She looked around quickly. No one was watching. Certainly not the blind nest-maid snakes. So Bell made a dash to the nearest port in the tree. I’m coming, Mum, she thought. I’ll fight beside you.
Everything was chaos and confusion. The night whizzed with sparks from the huge Balefire and the ignited branches. Ice weapons sparkled high in the canopy of the tree. The curved-edged scimitars, like scallops of a newing moon, slashed through the darkness. An owl fell to the ground. Bell made her way through the melee of smoke, flying ice chips, and sizzling branches. All she had to do was find a weapon of her own. She could handle an ice pick or one of the short blades. There was a burning twig on the ground. She could do something with that. She seized it, spread her wings, and flew off to find her mother. But where had her mother gone? Pelli had been near the viewing perch close to the thick of the battle. But the heaviest fighting seemed to have moved. A cry rose in the night.
“The Great Hollow’s been breached!” Bell saw a rush of owls head for the tree. Then a few of the Blue Brigade flew out, fully clawed, the iron talons extended in attack position. She thought she saw Elvanryb fall as she rushed to the scene. She knew she must drop her fire branch before she flew through the opening of the tree. There were no fire weapons in the tree. No owl would ever fight with fire in the tree. But there had never been a battle within the Great Ga’Hoole Tree in its thousand-year history. Bell crouched now in the harp gallery amid the pile of tangled strings and watched. If only there were a pair of battle claws she could get to. She heard a song rise up with a thumping beat. Great Glaux, it must be Twilight! Every young owl knew of these battle chants, but no one had ever actually heard him. But now the chant pounded in Bell’s ear slits. She saw the Great Gray prancing in the air in front of two fierce-looking Great Horneds from the Blue Brigade.
Talk about vanities, bunch of wet poop!
Twilight’s here to give you the scoop!
You dim-witted creeps feathered blue
Don’t mess with me, ‘cause I am cruel.
I do me a little Breath of Qui
Smash you to smithereens and let it be.
Let it be, you crazy creeps
Gonna bring you down, gonna make you weep
Call for your mama, call for your pop—
Hey, I’m Twilight, cream of the crop!
“Awesome!” Bell whispered. Her attention was so riveted on Twilight that she had not noticed that another duel was going on very close to her. “Mum!” The Striga and two others were advancing on Pelli. She was slashing at them with an ice scimitar but they had her backed against the perch rail of the harp gallery. There was a splintering sound and fragments spun through the air. Bell buried herself in the tangled grass strings of the harp. What should she do? She peeked out again. Oh, Glaux! Her mum was defenseless. They were closing in on her. She wanted to call for help. Where was her da? Was there no one to help? The tip of something sparkled in the grass strings of the harp. Bell’s eyes widened. It was a splinter of ice from one of the ice scimitars. Big enough for her to use. She wrapped a talon around its base. It cut into the tough hide of her talon, but it didn’t bleed. She took a deep breath and powered out of the tangle of grass, wielding the small splinter. It was the perfect size. She hurled herself toward the closest owl, a Barred Owl.
Then the Great Hollow spun. She jabbed forward with the splinter. There was a great spurt of blood. The Barred Owl dropped. She heard an anguished screech, “Bell!” She saw her mum fly away. Free! Just as the word free exploded in her head she felt talons closing around her. The ice splinter was wrenched painfully from her grip. She felt something cold against her neck. A silence fell upon the Great Hollow.
“All right.” It was the voice of the Striga. Bell couldn’t believe it. She had been caught by the Striga. “Everyone drop their weapons or her head comes off.”
“No! No!” Bell cried. She felt shame wash through her. Was she saying “No, don’t let me die” or “No, don’t drop your weapons”? She was not sure. She did not want to die, but she did not want to live. “It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault,” she wailed. She began to hear the clank of weapons dropping, at first one by one, then a large clatter as the rest fell.
