“It’s a scroomfyll,” Braithe said in wonder. “I have heard of this phenomenon but never … never experienced it.” He gasped slightly. “Never seen one. Never quite believed it.”
“Believe it,” Third replied softly.
“The bears that carried you off tried to moon blink you in the Canyonlands?” Braithe asked.
“Indeed, sir.” Third sensed that this owl, a whiskered screech, was indeed Braithe, the leader of the greenowls of Ambala. “The scrooms saved me. I’m not sure how. But now those Roguer bears are stumbling around, moon blinked themselves, I think. At least for a while their brains will be numb.”
“But where did they go, the scrooms?” Froya looked about. “I need to thank them. I … I owe them so much. They brought you back. My brother!” Froya began to weep. He was her younger brother, and she towered over him. But she pressed him close to her. Close to her heart and she felt his heart beating against hers. He was alive. He was here, and that was all she needed.
“I think they went back to glaumora,” Braithe said softly. Then he turned to Jytte. “Come along, Jytte. I’ll take you to the heartwood tree, where you can tap out your message to Blythe.”
In the roots of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, Blythe bent over a tablet transcribing the taps onto a piece of parchment made from scraped rodent skin. “Good, yoss!” she whispered, praising Jytte’s coded message. She was using a double encryption. The strange symbols translated into the opening lines of an ancient poem of the Others.
that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags
Match’d with an ancient wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race
Blythe breathed a huge sigh of relief. The greenowls of Ambala would join them as allies. Not only that, they would have the services of their blacksmith, Gonfyl. Gonfyl was descended from a long line of distinguished Silverveil blacksmiths but had decided to go out on her own. She was one of the few female blacksmiths.
By the time Blythe rolled up the mouseskin scroll, the ink had dissolved. There was not a trace of this message left. It was all in her head. She would report to Soren immediately.
Nearly a moon had passed. The world of the Nunquivik was well into the Second Seal Moon. Lago had switched her den from the one where she had witnessed the death of Taaka. A blizzard had swept in before the Dark Feathers, the huge birds that feasted on death, were done with the carcass. Lago had set out just as the first one had landed. Foxes were deeply superstitious of having the shadows of the Dark Feathers cross one’s den—even if that den was deep beneath the snow surface.
Lago was now far from the kill site, and yet that smell, not the smell of death, but the other smell that was somehow so familiar, haunted her. The scent of Illya, her sister. But that made no sense, she told herself for perhaps the one thousandth time. She had never before seen the bear who carried that scent. It was definitely not the bear that Illya had begun following those long years ago.
There were several bears now out on the ice, for the sealing was good. She had attached herself to a mother with a single yearling cub. The mother was a good still-hunter, and with only one cub, which was unusual, there were plenty of scraps for Lago. But one evening when the lights of the ahalikki were burning brightly in the sky, the bears had temporarily forgotten their hunger. Instead of still-hunting, the bears had risen up to dance under the pulsing colors of the throbbing sky. It was then that Lago caught the scent again. It was crisp and clear, unsullied by any other smell—it was pure fox. And not just any fox. It was Illya. She was certain. Lago immediately forgot about following the mother bear and her cub. She had to track down this scent.
By the time the ahaliikki had faded and the first red glow of the dawn appeared on the horizon, she found the paw prints. They were like any other Nunquivik fox’s in terms of their shape and size. But there was something slightly askew about how this fox prowled the sea ice. There was an odd rhythm, or pace, as if the fox was hesitant in some way. Maybe like a kit trying out the sea ice for the first time. Despite the hesitancy, there was a fierce determination. It was clear this fox had not attached herself to any particular bear. But what was it doing? After two nights of following this scent, Lago came to an ice shelf that hung out over the edge of open water. It was a big leap to the floe on the other side. But this fox must have done it or swum. Lago eyed the dark water between herself and the ice on the other side. She realized that this must be a channel. Yes, of course, she recalled it now. It led to a tickle, which was a very narrow passage that would end on a beach just north of Winston, where the Others had once lived. The two-legs. She could see that something had clawed its way up the edge of the floe. At this distance, she couldn’t see if the tracks were those of a fox or not.
