“As most of you know, a small delegation from Ambala arrived three nights ago. They told us of a loose confederation of owls from the Shadow Forest, Silverveil, and, I believe, Tyto that came to meet there. It seems these owls are most interested in weather interpretation, as well as search-and-rescue techniques, and we felt…”
Coryn had hardly finished the explanation of the trip he and the Band had planned when there was a great rustling of feathers in the parliament chamber and a half dozen voices began murmuring, “The ember. What about the ember?”The discussion dragged on with frequent interjections of “What about the ember?”
They’re obsessed! thought Soren. And he believed if he had to hear those four words one more time, he would shree as only a Barn Owl could shree.
For perhaps the third time Soren made his argument that there was no safer place for the ember than right here in the tree. It was then suggested that Bubo make another cask for the ember.
“What’s wrong with the one ye got?” Bubo, burly Great Horned Owl and chief blacksmith of the tree, growled.
“Is it strong enough. Bubo?” Elvan, a handsome Great Gray Owl and member of the navigation chaw, spoke up.
“Of course, it’s strong enough. Fired with the best bonk coals around. Them coals are straight out of Dunmore. Caught on the fly they were, by Ruby over there.”
Five volcanoes comprised what the wolves of the Beyond called the Sacred Ring, and the one named Hrath’ghar was the volcano from which Coryn had retrieved the ember. Ruby, a powerful Short-eared Owl known for her extraordinary powers of flight and her near legendary colliering skills, had caught four fantastic bonk coals on a trip back to the Beyond shortly after Coryn had arrived at the tree. “I don’t know what more you could ask for!” Bubo fumed. His exceedingly bushy ear tufts twitched, and his eyes showed a touch of rancor. Although most Great Horaeds had rather somber plumage composed of dusty browns and dark grays. Bubo’s feathers were shot through with deep rusty reds and bronzes. It was almost as if they had taken on the hues of those bonk fires he nurtured. His coloring fit his temperament. Quick to flare, Bubo did not suffer fools gladly. He seemed on the brink now of doing just that as he looked at Elyan, for he suspected that a fool perched across from him.
“Surely the container is not the only security problem.” Gemma, a Whiskered Screech, spoke up now.“What other problems are there?” Bubo asked, feeling that there might be more than one fool in the parliament hollow.
Gemma straightened up and looked down her beak. “As my esteemed late kins-owl, Ezylryb …”
Ezylryb? She’s comparing herself to Ezylryb! Soren thought.
“… always said, ‘Vigilance is its own reward.’” Both Bubo and Soren looked confused. Soren, for one, could not remember Ezylryb ever saying such a thing. “It is my feeling that we not only need a much stronger container but that the coal must be under constant surveillance. A guard must be set up, a dedicated guard, chosen from the most trustworthy Guardians. An elite guard, the - how shall I put it?- Guardians of the Guardians? I am sure Ezylryb …”Otulissa blinked her eyes and twisted her head toward Soren.
“With all due respect, Gemma, you’re no Ezylryb.” The words were not Otulissa’s but Bubo’s. There was a sharp inhalation of breaths. The owls of the parliament blinked rapidly.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that,” Gemma replied huffily.
“I mean you are no Ezylryb. He wouldn’t put up with any of this nonsense about Guardians of Guardians, and some of us being more trustworthy than others -“
“I am sure that all of us here have only one thought in mind: the safety and well-being of the ember,” Gemma interrupted. “Ezylryb valued vigilance. I mean, it’s not a job that you would want to hand over to nest-maids.”