“Yes, that is more like it!” said the Striga. A strange sucking sound filled the silence. Bell saw the flames in the large torches that lit the Great Hollow quiver and then extinguish. She felt the Striga’s grip tighten and his heart race as he muttered something in Jouzhen. Was she feeling his wings fold in? Was he going yeep?
And then she was twirling through the air. The Striga had forgotten that one weapon could never be dropped—the Breath of Qui!
“After him,” someone yelled.
“Are you all right?” Bell blinked. It was another blue owl who was speaking to her. “I had to hit him hard enough to dislodge her.” Tengshu turned to Pelli. “But I couldn’t do it with full force or I would have killed her.”
Pelli scooped Bell into her wings. “Of course you couldn’t!” She sobbed. “Of course.”
“But he got away, didn’t he?” Tengshu asked.
“Don’t worry,” Soren said, flying up. “He’s gone. Most of the rest are dead. A few followed him out. You saved Bell’s life.”
“And,” Pelli added, turning to Bell. “You saved my life.”
“I did?” Bell blinked.
“You did,” Pelli said, and grasped her daughter. “It was a foolish thing, you sneaking away from the other young’uns. It all turned out well. But still, whatever possessed you?”
“It was my fault. All this was my fault,” Bell gasped.
“No!” Pelli said staunchly. “Now you listen to me, Bell. None of this was your fault. It is never a young’un’s fault. It is grown owls who are to blame. Grown owls who should know better.”
Ruby now raced up. “Otulissa is hurt.” She gulped and wilfed. Her ruddy feathers lay flat and sleek against her side. She looked so small.
“Where is she?” Soren asked.
“The matrons are tending her down there on the floor of the Great Hollow. She’s too injured to move. She’s hurt bad, Soren. Real bad.”
“Go to her, Soren. Go to her!” Pelli said. “I’ll take care of Bell.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A Vigil Is Kept
I’ll do what I can do,” Fleemus the grizzled Long-eared Owl said. Fleemus was the great tree healer. “But it’s a head wound. She’s lost a lot of blood, and the eye looks bad. I don’t know if I can save the eye.” There was a single unspoken thought that passed through the Chaw of Chaws who had gathered around Otulissa, almost a prayer: For Glaux’s sake, save her brain. What would the tree do without their greatest mind, their greatest ryb. Otulissa, ryb of Ga’Hoolology, scholar of weather interpretation, higher magnetics. The tree without Otulissa’s brilliance would be like the tree without the milkberry vines that sparkled in rainbow hues through the twelve cycles of the moon—unthinkable.
Otulissa remained on the floor of the Great Hollow for several nights. She was feverish and often delusional but Fleemus had managed to stop the bleeding and keep any infection at bay. On the fourth night, he said she could be moved to the infirmary. On the sixth night she regained consciousness. And when she woke, she heard Soren and Fleemus and Matron discussing her condition.
“She’ll never see out of that port eye,” Fleemus was saying. “And infection could still kill her. If I remove the eye, well, she’ll be scarred, disfigured, but I think it would lessen the risk of infection.”
“Well,” Soren said, “if there is one thing that Otulissa isn’t, it’s vain.” He coughed. Even the word sent chills through them.
Otulissa churred silently to herself as she heard them talk. “What makes you so sure I’m not vain, Soren?”
The three owls swiveled their heads around.
“You’re awake?” Fleemus asked.
“Awake enough to know that the real question is, can I read with one eye?” She paused. “And who knows, I might be
tempted to buy one of those jaunty bandannas from Trader Mags like the one she uses to cover her bald spot. Maybe with some glitter on it. You see, I would like to restore the word ‘vanity’ to its rightful place in our language. I would like to de-vilify it. Or at least take it out of the realm of the un-Glauxly or whatever that fool owl thought. A little vanity is not a bad thing. I plan to do a linguistical analysis of this word and interpret it in a framework of moral reasoning to explore…” Fleemus, Matron, and Soren looked at one another in wonder. Soren felt his gizzard trembling with joy. She’s back. Brains and all. She’s back!
