Froya took the map of Ambala from the pouch and spread it on the ground. They gathered in a circle and pored over it.
Froya began to explain, “You take a turn there … follow a creek. Then you begin to go down a long slope into a mossy dell.”
“I want to go!” It was Rags.
“With us?” Jytte asked. This was not exactly the ally they were looking for. An owlet barely out of the shell who hardly knew how to fly. Stellan himself was having the same thought. But he could tell that Third and Froya thought differently. It was easy for him to riddle Third’s mind. She needs a friend. She wants to believe that not all owls are horrid like her mum … or like Taaka, our mum.
The owlet swiveled her head toward the rabbit. “I heard everything. I heard how my mum abandoned me. How she might be something bad … something you call a hireclaw or a slip whatever. I want to be with my own kind. The kind that are good. That are smart.” Rags’s deep brown eyes began to glitter with tears. “Oh, Rabbit, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. And you are good and kind and ever so smart, but to be with owls—owls who are …” Her voice grew whispery. “With the owls in the Brad. I think I knew Mum would never be back. But when I fell out of the hollow, you saved me. You brought me fat worms and caterpillars and even chased a vole for me. You made this nest of moss for me here on the ground. But I need to be in the trees. I need to fly through the night. I think I can now. I need to be with my own kind.” He paused. “They cannot all be like my mum.”
“No, never!” Jytte suddenly said. She felt for this owlet. She was shocked that she had ever considered her a possible burden. Well, she might be a slight burden, but it would be worse not to help her find her own kind.
Galilya, dripping in her jeweled finery, sat stiffly on the ice bench in the Stellata Chamber between the Mystress of the Hands and Torsen, the new Chronos. Unfortunately, Torsen seemed attracted to her. But so far, she had successfully ignored his attentions. The Gilraan, the elite ministry of the Ice Clock, had gathered at the summons of the Grand Patek. It was an emergency meeting to hear alarming news. Normally meetings were called to discuss the reports of infiltrators from the Ga’Hoolian kingdoms. But this summons suggested a new level of urgency.
The Grand Patek called the meeting to order. “We gather here this evening to hear a disturbing report from the Southern Kingdoms of Ga’Hoole.” The Grand Patek stood up from the elaborately ice carved throne that had been incised with the numerals of the clock’s face as well as many of the internal parts of the clock—escapement wheels, balance wheels, pendulum weights—all the elements of the mechanical, or moving parts, of a clock. He began to step down from the throne’s pedestal—always a bad sign—and within seconds, he began ranting. “Those owls of Ga’Hoole. I have a special plan for them. No! Of course not I, but the clock has a special plan for them. It will constitute their annihilation and our redemption come the day!”
Come the day … the three words echoed through the Stellata Chamber. No, Galilya thought. That day cannot come. And that was why she had to stay. She had to slow the clock, if not stop it. The bungvik could not break.
“They are inferior creatures,” the Grand Patek continued. “You know their bones are hollow, and so are their heads!” he roared, and the Stellata Chamber seemed to shake. “Yes, they are pitifully stupid. Except for a very few. I trust that it is one of the few who is waiting to pay respects and brings some vital information.” He looked at Torsen, the Chronos, who nodded. “The world of Ga’Hoole has infected the bears of the Northern Kingdoms. Those bears are as witless as the owls. But that world will soon be ours, and those creatures—the leftovers who do not die—shall be contained. They shall not contaminate the world of the clock. But we can make use of such remnants.” He paused and seemed to consider for a few seconds. “You of course know if it weren’t for me there would be no clock … The bears of Ga’Hoole think that Svree invented the clock … No. They give Svree the credit. But I am the one who awakened our god clock and set its still heart to beating. They talk about the Bear Council in the Den of Forever Frost. But it’s simply not so!”
