“Your close friend is Siv? My, you’ve come up in the world.”
Svenka was shocked. “How dare you, Svarr! I was up just fine in the world even before I met Siv. Just remember, friends don’t make the animal. Animals make friends.”
Svarr blinked. She is pretty smart, he thought. Always had a way with words.
“So do you want me to take out the wolf?” Svarr asked.
“Maybe later, but right now I want to know what that wolf is telling Lord Arrin, and what Lord Arrin is up to. So, I was wondering…are there any dried-up smee holes around his place that we could get to?”
Smee holes riddled the N’yrthghar. Some of them dried up over the years and provided snug dens for polar bears. They were known, but only by the bears, to transmit sounds. In the right smee hole one could hear quite clearly a conversation almost a league away.
“Well, as a matter of fact, I know where to find a mess of them.”
“Could you take me to one, one that would be especially good to listen to Lord Arrin?”
“Sure, no problem. Too bad it isn’t mating season. We wouldn’t have to make another trip to meet up.”
Svenka rolled her eyes. Males! Thank Ursa, one didn’t have to live with them all year round.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Into a Smee Hole
“You say that they call this young owl Hoole?” It was Lord Arrin’s voice they were hearing.
“Yes, sir,” MacHeath replied.
“And that Grank claimed this Hoole was Siv’s chick?”
“Yes, sir,” MacHeath said again.
Then Svenka and Svarr heard a collective gasp from the other owls and the hagsfiends in the inner sanctum of the stronghold.
“You know the meaning of this?” A hagsfiend cawed in his ragged voice.
“I know that the first owl was called Hoole and was said to be a mage,” Lord Arrin said.
“And not any mage, but a very powerful one,” the hagsfiend replied.
“An owl would not be given such a name if it were not thought that he might possess these powers,” said the hagsfiend who had spoken first. “It could be the end of all of us.”
“We must fly immediately to the Beyond. This owl prince, the one called Hoole whose egg was said to be so luminous, must be destroyed—or he must be ours.”
That was all Svenka had to hear. “See you come mating season, Svarr. I have to go.”
“Yes, dear.”
Svenka ran and then swam as she never had before. She could see Lord Arrin’s troops and the hagsfiends rising in the night. She knew that the hagsfiends would not follow the same route as the owls because of all the open water. They, like the wolf, would go due west over the H’rathghar glacier toward Broken Talon Point and then swing south into the Beyond. There was a chance at least that Siv might be able to get there before they did. Svenka knew that she would have gone herself. She could swim all the way to the Southern Kingdoms and then race through the forests, but she couldn’t leave the cubs. Not yet at least. Oh, she thought for perhaps the thousandth time, males are so useless. If only Svarr could be trusted to care for them. It wasn’t as if male polar bears were dim-witted, they just seemed to be missing something when it came to feeling any kind of emotion or attachment to anyone but themselves. And yet they could not be called selfish, not willfully so, at least.
Svenka arrived at dawn of the following day.
“You must be exhausted, Svenka,” Siv said.
How gracious of her, Svenka thought. She inquires about me first. So unlike Svarr. “No, not really. The news is not good. I have confirmed that Hoole is in the Beyond with Grank, and Lord Arrin and the hagsfiends have already set flight.”
Siv wilfed until she seemed a quarter her original size. “Oh, dear!”
“The only good news is that the hagsfiends and the wolf are going by the long route because of open water.”
“You mean across the H’rathghar glacier and then west?”
“Yes, it will take them a good while especially with the prevailing winds.”
“So I have a chance of getting there before they do.”
“Yes, and I don’t think Lord Arrin would strike without the hagsfiends. He’ll wait for them.”
Siv’s eyes suddenly brightened. “Svenka, I have one more favor to ask of you.”
“Anything, Siv.”
“There’s a messenger, Joss, who served the king and me faithfully in the past. I suspect that he is in the region of the Ice Talons. The cubs can swim with you there. It is not so far. You can find him. There are usually lots of gadfeathers around there this time of year, one of their many gatherings. Ask around and when you find Joss, tell him that I live and that my son is in mortal danger. That he must quickly gather what troops he can and any hireclaws he can find and fly to the Beyond.”