“What!” Soren almost barked. He swiveled his head around. “I’ve never heard anything so absurd! What in the name of Glaux is not trustworthy about our nest-maid snakes, pray tell? We trust them with our very lives when we are sick or wounded. And you suggest we should not trust them with the ember? I’d wager they are as vigilant as they are skillful in the medical arts. And let us not forget their finely tuned sensibilities. If anything would go awry with the ember, or an ill-intentioned owl approached, it would be the nest-maids to first sound the alarm,”
A wizened elderly Northern Saw-whet raised a shaky talon to speak,“Fleemus has the perch!” Digger shouted. “Let the good owl speak,”
Fleemus, the doctor and healer of the great tree, lifted an arthritic wing. ”When I first arrived at this great tree many years ago, there was much of which to be fearful. There were the Pure Ones, as well as those thugs from St. Aggie’s - with whom Soren and Gylfie were all too well-acquainted, When I began my practice here in the tree, only matron and her small contingent of nurse owls were trained as field medics for battle. Since that time, however, we have an entire new guild of nest-maid snakes whose sole focus is the medical arts. If you can’t, trust a nest-maid snake, you can’t trust anyone,” He paused. Then in a small, creaky voice, he added, “I think all this talk about security is nonsense, nothing more than a pile of racdrops.” He muttered something in a strange language.
“What was that?” Gemma asked. “What did you just say?”“Krakish, from the Northern Kingdoms from which both your old kins-owl Ezylryb and I came. Indeed, it was the language of the famous sagas of the Northern Kingdoms, The History of the Wars of the Ice Claws by Lyze of Kiel.”
“And what does this Lyze of Kiel have to say?” Gemma lifted her beak in a most haughty manner.
“Fyrndronken nyghot ig fyrnsfris”
“‘And for those of us not fluent in Krakish?” Gemma pressed. A sneer tinged her words.
“We have nothing to fear except fear itself,” Fleemus replied. There was a murmuring among the owls. Soren and Gyifie were watching Gemma carefully. They sensed what was about to happen.
“And who is this so-called historian? ‘Lyze of Kiel’ you called him?” She could barely contain the contempt in her voice, and had Soren and Gylfie not known what the answer to her question was, their gizzards would have twitched in sympathy for old Fleemus.
“Why, Gemma,” Fleemus said with a wicked sparkle suddenly infusing his rheumy old eyes. “Lyze of Kiel? You don’t know him? Why, he’s your old kins-owl, Ezylryb. He wrote these histories after the Ice Talon Wars ended, and before he came to the great tree. He spent years with Octavia at the Glauxian Brothers retreat on their island in the Bitter Sea, writing under the pen name Lyze of Kiel. Invert the letters and they spell Ezyl. And, as we all know, Ezyl, our dear departed ryb, came from the Bay of Kiel in the Everwinter Sea.”
“Apparently not all of us,” someone whispered as Gemma wilfed to half her size,Soren winked at Gylfie and both the owls silently saluted the dear old healer who, many years after Ezylryb, had come from that same Glauxian retreat. Otulissa now turned to Gemma. “The books are in the library and are part of my standard curriculum for the young’uns, if you’d care to read them.”
Several owls, perhaps a dozen, began to squabble again. The words “ember security,” “tree vigilance,” and “island protection” threaded through the air. Soren exchanged a quick glance with Coryn. The parliament seemed evenly divided. There were Fleemus and the Band in addition to Otulissa; Sorens sister. Eglantine; Ruby; Martin-in short, the renowned and remarkable Chaw of Chaws, a group that had no equal in terms of fighting skills, felt that the ember needed no special guard. The rest of the parliament thought otherwise. These ten owls seemed stunned by this new obsession with security and fear concerning the ember. Soren in particular wondered if it had been a mistake that they had not read the ancient legends aloud to the entire parliament. But Otulissa had given three extensive lectures on them and the “complicated goodness,” as she had called it, of the ember. Perhaps, Soren thought, she should have called it complicated “dangers” rather than “goodness,” But she had certainly warned of the pitfalls of overreliance on the ember’s magic.
&nb
sp; “‘Here! here!” Coryn flapped his wings and swooped off his perch. He flew up to Gemma and Elyan, who were the most obstreperous of all the owls, and glared at them. The hollow fell silent, “I shall not have you all talking at once. Dissent is welcome in this hollow, but I am hearing insults as well. You are talking about protecting something, the ember that many of you feel will somehow become vulnerable if I leave the great tree on this flight. I do not want you to feel uncomfortable in my absence. So, if it will make you feel better, yes, protect it. But there is no one owl or creature in this tree who is more trustworthy than another. The notion of an inner group of Guardians - Guardians of Guardians - is contrary to all
that we value. If there is to be a watch - and I prefer to call it a watch, not a guard - it must have a representative from every chaw and each guild of the nest-maid snakes - those of the harp, the weavers, the lace-makers, the new medical and nursing guild, and so on.”