Lies, lies, lies, Galilya thought. The Grand Patek had moon blinked these bears with lies for years. Moon blinked was an expression she had learned from her parents. It came from the owl world and was a condition that befell owls if they if they accidentally fell asleep during the night under the full shine of a moon. Well, the Grand Patek thought of himself as the moon and the sun of this evil world at the top of the Ice Cap. And bears, bears of the Gilraan, were nodding in agreement, for they had indeed been completely moon blinked. She had to get out of this place. She was still unsure how long it had been since Svenna had left after smacking her in the face. Galilya had actually for the first time lost her grip on time. Her grasp of time perhaps, but not words. The last words that she remembered Svenna saying when Galilya begged her to stay were I am what I am.
And I, thought Galilya, no longer know who I am. The worst thing she had ever done was to listen to those Ki-hi-ru stories, to become a bear when she truly once had been a fox. Not simply once upon a time in the way that stories often began, but once in her real life she had been a fox. She realized now that a life had died inside her while she went on living. But was this living? Yes, she breathed. Her heart pumped as it did in all living creatures. But in truth she felt as mechanical as the Ice Clock that they foolishly worshipped.
Eventually, the Grand Patek realized that he had veered from the original purpose of the meeting: the urgent news from the enemy regions of Ga’Hoole. He resumed his seat on the ice throne and nodded to Mystress of the Hands.
“Please escort our guest into the Stellata.” The Mystress of the Hands, who sat next to Galilya, rose and exited. When she returned, an owl swooped into the chamber and settled on a small ice platform in front of the Grand Patek.
“Kindly state your name, species, and business.”
“My name is Edith. I am a spotted owl, formally identified as a Strix occidentalis. I am from the Ga’Hoolian kingdom state of Ambala. And I serve as a slipgizzle.”
The Grand Patek narrowed his eyes. “A slipgizzle, I recall, is an owl word for spy. In short, a feathered Yinqui but not quite the listening skills.”
“I beg to differ.” Edith swiveled her head around to address the entire gathering. This caused a gasp among the bears. “Yes, your shock is noted. The extra bones in my neck provide me with the ability to listen from many different angles.” She then, in less then a quarter of a minute, flipped her head and twisted it, ending with her grand finale of upending it so her face appeared upside down facing backward. The bears of the chamber were almost reeling in dizziness.
“You’ve proven your point,” the Grand Patek said. “Now what news do you bring us?”
“The key to the Ice Clock has been found.”
It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Most of the bears had only the vaguest notion of what the word key even meant. However, they knew it was entwined with the legends of Svree. It was their own leader, the Grand Patek, who had breathed life into the clock, making it divine. There had been an expression that through the ages had come down that the worshippers of the clock sometimes muttered when they were having problems with calculations: “Oh, give me the breath of Svree!” But uttering such an expression was now vorkiche, or forbidden.
“This … this … can’t be … ,” the Grand Patek stammered. “The key in the wrong paws or wrong talons is a desecration. It could be stopped. The divine, our destiny could be shattered.”
Torsen, the Chronos, stood up. “Are you saying the Den of Forever Frost has been penetrated?”
“Indeed, sir.” Edith nodded, her brown-black eyes glowing with a peculiar kind of pride for being the messenger of these alarming tidings. This could only increase her stature among the zayle vertray, the faithless betrayers of Hoole. She was a slipgizzle of the third order but surely this would warrant an advancement, at least to the second order. Dare she dream of
a first-order advancement?
Torsen now stood up from the bench and went over to the owl. He peered down at her. She was a medium-size owl, with a very round head and no ear tufts.
“You are certain of this?” he asked.
“Of course I’m certain. On my gizzard I swear.”
“Your gizzard?”
Galilya clamped her eyes shut. These bears know nothing if they don’t know about the gizzards of owls!
“The gizzard is a vital organ in owls. To swear upon it is a solemn oath,” Edith said.
Ah! The false earnestness of a spy! Galilya thought.
“All right, all right,” Torsen said impatiently. “Now who exactly wrested this key from the Den of Forever Frost?”
“It is my understanding that it was four young bears just beyond cubhood.”
“Yosses, we call them,” Torsen replied.
“And do you know where they took the key?” the Grand Patek asked, baring his fangs. His eyes became mere slits. Dark slits in the whiteness of his fur. It was as if the reek of evil rolled off him. Am I the only one who can smell it? Galilya thought.
