She turned, spread her wings, and took off into a blast of cold air. Climbing over the blast with a fury, she began flying as fast as she had ever flown to the one place where she would be listened to: the owlery at the Mountain of Time. The H’ryth would hear her out. The H’ryth was the opposite of the high steward. Humble, meek, with a deep wisdom of the ages that sparkled like green glints in his pale yellow eyes. He was, after all, the direct spiritual descendant of the first H’ryth, Theosang.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Glaux Speed!”
The rain was soft, slanting down from the clouds. Six owls had flown out of the great tree on a course due west across the Sea of Hoolemere. It was the Band, plus two Barn Owls, Soren’s sister, Eglantine, and the young Fiona. They were flying high in the uppermost stria of clouds. The sharp tang of the Hoolemere Sea cut through the rain. “It must be wild down there,” Twilight said.
It was beyond wild, Soren thought. He had never seen such weather. The dark, roiling clouds were perfect for their purposes and yet the tumult of the storm winds, which always thrilled him in the same way as they had his mentor Ezylryb, now seemed disturbing. He looked up at the nearly black clouds and imagined that they reflected an even greater storm to come.
Gylfie was navigating as usual. She now flew with a tiny device—a clock that was called a chronometer, which was based on an ancient instrument from the time of the Others, and consulted it often. She now gave a position report: “We are, to the best of my knowledge, over the Shadow Forest.”
“The Shadow Forest must be getting hammered,” Twilight said.
“Not many other owls would come out in this,” Digger said.
“Let alone bury themselves in the upper cloud layer while three owls took care of business,” Gylfie added with a churr. For that, indeed, was the plan that had been worked out in much greater detail since the first strategy session.
The Band, along with Eglantine and Fiona, were following Ruby, Wensel, and Fritha to the Palace of Mists. They would bury themselves in the stria just above the palace while the three owls collected the embers. When the three ember carriers departed the palace, they would take off in different directions and each would be covered by a pair of owls flying useen above them. One of each pair would be a Barn Owl who could track them, using its exceptional auditory skills, no matter what the weather. Each of the three ember carriers would ultimately arrive at the Wolf’s Fang. The Wolf’s Fang was a rock formation in the Sea of Vastness, which was a stopping point to the River of Wind that carried one to the Middle Kingdom. It was on this desolate sea-torn outpost that the ember carriers and their detail of trackers would rendezvous to await word from Tengshu to learn whether or not the H’ryth had given permission to transport the ember to the Middle Kingdom. At least that was the plan.
I usually love flying this weather but this time it’s not for fun, Soren thought. It’s for the ember. But then again, this weather was so Ezylryb! Below them the perfect storm was just getting organized. There was a kink in the usual weather patterns for this season. The katabats had begun to blow earlier than normal and an immense eddy from the River of Wind was billowing up in the far west. It blew at a high speed between the Hoolian world and that of the Middle Kingdom. Since Otulissa’s injuries, Soren had been the primary researcher picking through the data they were gathering from the scores of feather buoys they had set out. Nights before, he had begun to get unusual readings. The calm sea was building into mountainous waves. They all heard an ominous whining periodically as the wind spiked to a new force. The keening wind was punctuated by the crashing of the towering waves onto the land below, uprooting entire sections of coastal forests.
As devastating as conditions were, they all added up to a perfect storm and, under its cover, the three owls, Fritha, Wensel, and Ruby, could take the ember out of the Palace of Mists and fly it as quickly as possible to the Middle Kingdom—if permission had been granted by the H’ryth.
Now in the dim light of the crypt at the Palace of Mists, Fritha, Ruby, and Wensel watched as Bess, with a set of pincers, drew out the teardrop-shaped cask that contained the ember. There was a prescribed manner in which the ember was to be deposited in one of the three botkins. Fritha, Ruby, and Wensel were to turn their tails so that they could not see which botkin Bess emptied the cask into. Each of the three botkins contained other bonk coals, which served two purposes: first to insulate the owls from the powerful effects of the ember, and second to camouflage the ember, which, to most, looked like any other bonk coal.