And she was. Still very weak but gaining strength each night. On warm nights, they moved the brave Spotted Owl to her hanging garden, the one she had tended in the trunk pockets of the tree that even in winter was still lovely with its moon-cycle ferns and huckleberry bushes and snow crocuses. She would often stay there well into the day, for the sun warmed her and made it quite comfortable. She did read, although she tired quickly. So Fritha came often to read aloud to her. They took particular pleasure in reading from the books that they had airlifted to keep safe from the Striga. Kalo, who had settled in the tree with her mate, Grom, her daughter, Siv, son, Bruno, and younger brother, Cory, also came and read to her. Kalo’s favorite book was The Queen’s Tale.
It was a morning late in winter, one of those days that seems to teeter on the cusp of spring, when Kalo was reading to her that Otulissa suddenly interrupted.
“Did I ever tell you, Kalo, about the time I went to the Northern Kingdoms and spent many nights in the great retreat of the Glauxian Brothers? It is located on the island where Hoole’s egg was sequestered and he hatched out…” Kalo was enthralled with the Northern Kingdoms. She couldn’t believe that Otulissa had never mentioned this trip to her before.
“You’ve been there?”
“Oh, yes. I speak fluent Krakish, you know.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I had a very…” She paused. “A very dear friend there. His name was Cleve. He was a prince, actually.” Her single eye twinkled.
“Was?”
“Oh, probably still is. So kind. So gentle,” she said wistfully, and adjusted the bandanna over the place where her eye had been. The bandanna was not jeweled, but it was lovely, made from a piece of embroidered silk cloth. Mags had given it to her as a gift.
When Kalo finished reading, she had intended to go back to her hollow but instead turned and flew to see Coryn.
“Coryn? May I speak with you?”
“Kalo, you never have to ask. Please come in.”
“Has Otulissa ever mentioned an owl in the Northern Kingdoms named Cleve?”
“Cleve of Firthmore?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“She hasn’t mentioned him to me directly, but from the Band I have heard about him—him and Otulissa.”
“Him and Otulissa?”
“Yes, Gylfie thinks they were in love, but I guess they had differences.”
“Well, maybe those differences aren’t so great anymore,” Kalo said in a musing tone of voice.
“What are you thinking?”
“I think maybe Otulissa needs something more than what we can give her right now. She is languishing in that garden of hers. Yes, it is lovely, but spring is coming and she needs to get out and fly around a bit. And you know, I think she’s a little bit frightened to try flying with one eye. Her wings weren’t injured but it’s almost as if there is some connection between her missing eye and that wing. She drags it around.”
“Yes, I know what you mean. I noticed it, too. What are you suggesting?”
“I think we need to get Cleve. We need to go to the Northern Kingdoms and bring him here to visit an old friend.”
Coryn blinked. This was a very good idea. Why, it was only the evening before that he had been looking in the flames of his grate and he had seen something that intrigued him in the fire. He had had strange intimations that there was a reason to go to the Northern Kingdoms. Perhaps not only for Cleve. No, something more sinister. But the shapes in the flames were vague and fleeting. Still, he would go. And perhaps it was not a good idea to take the Band. He would, of course, tell them his plans but the tree was still recovering from the battle on Balefire Night. It would not do for them all to leave at one time. He could go with Kalo, and perhaps Kalo’s mate, Grom.
And so it was decided that he and Kalo and Grom would leave in the next newing of the moon, a few short nights away. Ruby would also accompany them since she had been to the Northern Kingdoms before, but few others would be told, especially not Otulissa. This was to be a surprise.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
An Old Friend
She’s up there in the garden. Just fly straight up.” Matron, the burly Short-eared Owl who was head of the nursing staff, directed.
“Yes, ma’am. I thank you so much!” the Spotted Owl said. His speech was tinged with the Krakish burr.
He flew around the tree until he came to what was called the starboard side crotch, where another trunk branched off from the main one. It was his first visit ever to the Great Ga’Hoole Tree and he marveled at the array of subsidiary trunks that split from the main one and loomed toward the sky like a maze of radiating spires soaring into the night. The tree was truly as remarkable as he had heard.
