Gylfie, on the other hand, found it a relief to have Otulissa bound to enforced silence. She saw that there was a kind of beauty in this silence. The brothers of the Glauxian retreat were more alive and interesting than any owls she had ever encountered—in their own way. She saw that actually there was a kind of communication among them, but one had to be keen to an array of subtle signs and signals to notice it. Words—at least, spoken words—were not always needed. She tried to explain this to Otulissa, but to no avail.
“But you don’t understand, Gylfie. This library is the most magnificent I could have ever imagined. And I am finding out so much about fleckasia, but I need to talk about it, too. Not only fleckasia, but things called cold fire and ice flames. Sort of the opposite of bonk flames.”
“Well, there are those times in the study hollows.”
“I know, but I can’t get a word in edgewise.” Otulissa sighed.
“What? You, of all owls, can’t get a word in edgewise?”
“You don’t understand. These owls are weird. They don’t talk much. But they have these odd ways of communicating without talking and even in the study hollows, where they are allowed to talk, there is a lot of silence. There are these gaps in the conversation, but it’s still like they are talking. And I can’t get in on it.”
“Hmmm” was all Gylfie could say. She didn’t know quite what to tell her. Poor Otulissa—the most fluent in Krakish of all the owls of the Chaw of Chaws All those irregular verbs she had practiced on the flight north, and no place to use them.
“Look, Otulissa, I’ll go to a study hollow with you and see if I can help.”
“Oh, would you, Gylfie? That would be so great. I mean, I’ve been reading all this stuff about fleckasia but I need to discuss it. And they also have the most complete history of the War of the Ice Claws and other wars, too. I need to study the strategy, you know, for the invasion plan of St. Aggie’s. After all, it is my plan that we are going to use and that was why I was sent here by the parliament. They’re counting on us, Gylfie.”
Us; she said “us.” Gylfie supposed it was nice of Otulissa to include her. But it was Otulissa’s plan that the owls of Ga’Hoole were most likely to implement in the coming invasion. The Chaw of Chaws was not here in the Northern Kingdoms solely to recruit owls to fight, as Soren was doing in the Firth of Fangs, but to study the strategies of invasion.
If this invasion did indeed take place, it would be the largest in the history of owlkind—staggering in size, epic in significance. In one night, thousands of owls of all kinds would cross seventy leagues from the Island of Hoole to the canyonlands of St. Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls. The land of this region was cut by deep ravines. It bristled with rocky spires and needles. It appeared barren of trees, rivers, or lakes. But it was rich in one thing: the deadly flecks that could destroy owls’ minds.
St. Aggie’s had fallen and was now held by the most dangerous owls on earth, the Pure Ones. The Pure Ones were smart. They knew enough about flecks to be able to destroy any owls that flew against them and challenged their plan for complete dominion over the owl universe.
Only a massive invasion of the canyonlands could finish their tyranny forever. It would be an invasion requiring the help of many allies. And the very best of these allies were to be found in the Northern Kingdoms. Otulissa had been given the task of studying all she could about fleckasia and the battle strategies implemented during the War of the Ice Claws. And the best place to do that was here in the magnificent library of the Glauxian Brothers’ retreat.
Life at the retreat followed a fairly unvarying routine. The hours of the night were spent in meditative flight rather than practicing the kinds of skills that were constantly being honed at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. The brothers traded knowledge and their skills with herbs for live coals from rogue colliers. They rotated hunting chores and had no real need for navigation since they rarely left the region of their retreat. Gylfie was eternally grateful that the brothers’ retreat was not underground like the Glauxian Sisters’ but in the hollows of the ring of birch trees. The evening meal, tweener, was always followed by several hours of meditative flight. When the brothers returned to the retreat, they broke up into the study hollows to pursue their scholarly interests in herbs, literature, and science.