Lago had no inclination to get wet. It was a big gap to jump, but she had to try. She circled around to get some distance, and then running full out, she leaped, arcing high into the night, clearing the edge of the floe easily. Apparently, this fox had decided to swim. Lago went back and peered at where the fox had clawed its way out of the sea. The scent, though slightly diluted from the salt water, was still strong.
This particular floe carried a strange ice formation that the foxes called ice stars, for it appeared like a star that had fallen from the sky. They only emerged from the floes when the air was extremely cold and dry, colder than the water. Water vapor from the sea collects, then becomes crystalized and drops onto the floe, creating spiky threads of ice that radiate from a core.
Nunquivik foxes were very light. Not only that but they were nimble and experts in treading softly. If Lago could climb this ice star, she would have a terrific vantage point to scan the sweeping icescape. Delicately, she lifted a paw and tested an ice spike. She gave a small jump, extended a front paw to a higher spike as her hind paw rested on the lower one. She was almost at the top and pleased to see that several of the spikes had woven together to provide a small platform. She tucked her tail beneath her and had a perfect perspective. Her eyes swept the icescape. She was on a floe, but there were several others floating nearby in the calm waters of this channel. She could see where the channel narrowed into the tickle that flowed darkly between the edges of two ice sheets.
The diminishing red glow that signaled the dawn was already fading. A new twilight was coming and then the long, long night of this seal moon. A shadow spread across the ice sheet. It was that of a fox. Was it the fox of the familiar scent? Could it be? She was sprinting now, obviously on the track of a lemming, but her tail movements were awkward. It was as if she were not quite accustomed to using her tail for balance. She had the Northing. It was obvious. And she was about to leap. She sprang into the air and tried to rudder her tail to stabilize herself. But the tail hung loosely between her legs, as if she didn’t know what to do with it. You idiot! Lago wanted to scream. But she couldn’t. It was, after all, her sister, Illya! She was the shape of a fox. She tracked like a fox, but it was as if the residue of a bear dragged through her. “So it’s true,” Lago murmured to herself. And she felt that her heart might break. Her sister had in fact made a fanciful den story about shape-shifters come to life. It was no fantasy but a dreadful reality. She had bartered her true nature for this folly! Why? Lago wondered with disgust.
“Well,” muttered Illya as she came up from her dive, “I certainly made a mess of that!”
“Indeed, you did, sister,” Lago said, stepping out of the shadows.
Illya gasped, then went rigid. She appeared as spiky as the ice star, and in fact her pelt hung with icicles, for she had swum that gap. Then she began shaking. The icicles of her fur began to rattle eerily in the darkening night.
“What? How? How …”
“You need to melt,” Lago said matter-of-factly. “Seriously, you need to melt.” She approached Illya and, with her warm tongue, began to groom her, the way they used to groom each other when they were young. But, of course, back in those days, neither of them had been
stupid enough to try to swim on a night like this. Their fur had never frozen.
Illya closed her eyes as her sister’s warm breath and tongue licked away the icicles.
“Now give a good shake,” Lago ordered. And like an obedient kit, Illya shook herself. There was the rattle of the last remaining icicles. It was as if Illya and her younger sister had exchanged places. Lago was now the one ordering her about.
When she had melted completely, she stood in front of Lago and blinked several times, her golden eyes like winking stars. “So how did you find me? How did you know?”
“Believe me, it wasn’t easy. I picked up your scent on another bear.”
“What other bear?”
“I believe her name was Svenna.”
“Svenna!” The very sound of the name cut her to the quick.
“Was she a bad bear?”
Illya shook her head wearily. “Oh, no. Never. She was the best bear at the Ice Clock. The only good bear. ”
“You were at the Ice Clock?”
