She then had one further thought: There’s a hagsfiend in the great tree. It might be blue, it might look like an owl, fly like an owl. But it’s haggish, I swear by Glaux!
CHAPTER TWENTY
A Few Good Owls
Hortense had settled herself into one of the heartwood branches high above the mossy dell of the Brad and watched quietly for a while. She reflected on all that she had learned in the last few days. When the Band had returned with the shocking news of the notice that had been posted of their exile and the horror of the charred remains of a burnt owl, Hortense asked them to repeat it, not once or twice, but three times. It was simply unbelievable. But there had been many things during her long life that at first had seemed unbelievable to her and that later she had come to realize were true. Almost as soon as she had sent the Band off to the Brad, Pelli had arrived with the news that things had deteriorated even further at the great tree, and that she and Otulissa and Bubo feared for the ember. And very shortly after all that, Slynella and Stingyll reported that a blue owl—known as Tengshu—had somehow found his way to the Brad. This, at least, was good news. The Band had told her of this sage owl and now with his help a plan was taking shape for regaining the tree. If anyone could help the Band and the Guardians rid themselves of the Striga it would be this Tengshu from the Middle Kingdom. Although a sage, he was also a master of the fighting art of Danyar. And that was exactly what Tengshu was teaching the Ambala owls of the Brad now as Hortense looked down from her branch high in the heartwood grove. If the Band was to return to the great tree, they had to be prepared and they would need all the help they could get. As if this news was not enough, Gwyndor had also come to Hortense with rumors of something being planned for Balefire Night. Something bad.
Balefire Night occurred in the very last days of the season of the Copper Rose. It was one of the major holidays of the owl calendar and celebrated owlkind’s command of fire, which began during the time of the legends; Grank was the first collier, and Theo was the first blacksmith. On this night, owls came together and built large bonfires making the night as bright as the day. There were contests of all sorts. Colliering contests, smithing competitions, flight games during which owls would compete to ride the intense thermal updrafts to new record heights. It was a joyous and boisterous holiday. Now with these rumors, who knew what Coryn, clearly under the influence of the Striga, was planning? But the Band must not rush back. It was truly a blessing that Tengshu had flown the River of Wind across the Sea of Vastness and found them. Hortense watched now as the one the Band called “the sage” instructed the owls in this strange method of warfare called Danyar. She had never seen anything like it. No battle claws, no fire branches, none of the traditional weapons; it was all about breathing. Breath was their major weapon. The Breath of Qui, as they called it, expanded the lungs of an owl and, when released, charged the owl’s movement with great power. She was amazed at the progress made by these studious owls who had so recently devoted their lives to books. Their powers of concentration were great and undoubtedly this had helped them learn Danyar very quickly. There was a young Barred Owl, Austen, who was smashing the moss target to bits every time she hit it.
“Good, good. Excellent form, Austen!” Tengshu, with the slight Jouzhen lilt to his speech, exclaimed. “Watch Austen. Her preparation is excellent. Note how she lifts her wings ever so slightly at the beginning of the inhale.”
A few minutes later, during a break in the training, Hortense flew down to the training level and hovered quietly until someone noticed her.
“Hortense!” Soren said, and swooped toward her. Immediately, he sensed something wrong. “What is it? Something about the three B’s, Pelli?”
“Nothing worse, really, than what we already know.” She sighed. The beads of moisture shimmered greenly in the dim light of the dell. “Pelli saw the signs of your ‘faithless acts.’”
“What was she doing on the mainland?” Soren asked. “W-w-what could have brought her here now?”
“I’m getting to that,” Hortense said patiently. An absolute hush had fallen on the Band and the other few owls who had gathered nearby. “She was on a mission to deliver the ember to an undisclosed location,” she said gingerly. The Band immediately knew where it must be.
“So Coryn asked for it,” Gylfie said somberly.
“Yes, and another was substituted,” Mist replied.