“All right, turn tail,” Bess said quietly. The three owls turned around. There was no temptation to peek, although each owl did wonder if he or she would feel the presence of the true ember in the botkin. Fritha and Wensel were comparatively young owls and this was by far the most important mission they had been sent on since taking their oaths as Guardians. Fritha possessed a ferocity that belied her size. Wensel’s personality was marked by the eccentricities and quirkiness associated with artists, for he was a gifted illustrator. He had an amazing capacity for coming up with creative solutions to almost any problem. Soren and Otulissa knew both of these owls well and felt they were perfect for the job. Ruby, of course, was Ruby. More experienced than either one of the others, she was arguably the finest flier in the entire tree. This was the best team for this mission.
Bess closed her own eyes and dropped the ember into one of the three botkins. It would be Bubo who would determine for sure which botkin had the ember when he met them at the Wolf’s Fang with the other owls. And if the H’ryth agreed, it would be Tengshu who would carry the ember across the River of Wind to the Middle Kingdom.
With eyes still shut Bess then commenced to shuffle the containers around on the stone floor and then reshuffled them two more times. Opening her eyes, she said, “All right, go back to the position where your original botkin was.” The owls did as they were told. She sighed deeply. “I guess that’s it.” They could hear the wind howling. It was so loud it nearly obliterated the crash of the waterfalls outside. It was an ominous, wild, keening sound. A shiver went through all of them.
“Sound of that wind gives me the creelies,” Wensel said, and wrapped his wings around his chest as if to protect himself.
“Don’t worry. That’s the sound of a great wind for flying,” Ruby said. “You’ll get the ride of your life.” Bess stole a glance a Ruby. No wonder Soren had sent Ruby. She was perfect for these young owls. She bolstered their spirits, supported them, encouraged them, and looked out for them. Ruby did, however, look different. After three dippings in the bingle juice mixture, Ruby’s ruddy feathers were now a tawny blondish hue. No one would recognize her. Indeed, the only thing that might give her away was her skillful flying. But they hoped no owls would be out in this weather to see it.
“All right,” Ruby said, taking a step closer to the others. “You’ve studied the charts. You each know your individual flight plan.”
“Yes,” Fritha answered. “I am to go due east from here into the canyonlands, then circle back west and head for Beyond the Beyond, and head straight out toward the Wolf’s Fang.”
“And you, Wensel?”
“Yes ma’am.” Wensel then repeated the details of his route.
“Excellent!” Bess replied after they had recited their individual flight plans. She accompanied them to the turret opposite the bell tower and watched them take off into the wildness of the storm. She had to wedge herself into one of the stone turret notches to keep from being swept off. The raging wind blew the cascading water of the falls in horizontal sheets across the night. Trees shuddered, the noise of their branches a drumbeat beneath the wind. Flashes of lightning illuminated the undersides of rolling clouds, giving them a harsh metallic glow, and always that odd whining that sliced through the wind’s roar, splitting it like a talon through tender flesh.
But the three owls were amazing fliers. Bess watched as they lifted off into the teeth of the storm. Catching every favorable draft, they manipu
lated their wings constantly to adjust to the confusing air currents. There were alarming shifts and abrupt shears where a wind could accelerate or decelerate dramatically, change its direction completely, pocking the air with deadfalls and suck-down vents, which could spell disaster for the average flier. But these were no average fliers. “Glaux speed,” she murmured softly as she saw them dissolve into a thick dark cloud bank. “Glaux speed!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Proposal or Experiment?
In the Northern Kingdoms, there is a promontory that juts out into the Everwinter Sea, which is called the Ice Talons. On the southwest side of the Ice Talons, a thread of water penetrates deep into the interior of that frozen landscape and, on either side, spires of ice, twisted and turned by time and wind, rise wraithlike in the fog-shrouded air of that canyon. The spires are connected by ice bridges and arches and behind the walls of the canyon winds a complex maze of tunnels and channels. In ancient times, during a series of desperate wars, it had served as a stronghold, a hidden redoubt for the H’rathian monarchs, and upon one occasion, the widowed queen Siv had come here with her faithful servant, Myrrthe. With them they brought the egg from which the greatest of all kings would hatch: King Hoole, the first holder of the ember.