Illya nodded and seemed to shrink in shame. “But I went for a good reason.”
“What possible good reason could you have to go to that cursed place with those evil bears?”
“To stop the clock,” Illya replied quietly.
Lago shook her head in confusion. “You went as a bear, didn’t you?”
“How did you know?”
“Because you walk, you track, you leap as no fox I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s hard getting back into one’s own skin.”
“So it was all true—the Ki-hi-ru stories?”
Illya nodded.
“But why? Why did you ever do this?”
“For love,” Illya answered simply. And tipped her head toward the signpost. “Winston Pop. 302,” she read the sign aloud.
“You can read, Illya?” Lago said softly.
“Oh, Lago, you would be surprised what I can do.”
“For the love of reading you went?” Lago was shaking her head in disbelief.
“Not exactly for the love of reading, but love of a bear.” She gave a small cough as if she were slightly embarrassed that she had even said the word love. “But I sure made a mess of trying to catch that lemming, didn’t I?”
Lago nodded, then said softly, “Don’t worry. I’ll catch some.” She turned to go off. “Now watch me do it.”
In a short time, she was back with three plump lemmings.
“Thank you, Lago.” Illya looked down at the lemmings hungrily. “It’s been so long … since …” She didn’t finish. Her voice just trailed off.
“What happened, Illya?”
Illya felt a little shiver of not cold but delight. Her name! She could have her true name back! “It’s a long story.” She looked up at Lago, her eyes sparkling with tears. “But it feels so good to hear my true name spoken out loud.”
“What other name do you have?”
“Galilya.”
“What kind of name is that?”
“A bear name. As I say, it’s a long story. And it began with love.”
“So this bear you loved, Uluk Uluk, was he the one you began following in my third season—the sad bear, we called him?”
“Yes, but he wasn’t sad when I … I …”
“Changed, transformed?” Lago asked.
Again, Illya nodded and cast her eyes down as if she were profoundly ashamed.
Lago’s heart went out to her. “But you did it for love, Illya.”
“Yes, I denied my own nature, my very being for love.”
“Were you happy with him?” Lago took a step closer to her sister and peered into her eyes, turning her head ever so slightly this way and that, as if trying to reach into her sister’s brain. How could this have happened? How could she have fallen in love with a creature so different from her own true self?
“Oh yes. He taught me so much. How to read. He taught me the way of the timepieces and the great Ice Clock.” Illya sighed and shook her head. It was so difficult to explain.
“Go on,” Lago said gently, and nuzzled the withers on her sister’s neck to encourage her. She knew this was hard for Illya. It had to be. Illya had discarded her own identity as if it had meant nothing. And now she radiated shame. Lago knew she had to listen patiently.
“And he told me the danger the clock threatened. He himself had been a high-ranking member of the Gilraan, the ministry, the highest order of authority at the Ice Clock, before he was suspected of spying and was exiled, kicked out.” She paused for a long time. “That’s when I first met him, after he was kicked out.” She sighed. “And then he kicked me out.”
“Why?”
“He was away, and I just briefly shifted back to my true shape. And when he came into … into the containment facility …” She tipped her head a bit to the east.
“The what?”
“It’s this place, where we lived. Hard to explain. But he was furious. He called me all sorts of horrible names. I, of course, left.”
“Why didn’t you come home? Were you too ashamed?”
“Not enough! I decided even if he no longer loved me, even if he hated me, I would travel to the Ice Clock as a bear and attempt to carry out his plan for stopping the clock. He had taught me everything he knew about clockmaking. He said I would have been admitted in the time of the Others to the Society of Supreme Clockmakers in Geneva. Yes, that’s how good he thought I was.” Illya’s eyes grew shimmery as she thought back to those moments in her life with Uluk Uluk. “And so, even though he loathed me, I wanted to show him what I could do. And if I did it, I thought he might take me back.”
A coldness crept through Lago. She could not quite believe what she was hearing. “You want to go back to him now?”
