But now he felt a horrible tearing within him. He hated making those battle claws as much as he loved Grank—Grank, who had taught him so much. Yet he knew that he himself was not at all like Grank. Am I not of a more contempletive nature? Am I not more like these brothers? And yet…Theo paused in his deliberations. And yet, I am devoted to Grank and to dear little Hoole. How could I think of abandoning them for the brothers?
But the thought would not leave him entirely. Not for a long time, he knew, and perhaps never. Still, he must get on with the business of hunting down a plump vole for Hoole, and he could not do it here near the chanting brothers. He must do nothing to betray his and Grank’s and Hoole’s presence on this same island. Although the brothers were no threat, Grank had been adamant. “No one must know we are here!” How many times had he said that? The N’yrthghar was vast, yet word traveled fast in the bird world. Grank would be distressed when he heard that the brothers had set up camp on this island. But they could not move. Not until Hoole learned to fly. And they would probably have to shut down their fires. There must be no trace of smoke coming from their end of the island. Of course, the brothers might have already spotted it, for all Theo knew. In any case, he would now have to go elsewhere for a vole.
“Hello there, little one!” Theo said as he flew into the hollow with a plump vole in his talons.
“Umm-yum! May I lick the blood first?”
“What do you say to Theo, Hoole?”
“Oh, thanks, thanks.”
Grank stopped himself just before saying, “A prince must be gracious to both vassal and servant.” It still wasn’t safe to tell this chick his true heritage at this point. Nothing would be more dangerous.
“Hey, check my right shoulder, Theo. Do you think I’ve budged any since you’ve been gone?”
“I’ve only been gone a little while, Hoole. Nothing happens that quickly.” Grank was observing Theo and could tell almost immediately that something was disturbing the young Great Horned Owl. He would wait until dawn when Hoole would fall into the thick sleep of a chick with a full belly and tightly packed gizzard. Then they could talk.
Hoole’s little body gave a tremendous shake as the bones, fur, and teeth of the vole he had just eaten lurched their way down to the second stomach, his gizzard. A drowsy, beatific look crept into his eyes. He yawned widely and then nestled into the down of his sleeping nest. “Tell me one more time, Uncle Grank, when is the soonest you think I can fly?”
“I told you, young’un. It usually takes Spotted Owls at least forty-two days before they can fly after hatching out.”
“How long ago did I hatch out?”
“Barely ten.”
“So is ten a far way from forty-two?”
“Go to sleep, Hoole.”
“But I don’t understand what forty-two is exactly.”
“I’ll explain tomorrow at twilight when you wake up.”
Finally, the little owl gave a huge yawn and fell sound asleep.
“So, we are no longer alone,” Grank said wearily, and clamped his beak shut. The first streaks of the dawn had spilled into the dark hollow, suffusing it with a rosy cheerful warmth—except Grank was far from cheerful over this news. “Well, we certainly can’t leave until Hoole can fly. That’s at least a moon cycle away and even then his flight skills won’t be good enough nor his wings strong enough to go far.”
“Look, Grank, I don’t want to sound like a fool but, really, think about it. Sooner or later someone was bound to come here. We should be thankful it’s the Glauxian Brothers. They are owls of great devotion. They would never betray our secret. For Glaux’s sake, they take vows of silence. And although they hate war, they also hate Lord Arrin. And they had great faith in King H’rath and Queen Siv. They would do nothing to endanger the heir.”
“They must not know that he is the heir. Never! No one must know that.” Grank paused and thought a moment. “I know what you say is true, and I don’t for one minute doubt their loyalty or their devotion. But you know as well as I do how word travels. They are bound to find us before we can get away, and even if we appear just what we are—two owls with an orphan chick—word will get around that there is a chick without a mum being tended on the island.”
“The brothers will hardly ever leave the island. You know how they are. Too busy studying, meditating.”
“‘Hardly’ is not never.” Grank sighed again. “Well, I suppose the first thing we should do is damp down the fires in the forge. If they haven’t spotted our smoke by now, they certainly will soon. So you better get on with that. Be sure to keep the embers healthy so we can take them wherever we’ll be going and start the fires anew.”
“Yes, sir,” Theo said.
He flew down and began to damp the fires in the slot of the immense boulder that they had used as a forge. The slot, with its natural updraft and slightly slanting walls, had proven to be perfect for creating intensely hot fires for the increasingly refined metalwork with which Theo had been experimenting. But now as he shut down these fires, he wondered why he was protecting the coals. Grank said new fires in some new place. But new fires for what? To make more battle claws? Or perhaps they were just for Grank’s firesight. Grank was a flame reader. He could see things in fires that no other birds could. Things that were happening elsewhere—or were yet to happen. Firesight was as valuable to Grank as any nachtmagen.
Once again, Theo began to think about the Glauxian Brothers and their quiet scholarly lives. It was said that the Glauxian Brothers had learned how to inscribe things on pieces of special ice known as issen bhago. But these “bhags,” as they were called, were heavy to transport. So they had decided to transcribe the bhags into books with pages written on the cured hides of the small animals. So now, before eating, they skinned whatever rabbit or rat or mouse they ate. It was an odd diet not having the fur and the skin, but the brothers were accustomed to making sacrifices.