“And how shall this … this … watch be chosen?” Gemma asked..Coryn blinked. “The ember is in my hollow. I have spent more time in its presence than any other living creature. I think that it is only appropriate that I appoint those who will be perching in my hollow.” Soren was proud of Coryn’s quick and firm response. Coryn paused. “Now listen to me, owls, and listen hard.” He blinked. There was a new sternness in his voice that went beyond the firmness they had just heard. Was it threatening? Some of the owls wilfed a bit. “When I first came here, I said to you that I had survived the ordeal of my upbringing with Nyra because I believed in the legends, the truths of courage and loyalty and of goodness and mercy. Those, indeed, were the truths of the popular legends that you all listened to as young’uns. The even older legends of which you have heard Otulissa speak held other truths. And one of them was that we must not become slaves of the ember. Fear enslaves. Remember that. And I command that the ancient legends, the ones that Ezylryb directed me to read with Soren, now be placed in the library and read by all of you. If you read these legends, you will learn respect and not fear. With knowledge comes freedom - freedom to think, freedom to reason. The ember and its magic have nothing to do with thinking and that is perhaps why it can be so dangerous.”
No one said another word as the owls flew out of the hollow.
CHAPTER FOURThe Band Takes Flight
The Band had gathered in Coryn’s hollow to discuss the “security of the ember.”
“No! It’s out of the question. I don’t want to be on some council for guarding this thing.” Otulissa tossed her head at the ember, which did seem to spit a few sparks in response to her disparaging tone. “I have too much to do. You know that new bunch in training for colliering is a feisty group. Great Glaux, Fritha is always just winging off, chasing embers that she has no business going after. She has no sense of playing her ground position, which is essentially what we rely on the Pygmy Owls for. And then, of course, there are my chores in the library. No, I will not ‘ember-sit’ or whatever you call it.”
“Well, I’d appoint Eglantine, but she’s my aunt and I’m afraid that wouldn’t appear, well … quite proper,” Coryn replied.
“What about Audrey? You could do without her for a bit, couldn’t you, Otulissa?” Soren asked.
“Audrey? Well, I suppose so. Audrey might even enjoy it. She might consider it an honor - bless her simple heart.”
“Not so with Octavia,” Gylfie said.“Oh, Great Glaux,” Otulissa churred. “Octavia would think the whole thing totally yoicks.”
“Madame Plonk?” Digger offered.
“Now that’s an interesting idea. It might appeal to Madame Plonk.” Madame Plonk was the great singer of the tree, quite vain about many things, and the group thought it might be just her thing to serve on this ember watch.
It did not take Coryn long to come up with his suggested list for the watch. Ultimately, it was composed of twenty owls, some members of parliament like Gemma, Elyan, and Yeena, a Barn Owl, a half dozen nest-maid snakes, and the rest pulled from the various chaws. It was a well-balanced group in everyone’s estimation. There were no hurt feelings, and no one, aside from Otulissa, refused to serve.
And so at First Black, the young king and the Band rose in the night on a snappish wind that swirled down from the north, and headed out across the Sea of Hoolemere on a course toward Ambala. The shadows of the five owls were printed against the almost full-shine moon with Coryn flying in the lead position, flanked on one side by Soren and on the other by Twilight. Gylfie flew just behind Twilight’s starboard wing, her favorite position as navigator, for she was sucked along effortlessly by the powerful Great Gray’s forward thrust and could concentrate on the stars rather than flying. Digger brought up the rear.
“Two points south by southeast of the bottom star, port talon of the Golden Talons,” Gylfie called out.Soren felt his gizzard sing. How long ago it had been since he and Gylfie had flown as young’uns in those early navigation practices with Strix Struma? One of her favorite exercises was for them to trace with their wing tips the outline of the Golden Talons constellation, which shone in the winter sky at its brightest just this time of year. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Now here was Gylfie, the head of the navigation chaw and regarded as one of the most brilliant celestial navigators in the kingdoms of owls.
