Guardians Of Ga'Hoole - The Journey Part 7

But Twilight didn't. "I am an owl of low birth in the eyes of the world because I have had no proper upbringing." All the bl.u.s.ter was gone from Twilight's voice; even his feathers seemed to sag a bit and he appeared slightly smaller. "I have had no First Ceremonies, no First Insect, no First Fur-on-Meat ceremony. There is much I don't know."

Soren was stunned. Twilight never admitted to not knowing anything.

"But there is much I do know. I know light and shadow and everything in between. I know the life pulse in the throat of a bobcat and where to slash to break the blood pump that is the cat's heart. I know mountains and deserts and the creatures who fly and those who don't, but slither or crawl or leap. I know of all sorts of claws, as well as fangs and poisons that lock the talons and freeze the wings. I know the false horizon that comes in the heat of the summer when the air is thick with dew and confuses old owls so that they go yeep and fall. And I know all this, not because I was reared in a hollow lined with the down of my mother's breast, but because I was not. I was alone within minutes of my hatching. I can be alone. It is a special talent. And I can be alone again."

Soren's gizzard twisted in slow dread. Twilight turned his head slowly and blinked. "But I also know that I am a better owl with you and with Gylfie and Digger. I know now that I am part of a band. And I know this because of you, Sorena"you alone." The Great Gray paused and mused. The gold in his eyes seemed to grow softer, like that pale haze of yellow just above the horizon as the sun begins to set.

"Perhaps, Soren, you are the blood pump of the band, and I would not want to slash such a life pulse." Soren blinked. "You are right, Soren. We are a band. And nothing can or will undo it. We are our own guardians."

"And maybe someday we shall become the Guardians of Ga'Hoole," Soren said quietly.

So the two owls returned to the hollow for sleep and the day grew brighter and brighter. And finally, the light began to seep away as the dull blue of the winter sky darkened. The clouds became tinged with purple and the last blaze of the sinking sun turned the horizon as red as the bobcat's blood. Then, at last, the stars broke out and it was time for the owls of Ga'Hoole to rise.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

The Golden Talons

It was the deep, black part of the night. The moon had pa.s.sed through its last moment of the dwenking and now it was gone completely. Gone for two nights at least, until its first silvery thread would reappear at the newing. Soren had been at the Great Ga'Hoole Tree for almost a month, which meant thirty nights and one complete moon cycle from dwenking to newing. Yes, Soren knew how to count now. To count and much more, really. But counting was special. He remembered thinking that his father had said that the fir tree in which his family had their hollow was nearly ninety feet tall. But Soren had no idea what the number meant, just as he had no idea how long sixty-six days were, which was the length of time it took a Barn Owl, such as himself, to fledge flight feathers. Numbers had been meaningless and he had promised himself, once he had escaped from the awful St. Aggie's, that he would learn how to count.

But there was so much more to learn than simply counting. For a month now, he had had many lessonsa"flying lessons, even work with battle claws. They had practiced with almost every chaw except for the navigation chaw and the colliering and weather interpretation chaws. For the last chaw, weather, Soren had felt spared because it was led by the grizzled old Screech, Ezylryb. The members were considered among the fiercest and the bravest of the entire Great Ga'Hoole Tree, for they had to fly through all sorts of storms, blizzards, and even hurricanes to gather important information for troops going into battle or on missions of search-and-rescue. And they brought back coals from burning forest fires, which fed the forge that made so many vital things for the Great Ga'Hoole Tree, from battle claws to pots and pans, and, of course, gave light to the candles.

And now on this blackest of nights, he was learning to navigate from Strix Struma.

"We shall begin with a few simple tracing exercises," Strix Struma had announced when they were poised on the main takeoff branch of the Great Ga'Hoole Tree. "The Great Glaux will soon rise," she continued. "The time of the Little Racc.o.o.n has, of course, pa.s.sed by this season but a new beauty shall appear for the first time tonight. The Golden Talons. It is an unusual constellation, for in this part of the world it shall be with us through summer." She raised her foot from the branch. "And just like our talons, there are foura"long, curved, and sharp ones formed by the stars."

"But not gold," piped up Primrose, the Pygmy Owl that Soren had befriended on the night she had been brought in from the borderlands, singed and orphaned.

"The gold is an illusion, my dear," Strix Struma said. "It is caused by atmospheric wobble that you shall learn more about."

With a sudden blur and a slicing sound through the air, Strix Struma's talons shot out and caught a fruit bat on the wing. "A little snack before we fly," she said and quickly de-winged it, then served up tasty morsels to the cla.s.s. "We don't want to overeat before our lesson. That is never good, but a bit of bat gives a boost, I always find. Now, ready!"