Theo thought of all this as he smothered the fires while carefully putting aside the live coals in small, specially forged iron boxes that would keep them hot.
And for the first time in the months since Grank had been on the island, smoke did not curl up into the air above the tree and the hollow where he lived.
“Inside, Hoole! Immediately!” Grank said.
“But I just got out here!” Hoole was perched on the tip of a branch. “You promised, Uncle Grank, that today would be the day for branching. My first flight feathers, remember? At last I have budged them.”
“Back in the hollow,” Theo said sharply.
This stunned Hoole. They never spoke this way to him. What had he done wrong—already? All he ever thought about was flying and now it was to be his first time and they hadn’t even let him out on a branch! He must have messed up. But how? He poked his beak out a tiny bit.
“In!” Grank hissed.
Hoole had caught a glimpse of something flying overhead. He heard a stirring in the thinner branches high in the tree. Was some owl actually landing here? Incredible! Except for Grank and Theo, he hadn’t ever seen any other owls.
Of course, the damping down of the fires had been in vain. Theo had smothered the fires only three days before, and now a brother was arriving at their campsite.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Encounter
It was useless trying to conceal Hoole in the hollow. The Glauxian Brother, a Boreal Owl who called himself Brother Berwyck, was a burly jolly bird. Not only had he spotted Grank and Theo, but he had seen Hoole peeking out of the hollow.
“Now, that’s a fine young lad. And just got your flight feathers, eh? Try any branching yet?”
“I was just about to.” Disappointment flooded Hoole’s eyes.
“Oh, and then I came along and spoiled all the fun. Well, why don’t you give it a try, young’un.”
It was hard not to like Berwyck and even harder to be suspicious of such a gregarious and glad-spirited owl. So after instructions from all three of them, Hoole began to branch. He stepped t
entatively off the larger branch to a smaller one just below. Then another and another without the merest trace of hesitation. Soon, he was going for the wider-spaced branches, feeling with delight that split second when there was nothing but air between him and the ground.
“I say, you’ve got yourself a fine lad, there. Going to be a real flier, that son of yours.”
Should I correct him? Grank thought. But before he could even think of a reply, Hoole said, “He’s my uncle. Right, Uncle Grank?” This startled Grank for he had never told Hoole what had become of his parents or that he was not exactly his real uncle. He had always told him “just call me Uncle Grank.” As far as Grank knew, Hoole had no real sense of what a mum or da was, or a son for that matter, as opposed to a nephew.
“Yes, that’s right, Hoole. I am your uncle.” Then he gave a quick look to Brother Berwyck and whispered, “Sad story.”
“Oh, yes,” Berwyck whispered back. “So many chicks have lost parents in this fool war.”
Hoole was too busy trying the latest branching tricks to pay any attention to this grown-up talk.
While Hoole continued his branching practice under Theo’s watchful eye, Grank and Berwyck talked. Berwyck told Grank that he had seen the smoke some days before but hadn’t had time to come explore its source until now.
“Oh, yes…well, I keep some live coals about,” Grank was explaining. “Harvested them from a forest fire in the Southern Kingdoms some time back.”
“You collect coals, eh?” Berwyck responded with a puzzled look.
“Er…uh, yes, I do. Funny little habit I picked up. I find them amusing.”
“Amusing?” Berwyck lifted the dark feather tufts above his eyes. “Curious.”
“Yes, they are curious…or rather, I’m curious…er…uh…yes. I’m a bit…” Grank was no good in situations like this. And although it wasn’t outright lying, he wasn’t much of a fibber, either. He knew that this Boreal Owl was a fine and honest owl. He hated being devious with such a fellow.
“Well,” Brother Berwyck said, “maybe someday you will visit us at our retreat at the other end of the island and show us some of your amusing coals. You know we are determined to establish our retreat as a center for learning. Indeed, curiosity, in the best sense of the word, is what we as brothers celebrate. Everyone thinks of us as rather dull creatures, no fun at all, so much time spent in silence. But it is a loud silence for our heads are always buzzing with questions about the natural world. Yes, indeed, we would be most curious about your preoccupation with coals and fire.”
“Well, perhaps someday, but for now I’ve got my talons full with this young’un.”
“Oh, yes. I can see that.”
It did not take long for Hoole to learn how to fly. In fact, it took him a spectacularly short time. He had begun his branching practice in the fragile lavender twilight and by the time the moon rose into the blackness of the night, Hoole was flying. They had made a lovely First Flight ceremony for him. Theo had tracked down a plump rabbit that Hoole tore into with great gusto. The white spots around his beak as well as the spots on his breast were now all red with blood. It was the first time he had ever eaten rabbit and he loved it. The fur was much finer than that of mice or vole and tickled pleasantly on its course to his gizzard. They had sung the First Flight song and then, as was the custom, took the snowy puff of the rabbit’s tail, which they had not eaten, and threaded it into Hoole’s head feathers. He was then required to fly once around the tree and return. Hoole felt a little bit stupid with the rabbit tail on his head and wished it had been a mouse or better yet a fox tail that would have streamed out behind him. But he knew not to complain. Besides, he was simply too thrilled with this wonderful new sensation of flight. He felt as though he had stepped into another world. And, in fact, he had. He was part of the sky. As he sailed off into the moon-streaked night, he felt sorry for all those poor wingless creatures that were bound to the earth.