The canyon was, however, also known to be a passageway in ancient times, a shortcut for hagsfiends, who were said to have a refuge on the other side of the promontory, far from salt water. Hagsfiends liked to be as far from the ocean as possible. They feared salt water, for it destroyed their oil-less feathers, and, when drenched in briny water, they nearly always drowned instantly. They would rush through this narrow watery channel to get to dry land, hardly ever slowing to explore the tangled passageways of the cliffs.
And now two owls, who should have had no reason to fear water but were feeling nervous nonetheless, were making their way not to the dry land that had been the hagsfiends’ redoubt—for they knew nothing of that place—but instead to another refuge deep within the ice cliffs. They carried in their botkins two dozen double- and triple-yolked eggs of monsters.
“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” Nyra asked.
“Yes. Your son, Coryn, told me of this place. Or rather he read to me part of the legend of the first collier, which described it.”
“His name is Nyroc. Not Coryn. I named him Nyroc. He ceased to be my son when he renamed himself Coryn. How far must we fly? Are you trying to find the exact spot where this ancient queen brought her egg?”
“Not the exact spot. Just a safe place for our experiments. And, even though many more eggs are coming, we can’t afford to lose another one.” He paused, then turned his head toward Nyra. “Everything has gone so well. Our troops in Kuneer are trained, organized. They will be ready to join us on Long Night. This is the last part of the plan, but the most important.”
Nyra did not like the way the Striga had called them “our troops.” She, in fact, was the one who had gathered the ragtag remnants of Pure Ones and rebuilt them into a fighting force. Yes, more troops had come and were coming to the Northern Kingdoms from the Dragon Court. But the backbone of this army, at present, was Pure Ones. However, she kept quiet about that. “We could have finished off those puffins that came looking for their brother in a snap,” Nyra said. “Puffins are stupid. It would have been easy.”
The Striga had to refrain from saying, “You’re stupid.” Instead, he replied, “Those puffins’ bodies would have been discovered sooner or later. Rumors would start. It was better to get out as quickly as possible. We are just lucky that the one dragon owl got out with her botkin of eggs the night before.”
“I suppose that’s true. We didn’t lose much. One egg went rolling into the water and another got smashed on the floor of the ice cave. But do you think that dragon owl who got out will find her way to the Ice Cliff Palace? What’s her name?”
“Olong,” the Striga said. “She is named for the color of her feathers. It means sapphire in our language. She’s smart. She’ll find her way. Now try not to worry. Many of these eggs are double- and triple-yolked. This is our starter batch. The converts are bringing in more.” The “converts” were those Dragon Court owls who had surreptitiously been learning to fly and, one by one, or, on rare occasions, two by two, had been leaving the Panqua Palace. With the help of corrupt servants they were purloining eggs and bringing them to the Northern Kingdoms. Until now they had been stashing them in the most remote regions, inhabited, if at all, by the pirate owls, the kraals, who most other creatures tried to avoid. The eggs were sterile when they had been imported from the Middle Kingdom, but with proper brooding, unlike normal sterile eggs, they could be made to quicken and finally to hatch. This was part of the peculiar mystery, the terrible secret of a hagsfiend’s genesis.
“And to think I nearly had my talons on that book. I had tried to read it but it was very hard to understand,” Nyra whined.
“But you remembered some of it. And between us—look, Nyra! Look what we have already achieved. I should be pulling out my feathers in punishment, for the first time I ever heard Coryn mention the Book of Kreeth, I didn’t have the wits to ask him more. I even got a glimpse of it one time in the library. You are indeed the better bird. You figured out its value.”