"Yes, Strix Struma," they all replied.

Strix Struma preferred to dispense with the t.i.tle of ryb and instead be called by her family name. She was a Spotted Owl who came from a very ancient ancestry of which she was intensely proud. "Good, then. Primrose, I would like you flying directly behind me. Otulissa, seeing as you have had navigation cla.s.s before, I think I shall put you on my windward flank. Gylfie, you shall fly in the downwind flanking position. And Soren, you fly tail. Any questions?"

Soren blinked in amazement. Although he had been at the Tree a month, those two simple words "Any questions" were still like magic to him after St. Aggie's.

Strix Struma always used the battle terminology, such as "flanks." For not only did Strix Struma have a proud and ancient lineage, but she had been trained for combat as a windward flanking sub-commander and had seen action at the Battle of Little Hoole. "Off we go, then!" And the large Spotted Owl rose in flight with the four young owls quickly maneuvering into their positions.

Soren flew several lengths behind Strix Struma so as not to be affected by the eddies curling off her very broad tail. He wished Twilight and Digger were flying with them but Twilight was in a more advanced navigation cla.s.s. And Digger was still in power-flight school due to his weak flying skills.

Twilight's orphan school of tough learning had apparently taught him a lot because he had been placed in many advanced cla.s.ses.

"All right, cla.s.s." Strix Struma spoke in the broad hooting tones that were indeed the voice of a mature Spotted Owl. These hoots now rolled back toward Soren. "Two points off to windward. Please note the first star of the Golden Talons rising."

"Ooooh, this is sooooo exciting." It was Otulissa trying her best to sound exactly like Strix Struma, which she would someday, for she, too, was a Spotted Owl. But right now,she just sounded like what she wasa"a beak-polis.h.i.+ng, feather-fluffing idiotic owl always trying to impress the rybs. "And it's such an honor to be flying windward flank, Strix Struma, in the grand tradition of your n.o.ble family."

Soren blinked and winced. If Twilight had been here he would have yarped a pellet mid-flight right in her face. Soren saw Glyfie spin her head back and blink as she moved her beak silently. But Soren could understand perfectly what she was saying: "Do you believe her?"

Primrose spoke up. "Do you have a cold, Otulissa? You sound clogged up."

Oh, great Glaux. Soren thought he might die laughing. Leave it to Primrose! And the best part of it was that she was sincere. Primrose never suspected anyone of anything. "Guileless," Gylfie called her. "Charmingly guileless." Often Soren didn't understand the words that Gylfie used, but in this case he began to. He knew what Gylfie meant. Primrose didn't have a fake hollow bone in her body. She was utterly truthful and always believed that owls were motivated by the best of reasons. She had, needless to say, never spent any time at St. Aggie's.

The navigation cla.s.s flew on. It was not long after the first star in the Talons rose that several more broke out of the blackness, and it did seem as if four great golden talons clawed at the night.

"We shall trace each talon from its toe base to its sharp tip," hooted Strix Struma.

Soren was now flying directly behind Primrose, and he was becoming slightly confused as she constantly swiveled her head. An oddity about Pygmy Owls was that they had two dark spots on the back of the head that indeed looked like eyes. Soren was finding this disorienting.

"Confusing, isn't it, dear?" Strix Struma had dropped back. "You're in a difficult position behind Primrose, but it's good training."

"Oh, Soren." Primrose swiveled her head. "It's my darned spots, isn't it? I'm so embarra.s.sed."

"Nonsense, child!" Strix Struma hooted. "Don't you ever belittle those spots. You'll see, they'll come in handy someday. We must learn to use our Glaux-given gifts and in that way they truly become not just gifts but treasures. Now you fly on. You're doing a nice job and I shall teach Soren some tricks to reduce his disorientation.

"I had to fly behind a Pygmy for years. Made me a terrific navigator. Now, what you do, Soren, is you focus just below the spots. That will help you."

And it did. In no time the spots seemed to entirely vanish.

They flew on through the night, practicing mostly by tracing the Golden Talons. But now, one by one, the stars of the constellations slipped away over some distant horizon and into another world, and Strix Struma led her cla.s.s home to the Great Ga'Hoole Tree in the middle of the Sea of Hoolemere, which, in its own way, was another world as well.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Hukla, Hukla and Hope

There was the noisy chattering of young owls, which was known as gazooling. Soren remembered it from his brief few weeks with his own family in the old fir tree. His sister, Eglantine, his brother, Kludd, and he all would try out their unformed voices in a range of hoots and shreeings. Barn Owls were more screamers than hooters. It was a raucous time of the day before getting ready to rest. Here at the Great Ga'Hoole Tree it was even rowdier. But for Soren, as the black of night thinned to gray and the gray became a cool purple that eventually warmed to rose, it could be a melancholy time.