“Not sure where it was taken. But possibly the Great Ga’Hoole Tree.”
The Chronos and the Grand Patek exchanged glances. A silent conversation seemed to transpire between them. Edith looked from one to the other. The Grand Patek rose. He was trembling with anger. It was impossible for the Grand Patek to imagine that this had happened. “These are the keys to our kingdom. To our Clock Divine. No creature can hold these but I—the Grand Patek. I do hereby order bwatig on these cubs, these yosses.”
Galilya was stunned. Issuing a bwatig, an arrest-and-torture-until-death order, in the Ga’Hoolian kingdoms would certainly be the start of war!
“Torsen, can you gather a force to hunt these bears down?” he asked.
Torsen nodded. The Grand Patek continued in a deadly voice. “They must be brought to a black ice ort and subjected to the most advanced techniques.”
Edith interjected, “Certainly, sir. I can help assemble a commando force of owls.”
“We have undercover Roguers already inserted in the enemy territory who can undoubtedly help you. Torsen will tell you where and how you might find them.”
“Indeed, sir,” Torsen quickly replied. “We have five special ops bears in the grizzly country of Beyond the Beyond.”
“But our bears are white, and the bears of the south are brown or black,” Hvrak, an Issengard, said. “Do they not stand out?”
A twinkle sparkled in Edith’s dark eyes. “They are no longer white, sir. We have obtained—by means I cannot reveal—dyes. Their pelts have been stained a dark brown, the same color as the grizzlies’ fur.”
And their tongues? thought Galilya. Have you dyed their blue tongues red? For blue was the color of the white bears of the Nunquivik’s tongues and their skin beneath the fur was black as night.
“Then go, go and destroy these four bears.” The Grand Patek rose. “Look up! Look through the portal in this hallowed chamber at the claws of the Great Ursus constellation as it rises on this night to bless our mission.” So great was the agitation of the Grand Patek that the air was flecked with spittle as he spoke. “We shall cut a swath of blood across their lands. Remember, strength lies not in defense but attack! The struggle is ours. It is the means by which we shall rise against all creatures and the most brutal struggles will raise us even higher. Our time is approaching. The calculations tell us that the conditions for the great release are approaching. The punishment will commence in the Moon of the First Cracks!” His eyes were rolling back in his head as he shook his clawed fist at the fist of the Great Ursus constellation.
Is this monster bear challenging the stars? Galilya’s mind roiled.
As the spotted owl was escorted from the chamber, Galilya glanced at Udo, the Master of the Pendulum, and her one ally in the clock. How they had worked with those coded equations to slow the flow to the bungvik and avert the impending disaster of its flooding and the ultimate destruction of the great regions of Ga’Hoole. Did Udo suspect her true nature?
There was, however, a new alertness in the chamber as two Issengards returned from escorting the spotted owl from the chamber. It was highly unusual that Issengards would return like this. They normally stood guard outside the chamber except when delivering a visitor. The visitor had been delivered. Why would they now return? Something did not feel right.
The Grand Patek was back on his ice throne. He sighed, seeming slightly depleted from his rant. His dark gaze swept the chamber. “Servants of the clock, wise bears of the Gilraan, I have yet another announcement to make. It is with a great and heavy heart that I must declare that a traitor sits among us.” Fear flashed through the chamber like the cutting wind of the blyndspryee. Impossible, thought Galilya. Have they discovered that I’m a … She couldn’t complete the thought. “Will our faithful and wise Chronos identify this traitor?” Galilya felt her stomach churn as she watched the smug bear Torsenvryk Torsen seated next to her rise from the bench and in the company of the two Issengard make his way to the end of the bench, where Udo, the Master of the Pendulum, was seated. Galilya’s heart seized. Would she be next? Those last coded computations they had done together were enough to condemn both of them. There was a huge ice-shaking roar as Master Udo leaped to his feet.