If there was one thing the Striga knew, it was how to flatter. It was flattery that fueled the feckless life of the Dragon Court, and fawning adulation was its lifeblood.
The Striga thought back on that night when he had first glimpsed the Book of Kreeth. It seemed a lifetime ago. (Indeed, the blue owl was beginning to suspect that he had had many lifetimes. It was as if echoes from a long-forgotten past would sometimes reverberate through his brain.) On that particular night he now recalled that Otulissa had accidentally left a small cabinet in a back hollow of the library unlocked, and he had slipped into it to peek. What he found was a volume entitled the Book of Kreeth, and it puzzled him. It was mostly illustrations. But it made no sense whatsoever and he had thought the strange pictures were something to do with loathsome vanities. Just as well it be locked away. How stupid he had been!
At last the two owls with their precious cargo found a narrow opening in the ice cliffs. “I think this should do,” the Striga said with relief.
“Is this the Ice Palace?” Nyra asked.
“I’m not sure if it is the Ice Palace proper. But I think we can be safe here. And now to construct a good schneddenfyrr,” the Striga said.
“A schnedden…what?”
“A schneddenfyrr. It is an old Krakish word for ‘ice nest.’ That is what the owls of the Northern Kingdoms use because they lack trees, hence no tree hollows for eggs.”
The Striga busied himself settling the eggs in ice nests. Nyra followed suit.
“You learned a lot,” Nyra said.
“I learned it from your son and Otulissa and Soren. They aren’t stupid, you know.”
Nyra glared as he spoke.
“You must learn, Nyra dear, to use your enemies.”
She did not like the intimacy of his tone. She was about to object but held her tongue. The Striga was right. One must learn to use one’s enemies. And who knew, when the ember was hers, who her enemies might be? Perhaps the Striga! The dark, grayish eggs were the means to the ember. But the ember would only be possessed by one owl, and she planned to be that owl. So she would hold her tongue now and indulge this blue owl, who seemed to revel in these terms of endearment. A thought suddenly occurred to her—Is he trying to woo me? Woo me as one would woo a mate? Would she have shared the ember with her long-dead mate, Kludd, with whom she had brought that unruly son into the world? Once her gizzard had sung for dear Kludd. But let’s be practical. An ember cannot be divided, she thought. And who would want to be queen to someone else’s king when indeed she could be both king and queen?
She quietly observed the blue owl, who was fussing like an old nest-maid snake over this schnedden-whatever, arranging the eggs just so. He, too, seemed absorbed in private thoughts, but he now began to
speak and what he said stirred something deep in Nyra. “Of course, you, of all owls, know of the curse of one who is hatched on the night of a lunar eclipse.”
“I suppose,” Nyra answered cagily, “that it depends on your viewpoint, whether it be a curse or not.”
“True. Nevertheless, they say an enchantment is cast upon those hatchlings, a charm that leads to great power. Hoole was hatched on the night of a lunar eclipse. And he retrieved the ember for the first time.”
“And so was my son,” Nyra replied.
“And he became king, as well,” the Striga said softly.
Nyra remembered the night. It was just after the end of the War of Fire and Ice, which was sometimes called the War of the Great Burning. She was soon lost in the reveries of that night Nyroc had hatched.
“Nyra, you are the one who explained to me that Kreeth was not only interested in creating strange monsters that were odd crossbreeds, but she had dabbled in creating a new strain of hagsfiends. You said they hatch from eggs such as these on the night of a lunar eclipse. Thanks to your diplomatic efforts with my brethren, the converts from the Panqua Palace, the eggs have been secured. Their contribution was great but yours is immeasurable. It was a setback when we were surprised in that cave in the Ice Narrows. But these eggs will be safe. The rest will be taken directly to the kraals’ territory. The ice nests are readied. All we need to do is fetch those eggs and the broodies from the kraal region and lead them to the Ice Cliffs for the final days of brooding before the eclipse when the quickening begins. In all, we will have nearly one hundred eggs! A company! A company of hagsfiends!”
The War of the Ember Page 7