Soren could not figure out why he felt so sad. He had a lot to gazool about, as much as anyone else. Of course, Twilight came up to him first, and Soren could barely squeeze in a word. "I did a fantastic power dive tonight. A tight spiral and I was down on the ground before you could flick a blink. Soren, I think Barran was really impressed. So you think there's a chance that she might recommend me for search-and-rescue?"

"But, Twilight, if you were in the advanced navigation cla.s.s with Barran why were you practicing search-and-rescue moves?"

"Because Barran also teaches search-and-rescue. She is the one who taps for the search-and-rescue chaw."

That was all anyone ever talked abouta"being tapped for the various chaws. Next, Otulissa came up. "Oh, I don't know, Twilight, about you getting tapped for search-and-rescue chaw. Don't get your hopes up. They tend to take owls with very old family lines. Those ranks are almost always reserved for Strix, just like navigation."

"Oh, racdrops!" boomed Bubo. "Make way! Make way! Let the nest snakes serve tea. We all be starving and don't need to listen to none of this nonsense about old family lines. It's what you do here and now on this earth that counts."

Bubo was the ruddy-colored owl with the very black talons whom Soren had first seen in the parliament. A high-shouldered, enormous Great Horned Owl, his ear tufts alone stood as tall as Gylfie. His plumage was of an unusual coloring for a Great Horned, most of whom tended toward the brownish-gray tones. Bubo's feathers were actually almost flame-colored, which seemed appropriate, as he headed up the forge and was the blacksmith. So, despite what was said about Bubo's lowly origins and rough-and-tumble mannera"a constant stream of curses issued from his beaka"he was treated with great respect in the community of the Great Ga'Hoole Tree because he was an expert blacksmith. The discovery and the taming of fire was the single thing that most impressed Soren about the owls of the Great Ga'Hoole Tree.

"Line up! Line up! Now, please don't rush the dear snakes. Don't crowd the snakes by cramming in too many of you around one snake. Please proceed in an orderly fas.h.i.+on." It was Matron speaking, the Short-eared Owl. The nest-maid snakes began to slither into the dining hollow. These snakes were all blind like Mrs. Plithiver. Gylfie, Soren, Twilight, and Digger always lined up at Mrs. Plithiver's table for, indeed, she had been invited to join the staff and was thrilled to be in service once more.

The melancholy feelings that had filled Soren a few minutes before disappeared as he and his friends stepped up to Mrs. P.'s back.

"h.e.l.lo, dearies," Mrs. P. hissed in her soft voice. "Good night in the Yonder? Cla.s.ses went well?"

"Look!" Digger said. "Primrose over there doesn't have a place to sit."

"Sorry, Primrose," Otulissa was saying, "but this snake is all filled up." Otulissa was with four other young Spotted Owls.

"Over here, Primrose." Gylfie waved a wing. "We have a place."

"Always room, dearie," Mrs. P. said as Primrose came over. "I can always stretch myself a little longer and fit in another young one."

"Oh, thank you. Thank you so much," Primrose spoke in a shaky voice.

"You all right, Primrose?" Digger asked kindly.

"I'm fine. Just fine." She didn't sound all that fine. "Well, not so fine," she admitted. "All this talk of tapping is really making me nervous."

"Now, I believe there is entirely too much talk about this tapping business," Mrs. P. said. "I think you young ones should just drink your tea while it is still nice and warm. Cook made a special effort with the milkberries. I think she added a few extra as the season shall be coming again soon and perhaps she can spare more for tea without worrying."

"It's hard not to think about tapping, Mrs. P.," Soren said. "It's all anyone talks about."

"They say most Burrowing Owls like myself are tapped for tracking, since we have such strong legs and really know the countryside so well. I think I'd like that," Digger said quietly.

"I want search-and-rescue myself. You get to wear battle claws," Twilight spoke up.

"You want to fight?" Primrose said with a note of alarm in her voice.

"I'd like to fight any owl from St. Aggie's. Let me tell you, we gave those two a run for it that time in the desert. Didn't we?" He blinked toward Soren and Gylfie. Soren and Gylfie both prayed that Twilight would not break into one of his dancing chants and shadow fights with an imaginary opponent in the dining hall. As much as they loved him, he could be really embarra.s.sing.

"Thank goodness," sighed Digger. "If it hadn't been for them and, of course, the eagles, I would be dead." Digger paused. "Not just deadaeaten."