But in owl years they weren’t that old. Yes, older than they were back then, but still strong and fit. Soren knew they must show the rest of the owl world their wonderful king and bring with them the skills and knowledge that they had learned at the great tree. Coryn was right. Knowledge was freedom and no one could be enslaved if they dared to really think. If good things came out of this flight through the owl kingdoms they would be to dispel the myth of the ember and to help owls believe in themselves and their own power of thought. They would learn what could be accomplished through the disciplines that had been so highly developed at the great tree: colliering, navigating by the stars, and the science of interpreting weather. Soren had a name for all of this knowledge and it had nothing to do with magic. He called it the “glories of common sense.”
A seagull flew up to them. “Hey, Twilight!”Sammy!” Twilight exclaimed. ‘“Haven’t seen you in an age.”
“Gotta great wet poop joke for you,” the seagull said.
”Oh, dear! Should I close my ear slits?” Gylfie asked.
“Oh, sure!” Twilight flicked his head toward the little Elf Owl. “We know how delicate you are! Who told that joke to that snooty great blue heron back in Silverveil and nearly got a fish thrown in her face?” Twilight turned his head to the seagull. “So what’s the joke, Sammy?”
“What’s the difference between a wet pooper and a pellet yarper?”
The Band looked at one another and exchanged glances. “I don’t know. I give up,” Twilight said.
The seagull had already started to laugh at his own joke and could hardly finish it.” “It’s a matter of splatter!” the seagull screamed. He was now completely convulsed with laughter and ricocheted off the edge of a thermal draft into a cold trough and was gone
“Glaux, he barely made it to the punch line!“Gylfie exclaimed.They were all laughing now. Luckly Otulissa isn’t here, Soren thought. She did not like what she termed “elimination humor.” She always became very upset when they were out on weather-interpretation chaws and encountered seagulls, who were the coarsest of birds. But this rough humor was just what coryn needed. He needed to good company of the band he would relax, join in their easy, joyful camaraderie, and those terrible thoughts that haunted him would pass. If they had never read the legends, soren had wondered lately, would Coryn have become so fixated on his past? Perhaps even more interesting, soren wondered if coryn had ever had any carefree days when he was being raised by Nyra, Did he ever have a friend as a youn’un? Coryn had once mentioned an owl - a Sooty named Phillip But he never wanted to talk about Phillip. It seeined to make him extremely sad. The Pure Ones were known to discriminate against any owl who was not a tyro alba. sooties-although a kind of Barn O
wl-occupied the lowest perch in the world of the Pure Ones. so this phillip’s life was bound to have been a hard one.
Soren’s life had not been an easy one, either, alter his fall from the family hollow in the forest of Tyto. But it would have been unspeakably worse if he had not met up with Gylfie, Twilight, and Digger, The Band had become his family when he had none. They had become one another’s reasons for living, flying on through obstacle after obstacle to reach the tree so long ago. In truth, Soren had learned as much from Digger, Gylfie, and Twilight as from any book. And he must not forget ‘Ezylryb. just as there was a Chaw of Chaws - the Band, plus Otulissa,Martin, Ruby, and Eglantine- there was also a ryb of rybs: Ezylryb.
CHAPTER FIVETell it! Tell it!
A contrary wind had risen, and holding the course for Ambala was tiring after their crossing of the Hoolemere Sea. Dawn was approaching and so the five owls decided to head for Silverveil, one of the most delightful forests in all the owl kingdoms, with its lush meadows sprinkled with wildflowers in the summer and its forests of old and stately trees. Silverveil was the place where Coryn had first begun to understand what the color green really was. His entire childhood until the time he had escaped from Nyra and the Pure Ones had been spent in the barren, rocky scrub landscape of the canyonlands, which were bereft of anything resembling a tree, let alone green leaves or spruce or pine needles.
Within the forest of Silverveil, there was a pocket of green splendor called Blythewold that was as pretty as any place on Earth. Soren and Pelli had named one of their daughters Blythe after this place. And it was here that Coryn had lived for a long time before summoning his