“Bubo juiced one, didn’t he?” Twilight said. “And that fool owl Coryn can’t even tell the difference.”
Soren wilfed as these words were spoken about his only nephew. But it was true. How had Coryn become such a fool? How had all this happened?
“And are there still rumors about Balefire Night?” Gylfie asked.
“Yes. They say it’s going to be the biggest celebration ever.”
“Yes, so much to burn,” Soren said bitterly. None of the Band even dared think about the horrible charred skeleton they had found in that smoldering fire near where the notice had been posted. Suddenly, Soren thought of something. “If Pelli returns to the tree and tells the other owls, the parliament, about these things, surely…”
Hortense cut him off. “We discussed this, Soren. She is going to tell only a few owls. Otulissa, Bubo, Eglantine. She has to play it very cool right now. The Blue Brigade has infiltrated the tree. The Guardians are not outnumbered—yet. When was the last time there was a battle on the Island of Hoole?”
“The Siege,” the four owls quickly replied.
“Exactly. It was bad. Strix Struma died and there were not nearly as many young’uns in the tree back then. This information of the Band being exiled is enough to trigger an uprising by the tree guardians. But they would lose—or suffer unthinkable losses. There can be no confrontation until their numbers are strengthened. You have to return, ready with these new owls of the Brad properly trained.” Hortense paused. She looked at the Band. “You have to remember, the four of you are seasoned warriors. You have spent almost a lifetime in training. But here in Ambala we have seen little war. We have always lived, as I have said, on the edge of things.”
“Madam,” Tengshu interrupted, “I want to assure you these owls will be ready.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Enemy Within
You see, Coryn. You have grown so much stronger. Now tell me truthfully, do you not feel better than ever in the presence of this ember?”
“Yes, it is true,” Coryn agreed.
“You have strengthened your gizzard,” the Striga said.
Coryn thought the Striga might be right. He no longer felt the deep twinges in his gizzard that he had when in the presence of the ember. But even before he had brought the ember from Bubo’s forge, his gizzard had seemed to quiet in a way that gave him a new ease. Since he had been following the Striga’s regime of spiritual cleansing by ridding himself of the vanities that had cluttered not so much his hollow, for those had been few, but his mind, life seemed easier. He no longer had the haunting visions of his mother, Nyra, and he finally began to realize that although he had loved his uncle Soren, this love had been a feckless indulgence on his part. It wasn’t reciprocated in the way he had expected. He was basically excluded from the Band. He had never really understood this until the Striga pointed it out to him. He might be accepted as king by the great tree but never as a member of the Band by Soren and the others. And now there were two letters that confirmed this exclusion as truth. The first letter had arrived shortly before Punkie Night with its ridiculous talk about the necessity of extending the weather experiments. This second letter had just arrived, in which the Band reported that they had felt that they were not needed at the tree, and how had they put it? “Striga,” Coryn said, “could you read that part of the letter to me again?”
“Certainly. ‘As we do not feel that our presence at the tree is needed and that there are owls in the Northern Kingdoms who could benefit from our knowledge as rybs, we have decided to fly there for a short visit.’”
Coryn lo
oked at the blue owl. “It is just as you predicted, isn’t it? They are trying to make an alliance in the Northern Kingdoms without the consent of parliament.”
“Negotiating independently. Why would any owl do such a thing? Treasonous, isn’t it?” The Striga paused. “And treason is simply another face of vanity.”
Coryn blinked. He supposed the Striga was right. Half a dozen moon cycles ago he might have questioned this logic. But somehow Coryn felt that he no longer had to question such notions or statements. There was a beautiful simplicity to everything that the Striga said. It would be difficult, however, to tell Pelli that her mate would be gone even longer. Pelli was a sweet, dear owl. He turned now to the Striga. “It’s going to be hard to tell Pelli that Soren has extended his trip even longer and into the Northern Kingdoms.”