But it was too late. A snare of nets had dropped from the sky port. The largest of the Issengard bears were hauling him off the bench. He was soon dangling in the air just beneath the sky port. Galilya looked up. She saw the elaborate pulley system attached to an ice jack and a crane for lifting very large chunks and floes of ice to fortify the clock base. However, the crane was now lifting Udo. She sensed what would happen. He would be dropped, not pushed like the old Chronos from the highest parapet.
The Grand Patek began to speak.
“The Master of the Pendulum, Udo Einharr, has been found guilty of heresy and highest treason to the clock by deliberately falsifying calculations to indicate that our great Ice Clock is churning.” There was no way Galilya was going to escape. They would not drop him, she realized now, but most likely take him to a black ice ort and torture him until he revealed any accomplices. And then she would be killed. Unless … she shifted. Unless she became a fox again.
I am who I am. The words thundered in her head like an approaching storm.
The meeting of the Gilraan in the Stellata chamber was adjourned. Galilya rushed to her ice den. She had thought she had to stay to somehow slow the clock, but that was not going to work if the Grand Patek really had the great release set for the Moon of the First Cracks. When had he decided this? He was in fact following a set of lunar calculations. She must escape through the secret panel in her own small harmonics lab. She went into the lab. But first she would begin her transformation. She would do it right. She would do it completely. She would not rush it. She regarded her shadow cast on the white wall of the ice. She felt the strange music that always came with the transformation rise within her. She sensed her body begin to shrink, her legs grow shorter, and a pulse click in her paws. The sparkling line of the Northing illuminated her mind. Her ears pricked. There was suddenly a sound at the entry to her den, but she was here, tucked away safe. Then there was the luxuriant swish of her tail sweeping the ice. But more sounds outside the harmonics lab were those of footsteps, heavy footsteps coming closer as the music of her true soul rose within her.
“Galilya!” It was Torsen. “Heart of my heart! Where are … are … you?” he stammered as he caught sight of a fox and staggered a bit.
She wheeled about and sprang through the opening where Torsen stood. His eyes did not believe the sight in front of him. She had but one chance. She sprang as only a Nunquivik fox could, landing on his chest and sinking her fangs into Torsen’s neck.
He fell to the ground. A great pool of blood was forming. It would soon seep into the corridor outside her den. Galilya wasted no time. She dashed back to the harmonics lab, gave a light pus
h to the ice panel, and began sliding through the interior tunnels. Within less than a minute, she was back on the ice banks of the small pond where Jameson had died and the very spot where Svenna had knocked her senseless. But now her senses had returned. She began swimming just as Svenna had, but unlike Svenna, Galilya knew her way through the dangerous maze of gears and baffles. I am who I am! The words roared in her head.
The four yosses now threaded their way through a wooded area. The ground was spongy with moss. Night was falling, and the starlight trickled down through the canopy of trees. They might have been tired, but their nerves propelled them. What would these creatures so new to them be like? If there were slipgizzles and hireclaws about, and if they had heard that the key had been delivered to the Great Tree, war could come sooner than expected. Each yoss had its own particular anxieties, but Stellan felt his most acutely. He, after all, was the frynmater, the diplomat. What if he made an error in the intricate protocol that was required of him? Used a wrong word with the wolves or an incorrect posture? There was a very intricate way in which one was supposed to greet a wolf, particularly the chieftain of a clan.
Why didn’t Da tell us about this possibility of war? Stellan thought as they finally settled down, exhausted, to catch a short nap.
“Oh no!” a voice moaned.
“ ‘Oh no’ what?” Third asked.
“You’re all growing sleepy. You’re so boring when you sleep,” Rags whined.
“Perhaps we are,” Stellan said, and began to yawn as well. “Funny how quickly we’ve gone back to our old bear ways.”
“Well, I haven’t,” Rags said petulantly.
“Of course not, Rags, but while we sleep, you can practice your flying and your hunting,” Froya said.
“I almost caught that mole back there.”
“Then keep trying,” Third said, and began to curl up on a pad of moss that was just the perfect size.
The Keepers of the Keys Page 8