“Yes, madam,” Svenka said.
“Madam? Why are you calling me ‘madam’?” Siv asked.
Indeed, the word had just slipped out. But when Svenka looked at Siv now she saw not just a regal Spotted Owl of great elegance, she saw an owl of incomparable force and leadership.
“Never mind. But what I was going to say, Siv, is that it is often dangerous to send messages. Other animals can overhear them. I overheard Lord Arrin because of the smee holes.”
“I would never send it in plain Krakish. There is a code. It is simple. All you need to say is ‘The moon bleeds silver. The ice fox comes before the dwenking.’ Do you have that?”
Svenka repeated the code and then she was off, flanked by Anka and Rolf, who were ecstatic to be a part of this adventure.
Siv left immediately, flying first to the Ice Dagger where she had hidden the scimitar of H’rath.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
A Wolf Waits
Oh, my blood grows hectic and this worm called revenge does twist in my heart and burns out any gentleness, any virtue. I live now only for revenge. Hordweard lay in wait on top of a boulder. So carefully had she covered her tracks with tangled paths of scent marks that any wolf who had wanted to follow her would become hopelessly confused. She wanted no interference, no distractions from her business. And her business was to kill. MacHeath was bound to return this way, if indeed he did return and had not met with trouble. By Lupus, she would not have trouble stealing her revenge!
The sky suddenly darkened above her. She looked up and saw strangely shaped dark birds flying overhead. “Hagsfiends!” she muttered. Although she had never seen one before she had heard of them and knew there could be no mistake. Yes, of course, she thought. And they be flying the wolves’ route from the Beyond, for it is water they fear. Oh, that MacHeath has been up to no good. It had to have something to do with the young owl, Hoole. There was something special about him. Anyone could tell that. Ever since the caribou hunt she knew he had powers. She wondered, briefly, if indeed she should turn back and run to warn them. She liked the young’un. He was the only one who had not shunned her.
But she would not sacrifice the moment that was her due, the moment of revenge. Vengeance was the blood that pumped through her heart, the air she breathed. She loved it with a passion. Vengeance was her mate now, and she would not give it up.
And so she waited. And waited. Never anxious, always patient, polishing her vengeance as if it were a precious thing, gnawing it delicately as if she were etching a bone with her fangs into a magnificent design. He will come…He will come. And he did. She smelled him first. Ah! Even the wind is my accomplice!
The wind, which had been coming from the west for the last few nights making MacHeath’s progress slower, had shifted at last to east. He growled a soft, contented sound of pleasure that at last the wind had turned to help speed his journey. He had anticipated his arrival in the Beyond on the tail feathers of the hagsfiends who by then would have joined Lord Arrin. Finally, MacHeath would be rid of Fengo. A delightful prospect. Yes, Fengo would be killed and his friend Grank and the other owls slaughtered with him. As for his own reward, Lord Arrin
had promised him a kingdom. Yes, the Beyond and all the land creatures of the entire Southern Kingdoms would be under his rule. The sky would be Lord Arrin’s, but the earth would be MacHeath’s—and the volcanoes! He had withheld some vital information from Lord Arrin—that of the ember. Neither Lord Arrin nor the hagsfiends knew of the ember—what nonsense that Fengo had called it the owl’s ember. It was the wolf’s ember, and with it, by Lupus, he would rule even the hagsfiends.
Hordweard had picked the perfect point from which to observe him. It was a high boulder. Another smaller one perched atop it, perfect for concealing her presence. She saw him coming down the trail. He looked ragged, much thinner. His bones jutted up so that his pelt draped sharply now over the massive shoulders. He breathed hard, too hard for a wolf who was traveling at this easy pace, and she heard a rasping sound in his lungs.