“Yes, it will be. But you know, owls get over things. She has her children to keep her occupied. And let’s be honest. Soren’s first loyalty has never been to Pelli, but rather to the Band. At times, she must feel as excluded as you have felt.”
“You know, you’re right!” Coryn paused. “But I hesitate to tell her about this…this possible treason. I hope she doesn’t suspect anything.”
The Striga churred and shook his head. “I wouldn’t worry, Coryn. Pelli is not all that bright, you know.”
Coryn thought he felt a dim twinge in his gizzard, a split second of uncertainty about this last statement, but he chose to ignore it.
“I never knew about this place!” Bubo said with wonder. He glanced around at the thick, knotted roots. A scrim of threadlike taproots hung down, grazing their heads.
“When I came to the tree to live here and be Soren’s mate, he and the Band and Otulissa took me here,” Pelli said.
“We didn’t want to keep any secrets from Pelli,” Otulissa added. “They were mates. There should never be secrets between mates. There are a few others who know about it. The Chaw of Chaws. But it was brilliant of Pelli to think of having the parliament meeting here. There are too many strangers about to speak freely in the parliament hollow. I mean, since when have we allowed outsiders into the parliament meetings? These owls that have been hanging around since Punkie Night, what gives them the right?” Otulissa huffed indignantly.
“So, let me get this straight,” Bubo said. “You can hear the parliament when you’re down here in the roots, but they can’t hear you?”
“Yes, it’s strictly a one-way system,” Otulissa said.
“It’s really the most secure place in the tree. There’s no other place we could all meet except here. And no one will miss us at this hour,” Pelli said.
“I just hope we can all cram in here.” Bubo looked around.
Otulissa glanced about, then blinked. There was a slightly mournful tinge in her amber eyes.
The word had been passed to the other members of the parliament. They would be led to the roots by Martin, Eglantine, and Ruby—other members of the Chaw of Chaws. Immediately upon Pelli’s return, she told Otulissa and Bubo about the notice accusing the Band of treason, and they decided that something must be done. But they did not want to act rashly. Their first step was taking a wing count of the additional owls who were roosting in the outer branches of the tree and the guest hollows, which had been filled since Punkie Night. Guests often came to the tree but never had so many lingered for so long. And now with the latest news of the letter that Coryn had just received—which she felt was as counterfeit as the ember Bubo had juiced—they were convinced that they were in the most dire circumstances. They all dreaded the approaching Balefire Night. They must be prepared. But to fight a battle on their own island in their own tree was simply too risky. The hardest thing Pelli had ever had to do was to feign stupidity when Coryn had summoned her and read the second letter. First of all, she had to pretend that she believed every word of the forged document. She had to appear simple and trusting. But all the while, her mind was ticking and her gizzard sizzling. Simulating ignorance was her best defense. She had begun to plan before Coryn had even finished reading the letter and she would not let her first instincts or impulses get the better of her.
Two by two, the owls of the parliament crept down into the hidden chamber deep within the roots of the great tree.
“Even though this particular place in the tree is virtually soundproof, I suggest that we keep our voices low.” Pelli looked around at the members of the parliament. Some of them, like Elvanryb, were very old and had been members of the parliament for years. Some, like Sylvana, a beautiful Burrowing Owl and masterful ryb of the tracking chaw, were relatively new to the parliament. But they were all now in this small space, their eyes glistening with a mixture of apprehension and perhaps a glint of hope. They had felt depressed by the state of their king, concerned by the new owls hanging around the tree, and utterly contemptuous of the one called the Striga.
“We are safe here,” Pelli said. She felt it was important for them to be at ease. “What I am about to show you is shocking. But not for a moment do I believe it. And neither should you.” Pelli unfurled the notice she had found on the tree. The owls gathered close and read it, their beaks dropping open one by one as they took in the heinous accusations.
“Outrageous!” Elvanryb said in a hot whisper. “I don’t believe it for one second.”
“Nor do I.” Several of the other owls of the parliament shook their heads vigorously.