"You're joking?" Primrose gasped.

"I'm not joking," Digger said.

"Oh, come on, tell me the story," Primrose urged.

"Young ones, I don't think this is tea-table talk and since I am the tea table I would prefer not."

But it was too late. Digger had already launched into his story, and Primrose was spellbound. Mrs. Plithiver just sighed and muttered, "Hukla, hukla," which, in the special language of blind snakes, meant "Young owls will be young owls."

Mrs. Plithiver dozed off as the owls continued to talk and sip their cups of tea.

"So here's how the joke goes. You got a bunch of crows and other wet p.o.o.pers like hummingbirds and seagulls." Twilight had begun telling a joke.

"Oh, yes. Seagulls are disgusting," Primrose offered.

"Definitely," Soren joined in. "They are disgusting."

"We should have a contest to see who can tell the slimiest wet p.o.o.p joke," Digger said.

Suddenly, their little nut cups of tea trembled. "Enough is enough!" Mrs. Plithiver screeched a hiss that curled through the air. "I shall not have this talk at the table. This is inappropriate on every level." Then her rosy scalesseemed to s.h.i.+mmer with a new radiance and with one quick writhing motion all the teacups clattered off her back.

This was not the first time a nest-maid snake had shaken off teacups. There were not many rules at the Great Ga'Hoole Tree but, as Matron instructed the young owls, there were to be no wet p.o.o.p jokes anywhere, and especially not in the dining hollow. Therefore, the nest snakes were under orders, if it was teatime and they were serving, to immediately dismiss the culprits, and this was accomplished in just the manner Mrs. P. had done when she shook herself.

They were ordered to go see Boron and Barran. As could be expected, Barran scolded them and told them that their behavior was shocking. "Poor form," she called it. Boron kept muttering, "Don't be too hard on them, dear. They're just youngsters. Young males do that kind of thing."

"Boron, I would like to point out that Primrose and Gylfie are not males."

"Oh, but I still know a lot of wet p.o.o.p jokes," Primrose tooted up.

The air was laced with the soft churr sounds that owls make when they laugh. They were all churring except for Barran. Boron was churring the hardest. His big white fluffy body was shaking so hard that he shook loose a few wisps of down.

"Really! Boron! It's not a laughing matter," his mate said in dismay.

"But it is, my dear. That's the point." And he began to laugh even harder.

The owls had already settled down for the day. It had been several hours since Madame Plonk had sung her lovely "Night Is Done" song and all had wished one another good light until the next night. But Soren had trouble falling asleep, and then he woke up in that slow time of the day for owls, when silence seems to press down over everything and the air is thick with sunlight and the minutes drag by. Time seemed to crawl and one wondered if there would ever be blackness again. Once more, Soren felt that melancholy feeling. He was not sure exactly what was causing it. He should be so happy here. He did feel bad about their misbehavior at tea. Good manners meant a lot to Mrs. P. He hated disappointing her. Maybe, he thought, I should go and apologize. Mrs. Plithiver was often up at this time of the day. Perhaps he would make his way down to her hollow. She lived there with two other nest-maids.

The three snakes shared a mossy pocket in the tree nearly one hundred feet below where Soren slept. It smelled of damp shredded bark, moss, and warm stones. The nest-maid snakes enjoyed sleeping with warm stones. So, these stones were part of the furnis.h.i.+ngs of any hollow in which they slept. Bubo always heated up several so they could have them in their quarters. Soren rather liked the smell. The heat from the stones released the fragrance of the moss, and the moss that grew on the Great Ga'Hoole Tree was especially sweet. It was used in a soup that was made by Cook. There was barely a part of the Great Ga'Hoole Tree that was not used for something. It was for this reason that the owls so carefully nurtured and cared for their homea"never overpicking the milkberries, and burying their pellets around the roots of the tree where their rich, nouris.h.i.+ng contents would be most directly absorbed.

The fragrance of the moss and warm stones drifted up to Soren as he made his way down. He stopped at the opening of the pocket and peered in. But before he could even speak, Mrs. P. must have sensed his presence.

"Soren, dear boy, what are you doing up this time of day? Come on in, young one."

"Aren't the other nest-maids asleep?"

"Oh, no. They're all out doing guild business."

There were several guilds: the harp guild, the lacemakers', weavers', and others to which the nest snakes belonged. One had to be chosen. It was rather like the tapping ceremony for the chaws. Mrs. Plithiver had not been chosen yet for any guild.

"Mrs. P., I came to apologize for my disgusting behavior at tea. I am truly sorry. I know thata"