It had begun to snow. The moon had risen and its light fell directly on the boulder. Quietly, she stepped out from behind the boulder. His instincts were off. He did not even hear the scratch of her claws on the rock. She made a low growl. MacHeath stopped, his hackles suddenly stiff, his ears up. He lifted his head. She could see the look of surprise in his one eye. He does not know it is me, she thought. Have I changed that much? As much as he has changed?
MacHeath blinked his one eye and again was caught in the strange state somewhere between fear and aggression, threat and submission, as his hackles raised and his ears laid back and the odd half-growl, half-whine sound came from deep in his throat.
He actually doesn’t recognize me, Hordweard thought. Have my ears grown back? No! She knew that this was impossible. I’ll save him from his own confusion, she thought, and took another step closer to the edge of the boulder.
“It is me, MacHeath.”
He stared for a long moment in disbelief. His old mate, the oldest of all his mates suddenly looked young. Her once patchy mud-colored pelt had thickened and turned a tawny gold. She gleamed in the moonlight. Her green eyes, once dull, were now luminous. She was bigger, heavier. He had been gone not quite the cycle of one moon and yet…“Hordweard?”
“Yes, but that is no longer my name.”
Now his ears and hackles rose even higher. His tail went out straight, and he snarled. “But it is. I name all my mates. You are Hordweard MacHeath!” he snarled.
“No longer MacHeath. I am Namara!”
“You are not Namara, and you have no clan but MacHeath.”
“I am a clan unto myself.”
Then in the night, there was a golden explosion as she leaped high and howled, “I am Namara! And my clan is MacNamara!”
She hurtled down on top of MacHeath’s back. There was the sound of a bone cracking and a terrible howl of pain. He tried to rise but his hind legs flopped out behind him. But still he had his fangs and his front legs with their claws. He managed to roll over and clawed at her chest. He missed but opened a gash on her shoulder. This maddened her.
“I shall not stop till I finish you, MacHeath.” She tore at his face. This time he howled not with pain but with unleashed fury and with his broad chest and still mighty shoulders managed to fling her off.
Namara stepped back a few paces. He tried to drag himself toward her. “I’ll take your other eye now, MacHeath!”
“No. Never, she wolf from hell.” His voice was guttural and raspy with pain and rage.
Although MacHeath’s back was broken, his hind legs useless, he still dragged himself toward her. He was dying, she knew it. She had been on enough hunts to know when the end was near. The newly fallen snow had turned red with his blood. She came closer. There was a sudden fear that iced his eye and then a melting, aggrieved look as he finally laid back his ears and twisted his head into a submissive position and exposed his throat for Namara’s fangs.
“Namara,” he whispered.
He expects lochinvyrr? This cur, this wretched cur expects lochinvyrr?
Namara glared at him now. “You call me Namara, and you expect in return the dignity of lochinvyrr. You cannot give me permission to kill you. I take your life not because it is worthy, not because I respect you, but because I must destroy you!”
“But, Namara—lochinvyrr…” MacHeath was gasping now. “Without lochinvyrr I will not find the spirit trail to the star wolf.”
“I do not plan to eat you. You now offer up your life to me as if it is something of value. You who have never honored any code now wish for lochinvyrr.” Namara laughed harshly. “I’ll give you lochinvyrr!” she howled as she raised her forepaw and clawed out his remaining eye. Blood spurted from the socket.
“I am blind, I am blind!” he whispered in despair. The bleeding empty socket flinched in one last desperate attempt to lock his eyeless eyes with his killer.
“You are dead!” she said quietly, and sunk her teeth into his neck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Scimitar and the Ember
“What’s that?” said a tipsy Great Gray Owl as he looked up from his perch on the grog tree.
“Looks like a comet!”
“Naw, ish ish too clossh for a comet,” the Great Horned Owl slurred.
An Elf Owl, who had an astounding capacity for bingle juice despite his miniscule proportions, suddenly blurted out, “It’s the scimitar of H’rath!”
“His scroom! King H’rath’s scroom!” an owl gasped and tipped off his perch plummeting to the ground, recovering just in time.
“It’s NOT a scroom!” the Elf Owl shouted. “It’s the queen, Queen Siv…Queen of the N’yrthghar.”