The silence in the dining hollow on this particular evening was as thick as ever. As Otulissa and Gylfie entered they noticed once again a very peculiar-looking old Whiskered Screech huddled in a corner eating with the help of nurselike attendants, a Short-eared Owl and an elderly Kielian snake who was constantly flicking up some sort of dark red juice from a goblet with his forked tongue. Gylfie was not sure why the snake stuck so close to the old Whiskered Screech. But both Gylfie and Otulissa had noticed that on the meditative flights the Short-eared Owl accompanied the old owl. Gylfie felt there was something vaguely familiar about the decrepit old one, but she could not figure out what. Apparently, the code of silence was not always practiced with this owl, for Gylfie often saw the attendant whispering something in his ear. She supposed that perhaps, for the frail and elderly, exceptions were permitted. However, she had never seen the owl speak a word in response. Indeed, the old thing seemed to be lost in a daze, his yellow eyes permanently set on some invisible horizon. The more she saw of this old owl, the more he reminded her of someone. She decided that tonight she would try to fly near him and his attendants during the meditation flight.
In the meantime, Otulissa’s attention had been drawn elsewhere—to a handsome young Spotted Owl. He was quite attractive and flew with great style, and she had thought she might try to fly near him. Fat lot of good it will do me if I can’t even talk, she thought. Might as well forget it. It would only be a distraction. She hadn’t come here to socialize, but to learn. And he probably didn’t know that much, anyway. She was certain he had arrived only a few days before she and Gylfie did.
After tweener, thirty owls or more rose in the crisp night air of the forest where Hoole had been hatched and began their nighttime meditation. The flight formation was a loose circle of owls that resembled the circle of the birch trees of the retreat. There was ample space between each one so that every owl could meditate without distraction. All owls were known for their silent flight, but these owls of the retreat flew in a silence more complete than either Gylfie or Otulissa had ever experienced.
During this particular flight, Otulissa had chosen as her subject of meditation the legends of Hoole. She was trying to imagine what this forest had been like when the great owl had hatched in that glimmering time in the icy forest, when the seconds had slowed between the last minute of the old year and the first of the new. She was startled when she heard the air nearby ruffle with a stir of wings and then next to her a Spotted Owl slipped in. Not a Spotted Owl, but the Spotted Owl.
“The silence is sort of getting to me,” he whispered.
Otulissa’s head nearly spun around entirely. She blinked in astonishment.
“Oh, go on, tell me you don’t like to talk,” he said. “I can spot a talker a league away.” He sent a riffle through his pinfeathers, a special trick Spotted Owls did that showed off their spots magnificently.
Otulissa tried to repress a churr. Oh, how glorious! she thought. Words, language! “Aren’t we breaking the rules?” she whispered.
“They don’t really have hard-and-fast rules here, exactly. You’re supposed to learn them—gradually. They don’t have any real rhot gorts, either.”
;
“You mean flint mops?” Otulissa asked, for she was not sure of the Krakish words for the Ga’Hoole term for “punishment,” which was flint mop.
“Yes, that’s it in Hoolian. But you speak pretty good Krakish.”
“Oh, a little trouble with the passive subjunctive in irregular verbs, but thank you,” Otulissa said modestly and blinked in her most fetching manner.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Otulissa,” she replied.
“Otulissa,?
?? the owl said reflectively. “A very traditional name.”
Otulissa felt a tingle of joy in her gizzard. Here was an owl of her station, of her background. He recognized that Spotted Owl females were often called by the ancient and distinguished name of Otulissa.
“And what is your name, if I may ask?”
“Of course. I am Cleve of Firthmore.”
“Cleve of Firthmore!” Otulissa gasped. “The Firthmore Passage in the Tridents?”
The owl nodded in reply.
Otulissa’s eyes were blinking madly as she flew. “From the royal hollow of Snarth?” Once more, the owl called Cleve nodded. “Then you are a prince. For that is where the clan of Krakor comes from.” And, thought Otulissa, the clan of Krakor is the oldest and most aristocratic clan in the land of the Great North Waters. It was, in fact, the clan for which the Krakish language of the Northern Kingdoms was named. This was a clan of words, of stories, of legends. They were writers and tellers of history, of literature. It was the clan of her beloved Strix Struma and her cherished Strix Emerilla, the renowned weathertrix of the last century whose books Otulissa had intellectually devoured.
“What are you doing here at the retreat?” Otulissa asked. “Is it a custom for royalty to come here?”