Cleve had been intrigued when he had learned of the hanging garden that Otulissa had cultivated in the lower part of the canopy in the soil that collected in the tree lap.
He paused as he caught sight of her perched on a mossy hump. Her back was to him. He did not want to startle her. She seemed to be studying the stalks of a cladonia, one of the most beautiful lichens.
“Vreeling cladonia mich vaargen, scmuttz engen guneer gunden,” Cleve spoke softly.
Otulissa gasped. Her gizzard shuddered. She dared not turn around. Was she dreaming? This could not be true. Someone was speaking to her in beautiful Krakish about the amazing diversity of cladonia lichen. It had been so long since she had heard Krakish spoken.
She slowly turned around. Tears spilled from her one good eye. “Bisshen ninga Krakish y faar son.”
“You speak lovely Krakish, Otulissa. I never forgot your voice. I never will.”
“Cleve! Cleve!” That was all she could say. Her gizzard quaked with so many emotions that she could hardly speak. He is still so handsome. How could he ever…
But he had flown right up to her and wrapped her in his wings. “I have missed you, Otulissa.”
“But, Cleve, I am so different now.”
“You are the same beautiful, smart Spotted Owl that I fell in love with long ago.”
She extricated herself from his wings and raised a talon and tore off the bandanna. The pit where her eye had been had healed but the scar was still fresh. “Look at me!”
“What do you take me for, Otulissa? It is the whole owl you are that matters.”
“But, Cleve, I got this wound in battle. You are a gizzard-resister. I am a warrior. That is why we parted, remember?”
“I remember.”
“Have you changed?”
“No. Have you?”
Otulissa didn’t answer but looked down at her talons. What was she to say? She wasn’t just a warrior, but she still believed that there were times when force was called for.
“I thought so.” Cleve nodded. “You haven’t changed and nor have I. But, Otulissa, we are both much more than we were. You are more than a warrior, and I am more than a gizzard-resister. I am a healer now, an herbalist. That was what I was studying at the retreat. You see, we are both more than the sum of our parts. And together…”
I can’t believe this is happening, Otulissa thought. But it was. Could she raise young’uns with only one eye? It seemed to her that it took at least a dozen eyes to keep chicks in order. So what difference did one eye more or less make?
In another part of the tree, in the King’s hollow, Coryn poked at the fire and watched the flames flare up, then settle down. He bent for
ward. Once again, he was seeking the rich images between in the central plane. These were the shapes that one with firesight sorted out to make some kind of sense from the images. And these were making a kind of sense, though a dreadful one. Coryn saw another cave, not the one in the canyonlands, but an ice-bright cave, and in it he saw two owls huddled. One cast a blue shadow on the wall of ice. The other raised her face. It loomed like a pitted ice moon. Coryn touched the scar that ran down his own face. It was not his own reflection in the flames. It was Nyra’s and, facing her, stood the Striga. His gizzard turned. He was horrified, but at the same instant he felt something stronger and more powerful. For deep in his gizzard, Coryn finally knew that he was free—free from the haunting doubts about his mother, his own blood. I know at last who I am. And who I am not. I was born of a haggish owl, and though her blood flows through me I am my own owl. My gizzard is mine. I am a king, but more important, I am a Guardian.
Coryn knew that he needed only courage to make strong the weak, mend the broken, vanquish the proud, and make powerless those who abused the frail. He reached for the first book of the legends, and placed his talon on it. And began to whisper the oath of the Guardians of Ga’Hoole. “I am the eyes in the night, the silence within the wind. I am the talons through the fire, the shield that guards the innocent…” And finally Coryn thought, I am free, truly free!
OWLS
and others
from the
GUARDIANS OF GA’HOOLE SERIES
The Band
SOREN: Barn Owl, Tyto alba, from the Forest Kingdom of Tyto; escaped from St. Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls; a Guardian at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree and close advisor to the King
Exile Page 13