“Oh, Great Glaux,” a large Snowy gasped and then belched loudly as Siv settled at the top of the tree. “Your Majesty!” The Snowy attempted a curtsy but sprawled and then only succeeded in hanging upside down on the limb.
Siv held the scimitar high so they could all see it. “Grog seller, cut off the bingle juice. Sober up, all of you!” A sudden silence fell on the tree. A sorry lot, she thought, but they’re all I’ve got to work with.
“I am no scroom. My husband, good King H’rath, is dead. But we have a son and his name is Hoole,” Siv spoke in a firm voice.
“Aaaaaaaah.” The sound rolled through the tree.
“I know that many of you here fought with King H’rath and were part of the old H’rathian troops. I am your queen and I now come for your help. The rest of you are perhaps from elsewhere and I am not your queen, but still I ask for your help in fighting for a just cause. Hoole is in danger now, grave danger. Lord Arrin and an elite unit of hagsfiends are flying this way and on to Beyond the Beyond, where they plan to destroy young Hoole, heir to King H’rath.” There were more gasps.
“The hagsfiends are coming to the Southern Kingdoms?” a Burrowing Owl asked.
“Yes. This is the brutal truth. Furthermore, Lord Arrin has made significant advances in the N’rythghar. He is within striking distance of capturing the Glacier Palace. We are losing the war, and we shall definitely lose if he captures or kills young Prince Hoole. I know you owls of the Southern Kingdoms. You are good owls. You feel with your gizzards and think with your brains. You are compassionate, smart owls and would never rely on the cheap yet deadly art of nachtmagen that has beguiled so many. Together, we stand for decency, compassion, and honor. So I ask now who will join me in the fight—this battle that is a battle against tyranny, a war against nachtmagen. This a war to save the very soul of owlkind.”
“I will!…We will!…Hail,” a huge cry went up. “Siv, our queen, lives. Our queen lives!” Never had the grog seller seen so many of his customers sober up so quickly.
The news that the queen was alive swept through the forests of Tyto, of Silverveil, of the Shadows, Ambala, and even as far as the Desert of Kuneer. With the scimitar of H’rath clutched in her talons, Siv led a ragtag company of veteran owls made up of hireclaws and finally the H’rathian troops, which Joss had gathered as soon as he received word from Svenka. Joss and an old lieutenant, Lord Rathnik, flanked her on either side, protecting her from adverse winds and making
her flight easier. But she steadfastly refused to have any owl fly in front of her, which would have eased her flight considerably. She knew that no leader worth her gizzard went into battle anyplace but in the front line. And on her tail flew none other than the Snow Rose, who had given up her gadfeather ways for a short time and joined the order of the Glauxian Sisters. She soon found that meditation was not a vocation for her. So when she heard of Siv’s mission she decided that the time had come to put aside meditation, wandering, and singing alike, and she set forth. For years, she had flown hither and yon not knowing precisely why or where she was going. So she joined a group heading south and when they met up with the swelling troops heading for the Beyond, she nearly staggered in flight, in a manner most embarrassing for a former gadfeather, when she discovered that their leader, Queen Siv, was in fact her old friend Elka!
They flew fast on a route that Joss was certain would avoid an encounter with Lord Arrin. They entered the Beyond at dawn and then flew to the ring of volcanoes where Siv knew Grank and Fengo often stayed. She asked that the hireclaws and the H’rathian troops except for one unit, the Ice Regiment of H’rath, wait behind. She wanted to greet her son and Grank alone and to prepare them with her news.
As she approached the volcanoes, she gasped. It was twilight, or tween time as owls called it, that time between the last drop of the day’s sun and the first shadows of the night, but never in her life had she seen such a beautiful tween time. The sky was beginning to purple as the sun sank beneath the horizon and soaring up against the purple of the sky were the fiery reds and oranges of the volcanoes’ flames. All five were now erupting. And between the towering flames a lone owl flew, flew so magnificently it took her breath away. “It’s Hoole,” she whispered to herself. His face was aglow as he caught one bonk coal after another.