoole when he first dived into the flames of Dunmore to retrieve it. It is a most vital link between not only the time of legends and now, but between our kingdom and yours, the Middle Kingdom, for Theo found his way there, Tengshu.”

  There was much more that Coryn was considering and chose not to say. Theo had been a gizzard-resister. After his service to King Hoole, he had flown as far away as he could from the violence of his world—to the Middle Kingdom. In many respects, Coryn felt the same way about the Ember of Hoole that Theo felt about battle claws. He, however, was king, so he could not leave. But he could send this ember to the farthest reaches of the owl world—to the Middle Kingdom.

  Soren regarded his nephew closely. He wants to be rid of that ember so badly. And yet he is king. It was astute of Coryn to link the ember to Theo, Soren thought.

  Tengshu blinked. “I must go
and ask the H’ryth if this is possible, if he will accept the ember.”

  “Could you leave soon?” Coryn asked.

  “Yes, I shall leave immediately.”

  “And I shall speak to Ruby, Fritha, and Wensel,” Otulissa said.

  “Uh…Please stay, Otulissa.’” Soren hesitated before he began to speak. He coughed. “Perhaps Bubo, Twilight, Digger, and Gylfie could go and talk to Ruby, Fritha, and Wensel.”

  The owls looked at Soren, bewildered.

  “There is another item that we must focus on.”

  “Indeed, the rumors of hagsfiends!” Coryn whispered.

  “We hope they are rumors,” Soren said. “But not only that. What of this sighting of the Striga and Nyra together in the Northern Kingdoms? It must be investigated immediately. I want to talk to Otulissa and Cleve about a reconnaissance mission to the Northern Kingdoms.” Otulissa seemed to grow larger. Her plumage billowed. This was the first time she had been asked to do anything of import since her grave injuries. Tengshu, who had just been leaving the hollow, stopped. He swiveled his head toward Cleve and blinked. Cleve blinked back. Everyone’s attention was focused on Soren, who had begun to speak.

  No one noticed the quick exchange between Tengshu and Cleve, except one bird—the puffin. I wonder what that’s all about? Dumpy thought. I’m not that bright, but something was said without words. A signal. I’d bet my wee brain on it.

  Soren continued. “And I want to set up a crack corps of messengers to fly between all the Guardians on this mission, to deliver word of progress or problems. So when you’re finished speaking with Fritha, Wensel, and Ruby, come back here. There’s more to plan.”

  Half an hour later, Twilight, Gylfie, Digger, and Bubo returned. Soren looked up. “We’re just finishing.”

  “Good,” Coryn said. “Now we’re all here.” He looked at his uncle. “Soren, catch them up.”

  Soren swiveled his head toward Otulissa. “Otulissa will go to the Northern Kingdoms with Cleve.” He explained the reconnaissance mission that was planned for them. They were to talk to as many animals as they could, including gadfeathers and even kraals, if it was safe, and polar bears as well, to find out if there had been any sightings of a blue owl and a haggish-looking Barn Owl. “And,” he added in a low voice, “if there are any signs of strange-looking eggs.