“Not exactly. I really came because…well, how to put it? Much of my study back in the Tridents has been military. And there hasn’t been a war for years now. The War of the Ice Claws was over long ago.”
“Yes, but don’t you think military knowledge is still useful?” Otulissa whispered. A slightly wary tone had crept into her voice.
“Not really,” Cleve replied casually, as if he might be commenting on the weather. “You see, I came here to study medicine. Quite frankly, I don’t believe in war—ever.”
“You what?” Otulissa shrieked.
“Please, dear.” A Snowy Owl had flown up. “This is a meditation flight. Some whispering perhaps, but shouting? Oh, no, we can’t have that,” the Snowy said gently and flew off.
Just at that moment, Gylfie also experienced a shock, and Otulissa’s cry was like an exclamation point in the night, punctuating a most startling revelation: Ifghar! That is what the Short-eared Owl had just called the frail old Whiskered Screech! Impossible! Gylfie told herself. She caught an updraft so she could fly directly beneath them. Of course, there was mostly silence, but occasionally the Short-eared Owl found it necessary to redirect the Whiskered Screech’s flight path and, in whispered tones, she would nudge him back on course. “Now, now, old dear, stroke with that port wing. It’s getting stronger.” There was a low grumble. “No need for that, Ifghar. You can do it, dear. You can.”
Gylfie blinked and felt her gizzard grow heavy. How could this be? Ezylryb’s turnfeather brother here?! This, indeed, was something to meditate on. Then came that shriek from Otulissa. And the next thing Gylfie knew, Otulissa was flying beside her.
“It really frinks me off! I can’t believe it, and him coming from the royal hollow of Snarth in the Tridents. Shameful! Absolutely shameful.”
“Sssh!” The Short-eared Owl flying attendance for Ifghar shushed her from above.
Gylfie had no idea what Otulissa was beaking off about. But she and Otulissa definitely had to talk. Forget study hollow and discussions on fleckasia and disorders of the gizzard! Gylfie had to tell Otulissa about Ifghar. The only reason that she and Digger and Soren knew about Ifghar, the treacherous brother of Ezylryb, was because Octavia, Ezylryb’s nest-maid snake, had told them. She told them about Lil, the Whiskered Screech that both Ezylryb and his brother had fallen in love with. But Lil had preferred Ezylryb and had taken him as her mate. Both brothers served as commanders in the Glauxspeed artillery unit during the War of the Ice Claws. Ifghar was so incensed by Lil’s refusal and so jealous of Ezylryb that he became a turnfeather and betrayed not just his brother but the entire Kielian League to the enemy, the League of the Ice Talons. Lil and Ezylryb made a fierce combat team, and Ifghar swore to the commander of the Ice Talons that with his help they could defeat them. He then had planned to capture Lil for his own.
Gylfie couldn’t wait to get back to the hollow to tell Otulissa. Ifghar here! Ezylryb’s treacherous brother. It was unbelievable.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Flivling and Riffles
But Ifghar’s plan went terribly wrong for everyone.” Gylfie sighed.
“How so?” Otulissa asked. They had returned from the meditation flight and were in their own hollow, high in one of the birch trees. The wind had picked up and the birches, which were quite slender compared to the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, swayed wildly in the night. Both Gylfie and Otulissa enjoyed the movement. It gave them the odd sensation of still flying abroad in the dark folds of the evening sky while at the same time being cozy in their hollow.
“Lil was killed in the battle,” Gylfie replied. “It was in that same battle that Ezylryb lost one of his talons, and Octavia was blinded.”
“Are you sure that scruffy old owl is Ifghar?” Otulissa asked. Gylfie nodded.
“What’s he doing here?”
“The League of the Ice Talons was finally defeated long after Ezylryb and Octavia had come here and then left for the great tree. I guess by that time Ifghar was pretty old and had nowhere to go. He certainly couldn’t fly back to the Kielian League. Turnfeathers are hardly welcomed guests. And the Glauxian Brothers are always neutral, so it was a safe haven for him. But I would sure like to ask his attendant, the Short-eared Owl, some questions, though.”