“Not to be loved. To go in my own skin and tell him what I have learned. You see, Uluk Uluk thought we could do it without the key. But we can’t. I know what the Grand Patek is planning. A countdown has begun. At a certain moment, the bungvik will break and … and … and the rest of the world will wash away … drowned. My friend Udo and I figured this out. We also tried to slow the clock. But it must be stopped. With the key. The key, it is now rumored, is in the paws, rather the talons, of owls. We need the owls of Ga’Hoole, and we also need a force, an army of rebel bears. They are out there, I know it. But Uluk Uluk will know how to gather them. He is old, decrepit, but he is a legend and will be listened to, despite his age. He could lead.”
Lago’s fur bristled. She stood erect. “I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I know that, but this bear is going to see two foxes standing in front of him. Proudly standing in front of him!” she added.
The four yosses were together again. And it felt right and good. The terrible rent that had been left when those Roguers had torn Third from them had been mended. They felt almost stronger than they had before. And not only that but Rags had decided to accompany them. She had become an expert flyer. “You need me,” she announced just as they were setting out. “I can be your scout.”
“But I thought you wanted to be with your own kind.”
“You’re my kind in more ways than you might think.”
Stellan stopped and peered with delight at the young spotted owl. “Actually, Rags, you are our ally. You are the very first ally of this allied force that Soren charged us to gather.”
“I think I am first your friend, and you all are mine. Call it whatever name you like!” And they continued winding their way across a broad swath of Ga’Hoole. From Ambala, they had traveled to across the Barrens, taking the shortest route over the narrowest part that bordered Silverveil. There they had met with a lovely snowy owl, a female called Tula who presided over the owls of that forest. “We have one of the best units of Frost Beaks in all the kingdoms, trained in the Northern Kingdoms after the last great war.”
“That would be the War of the Ember, would it not?” Stellan inquired.
Jytte looked at her brother. He had becom
e the consummate diplomat. He had the perfect temperament. She did not! She readily admitted this to herself. Patience and reflection were not part of her nature.
But Stellan, despite this success, was still anxious. Now they were heading into the territory of the Beyond. A bitter cold wind scraped across the barren landscape. What would these wolves be like? They had never met a wolf before. There were not many in the Nunquivik. Wolves there were sometimes known to attack very young cubs. That was why their mother had never left them unguarded in the den when they were newborn. The wolves hunted in packs, and this idea was truly peculiar to the minds of bears, who always hunted alone. Only so many bears could sit by an ice hole waiting for a seal to poke its nose up.
These wolves of the Beyond were said to be very different from any of the wolves in the Nunquivik. The wolf packs that they lived in were each part of a clan. The yosses had been required to learn all the clans’ names before they left. Each clan had a leader, and there were elaborate customs and rules that governed every aspect of their lives. From birth until death. A malformed pup, called a malcadh, was always cast out of the clan, left to die or be devoured by a predator. If, however, it survived, it became a gnaw wolf, the lowest-ranking wolf in the clan. The duty of a malcadh was to carve the bones of prey into symbols and designs that recorded the clan history. Some of these gnaw wolves could rise, however, and serve at the Ring of the Sacred Volcanoes. Malcadh was just one of the peculiar words of the wolf language. What Stellan was seeking now was parlagh, a conference with a clan chieftain.
This wolf world of the Beyond was so complicated that it almost defied any creature from the outside to ever understand it. They held within them a distance that defied breaching.
As they entered the Beyond, Third noticed how the trees were quickly thinning out, and how they were not only fewer but much smaller. It was as if these could not grow against the continuous harsh onslaught of the winds. They reminded Third of crooked old animals fighting against the overwhelming powers of nature. He’d seen bears like those out on the sea ice in the Nunquivik. They were called in old Krakish Vlimyk vintur, which translated to last winter hunters. They looked beaten and shriveled and most likely they would not live until the next winter.
The Keepers of the Keys Page 12