“How did you get this?” Sylvana asked.
“I flew to the mainland with the real Ember of Hoole.”
There was utter silence.
“You mean that’s not the real ember in Coryn’s hollow?” said Poot, a Boreal Owl who had flown with the weather chaw for years.
“No, it’s a fake. I juiced it,” Bubo said.
“Then what’s his excuse? Why is Coryn acting yoicks?”
Pelli shook her head. “I’m not sure. I know that Coryn suffered things when he was young with Nyra, horrible things that none of us could ever imagine. But now is not the time to think about that. We have to act. When I read this malicious notice, my first thought was: If the Band has seen this, they will fly directly back to the great tree, but then I realized…”
“It’s a trap,” Elvanryb said quietly.
“Exactly, Elvanryb, a trap. Look at all the new owls in the tree who have come since Punkie Night. Something’s up.”
The owls nodded. “So what can we do?” Poot asked.
Pelli continued, “We must keep up a show of ignorance. It is my good luck to be considered almost witless by the Striga. And Coryn seems to agree with everything the Striga says. But we must be prepared when the time comes.”
“What should we do?” Martin asked.
“I think Otulissa can speak to this.”
Otulissa stepped forward. She cocked her head and looked directly at Sylvana. “Sylvana, you were crucial to our success during the siege. I think we must call upon you again. We need to move the ice weapons from their cold storage burrow. I don’t want these new owls knowing anything about them. Any ideas, Sylvana?”
“Yes,” she replied. “There is an old tunnel in the roots, on the other side of the tree from where we are now. I’ll get it cleaned out.”
“Does Coryn know about the ice weapons?” Poot asked.
“He might know about them,” Sylvana said. “But since he has been at the tree we have never fought with them. The last time was in the Battle of the Burning.”
“Precisely,” Martin said. “And that could be a problem. Ruby, Otulissa, and I are the only owls here right now who have ever fought with the ice weapons. We were on that first expedition to the Northern Kingdoms where we trained with old Moss and the Glauxspeed and the Frost Beaks units. We’re out of practice.”
“Get in practice.” It was Quentin, a grizzled old Barred Owl who, as long as anyone could remember had been the quartermaster of the great tree, in charge of weapons and military equipment. “I’ve been tending those ice weapons like they were new hatchlings all these years,
just exactly according to Ezylryb’s instructions. They are in perfect condition. The ice picks sharp as talons. The ice scimitars got as keen an edge as anything Bubo could forge. What they need are owls who can wield them.”
“But when can we practice? Where?” Martin asked.
Pelli looked at Sylvana. “Sylvana, is that tunnel big enough for owls to hone their ice weapons skills in secret?”
“I suppose so. But how do we train enough owls without being noticed—even in secret?”
Martin, who was particularly gifted with the ice splinter, having trained directly under Colonel Frost Blossom of the Frost Beak division, stepped forward. The little Northern Saw-whet looked at the owls. “When it comes down to it, we’ll be fighting in tight quarters, around, perhaps, or even in the tree. We don’t need a huge number of fighters. All we need is a few good owls. I’ll teach them.”
The owls crammed into the small, confined chamber of roots looked at one another. A few good owls! The words stirred their gizzards and made their hearts beat stronger. They were those owls!
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
A Singed Blue Feather
Never for the rest of his life would Cory forget stepping outside the burrow he shared with his sister, Kalo, and her family in The Barrens that tween time and catching sight of the singed blue feather quivering in the light breeze. He wilfed and felt his gizzard turn to stone. “We’re marked!” Then he silently cursed his sister, the owl he loved most in the entire world. Her frinkin’ books! Racdrops! Why has she clung to them so long? Why after the burning did she salvage the scraps of paper and try to piece them back together? When he had confronted her with this and asked her how, as a mother, she could have done this, she had replied, “Simply because I am a mother. I owe it to my hatchlings to learn all that I can.”