“Good luck,” Otulissa said.
“Oh, they aren’t always that strict about the silence thing. It’s mostly in the public spaces of the retreat. I’m sure I could go to her hollow and have a little chat. But what happened to you tonight, Otulissa? You certainly broke the silence.”
Otulissa sighed deeply. “It’s a long story. I’ll make it short. Extremely handsome owl who happens to be a prince. And yoicks.”
Gylfie blinked. “A prince who’s yoicks?”
“Oh, he has this totally yoickish notion. He doesn’t believe in war. Can you imagine, Gylfie?”
“Well, I don’t find that hard to understand at all. I mean, when Ezylryb came here to the retreat, he hung up his battle claws and gave up fighting.”
“But this owl is a prince, Gylfie. A prince from the royal hollow of Snarth of the Trident Islands in Firthmore. Do you know their history? The battles they fought? It’s the same hollow that Strix Struma came from.”
“Well, he doesn’t believe in war. That’s all,” Gylfie said.
“That’s all?” Otulissa shot back. “I don’t see it that way.”
“Well, what does he believe in?”
“Medicine. He came here to study herbs and healing.”
“The Glauxian Brothers are experts in the healing arts. They have the biggest collection of books on medicine, herbs, and all manner of diseases anywhere. That’s why we’re here, remember? So you can read the only existing copy of Fleckasia and Other Disorders of the Gizzard.”
“I know, I know,” Otulissa said testily. “So we better get going because we’ve probably already missed a good bit of the study hollow’s near-wordless discussion. I tell you, this place frinks me off.”
Gylfie blinked her eyes rapidly. Otulissa could be simply impossible. “Look, just promise me one thing?” she asked.
“What’s that?”
“No more outbursts! The next thing you know, you’ll be saying the you-know-what word.”
“I won’t. Don’t be ridiculous.”
But Otulissa could be unpredictable. Like right now, Gylfie thought. It was clear to her that Otulissa had really liked the handsome Spotted Owl. That was so unlike Otulissa. She had no time for such things, and Glaux knew she wouldn’t know the first thing about flivling, the owl word for flirting.
How wrong one can be! Gylfie thought as she observed Otulissa in the study hollow. A discussion of fleckasia had been under way for some time. Of course, leading the conversation was Otulissa,
carrying on about the four quadrants of the gizzard and the humors associated with each of these quadrants. And to whom was she tipping and cocking her head as she made her remarks? None other than Cleve of Firthmore, prince of the royal hollow of Snarth.
“For example, Cleve.” Blink, blink went Otulissa’s eyes with a sparkle that Gylfie had never seen before. “I would say that you have an abundance of fleebis in your third quadrant.”
“Really!” replied Cleve.
“Really!” Otulissa said. “Many of the brightest and most perceptive Spotted Owls are known for this. For example, a distant relative of mine, the renowned weathertrix of the last century, Strix Emerilla—”
“Aaahhhhh!” the owls all opened their beaks in recognition of the eminent scholar’s name.
Gylfie could not believe what she was witnessing. Great Glaux, it could wreck the mission if Otulissa—Otulissa of all owls—was distracted! And all because of some frinking prince from snape of Snarth—or wherever. And was that a riffle she saw passing through from Otulissa’s pinfeathers and lighting up those pale tawny spots of hers to their best advantage? Oh, Glaux-in-a-box! She’s gone yoicks right down to her pinfeathers!
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hoke of Hock
I have never in my life met animals as tight-beaked as these creatures of Stormfast Island,” Martin was muttering to himself as he and Ruby flew over the westernmost edge of Stormfast, scouring the landscape below for the kind of terrain where an elderly Kielian snake might dwell. The Kielian snakes were a peculiar breed, at least from an owl’s point of view. To begin with, they ranged in colors from pale greenish-blue to turquoise. They were not blind and were known for their incredible muscles and their fantastic industry. They were also unbelievably supple. This, combined with their muscle power, allowed them to penetrate places unreachable by other snakes, actually tunnelling into enemy territory. They could move earth, even frozen earth! And they could swim as well as any seal or polar bear.