“Watch this, Uncle Grank! Watch, Theo!” Hoole carved a perfect turn above the forge where several embers now glowed and the first flames rose up since the fires had been dampened three nights before. There was no sense in quitting the fires now that Berwyck knew all about them and the “curiosity” of Grank.
It seemed to Grank and Theo that Hoole never wanted to quit flying. Night after night he practiced and strengthened his newly fledged wings with their lovely tawny-edged flight feathers. Just like his mum’s, Grank thought wistfully and wondered where Siv was. Siv, mother of Hoole, wife of the late King H’rath, friend of his own youth, and yes, he must admit it, love of his life. He was happy that Hoole had not asked him anything more about “parents” after Berwyck had referred to him as Grank’s son. In truth, Hoole was too intoxicated with his newfound powers to contemplate such questions. All the lad wanted to do was fly, fly, fly. And when Grank or Theo called him home to the hollow, as the dark of the night thinned into the gray of dawn, he would always say, “Please, just five more minutes.” He had no idea what five minutes was exactly but it sounded like a good long time to skim across the silk of the night, to catch a bit of a rogue wind or a warm draft from the fires and soar upward in effortless flight. Oh, how he loved flying!
In addition to lessons in flying and hunting, there were other things of a less practical nature that Grank taught Hoole—less practical but certainly necessary for a young prince, even if that prince did not yet know that he was of royal blood. Grank began to give Hoole short lectures on the code of honor that Hoole’s grandfather had established for noblemen and their squires and knights, on and off the battlefield.
“One never attacks outside the field of battle, Hoole, and one never attacks an unarmed owl.”
Hoole nodded thoughtfully.
“An owl who violates this code violates himself in the end. He endangers those seeds of Ga’ that reside in every owl’s gizzard.”
“I don’t understand what Ga’ is, Uncle Grank.”
“Ga’ is difficult to explain, my boy. But I shall try.”
“Are they really seeds?”
“No, I don’t believe so. And if they were, they would be so infinitesimally small, one could never see them even if one could look straight into a gizzard. Ga’ means great spirit; a spirit that somehow contains not just all that is noble but all that is humble as well. It flourishes in very few owls.”
“Only in owls?” Hoole asked.
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Have you ever known an owl with Ga’, Uncle Grank?”
Grank looked hard at Hoole. “Not yet, lad. It’s very rare.” But his eyes grew misty as if he were remembering something. Only to himself would Grank admit that yes, he had met an owl that he suspected had great Ga’ and that owl was Siv, Hoole’s mother.
Unbeknownst to either Grank or Theo, Hoole did not confine his flying to just the night or the closest trees. Often after the two older owls were sound asleep, Hoole would sneak out of the hollow. Then one day, when the sun was the highest in the sky and he was returning to the hollow, Hoole spied something in the flames that licked up from the forge. What was it? It was real but not real. He could feel it. He could almost see it dancing on the edges of the flames. His gizzard clinched and for the first time in his short life he realized that there was something he missed. Something he missed terribly! But what could it be? He lighted down and peered harder into the flames.
CHAPTER FIVE
Yearning
Siv watched Svenka playing with her two cubs, First and Second. Polar bears waited a long time to give their cubs real names. Svenka had explained the reason for this was that so often they died. Names made living creatures more lovable—or so the bears believed. Siv did not believe this for one minute. She had seen Svenka with her cubs almost since birth and knew that Svenka had always loved them, named or not named.
The cubs were using Svenka as a slide, slipping off her back into the water. This was how they learned to swim. “Look at me, Auntie!” One of them called out now just before s
he splashed into the water.
“No, watch me, Auntie,” the other bellowed.
Siv looked at the cubs and their mother with such yearning in her gizzard she thought it would break. She knew that at this very time, her own chick must be learning how to fly, or perhaps he already knew how. And she had missed it! She hoped that Grank had given him a good First Flight ceremony. Then she chided herself immediately. Of course he did. How could I ever doubt dear Grank? She shook herself a bit. She didn’t want to appear sad in front of Svenka’s cubs. It was a bright sparkling day on the water. Spring was coming. The ice was beginning to clear and this made it safer for her, because hagsfiends would not come around when there was so much open water. Furthermore, she sensed that Lord Arrin did not travel far without his posse of hags surrounding him. But at the same time, the iceberg that had been her home for months now was melting, shrinking smaller with each day’s sun. Soon she would have to look for a new refuge. If only she knew where her chick was. But even if she did know, would she dare to go? It simply would be too dangerous. Then again, she thought, what if she could find him? She knew it was a male. Grank had told her so. He had seen it with that special vision of his that could read light and fire. Yes, what if I really do find him? Then what? I cannot reveal myself as his mother. It would be too dangerous.