“The Others?” Soren asked.
“Oh, you know about the Others do you?” the smith asked.
“Just a little, from the books in the library when I was reading about castles and churches and barns. Being a Barn Owl, it interested me. I just know that they were creatures from long, long ago, and they weren’t owls or birds or like any other animals we’ve ever seen.”
“That they warn’t. Did you know that not only did they not have wings or feathers, but that they had two long sticks for legs that were just for walking.”
“That’s all?” Digger said. This, of course, interested him, being a Burrowing Owl who walked as well as he flew. But he certainly preferred having the option to do either one. “How did they get along?”
“Not that well, apparently. They’re gone now. In addition to no feathers, they didn’t have fur.”
“Well, no wonder they didn’t last,” Twilight snorted.
“Rocks, they had rocks,” the Snowy said.
“Rocks? What can you do with a rock?” Twilight muttered.
“Plenty,” the Snowy replied. “They built with them—castles, walled gardens.”
“Why would anyone want to wall in a garden?” Digger asked, thinking of the lovely gardens that were planted around the Great Ga’Hoole Tree that seemed to meet up in a seamless way with the ferns and wildflowers of the forest.
“Don’t ask me,” the Snowy said.
The Snowy had begun to lay out some freshly killed voles and a couple of ground squirrels.
She chuckled to herself as if she had discovered something terribly amusing and a light drift of coal dust sprinkled down on her face.
“So it’s hard for you all to believe that I am the famous Madame Plonk’s sister, eh?”
“To put it mildly,” Gylfie replied.
“She’s a good soul but she’s very different from me. We were born, my sister and I, deep in the Northern Kingdoms, far beyond the Ice Narrows, on the eastern coast of the Everwinter Sea. Some say that is where Snowy Owls originated. But there were others up there. Your teacher Ezylryb came from an island near where I was born. And he’s a Screech Owl. Anyhow, there was always a lot of fighting up in those parts. Warring clans. The fiercest warriors came out of the region of the Everwinter Sea. My father and my mother being two of them. But despite their warlike ways, my parents were artists, and for generations the line of Plonk singers were renowned. For thousands of years in every community, in every kingdom, there has been a Plonk singer. But the singer for the Great Ga’Hoole Tree is an inherited position and it is given to only one Snowy in each generation—the one considered the finest. Well, that was my sister, Brunwella. I could have lived with that, but what I couldn’t live with was my stepmother.
“After my mum was killed in the Battle of the Ice Talons—the last battle in the War of the Ice Claws—my da found a new mate, a horrible old Snowy. She treated me like seagull splat. And, of course, fussed over my sister because my sister was going to be the singer for the great tree. I had to leave. Even Brunwella saw that it was impossible for me to continue in the hollow. My father, however, was besotted with this female. She could do no wrong. I wasn’t sure where to go. For some reason, I felt it was important for me not only to get as far away as possible from my family but to take up a whole new line of work. My voice wasn’t bad. But not nearly as good as that of most Plonks which, of course, meant it was a lot better than anyone else’s. But I wanted no part of it. And I wasn’t as lovely-looking as my sister. I was given to gray scale, which made for unsightly splotches where the feathers fell off. As a matter of fact, my stepmother used to call me ‘Splotch.’”
“How mean!” Gylfie said. “What is your real name?”
Will she say what it is? Soren thought. He looked at her closely.
“My true name?”
“Yes,” Gylfie said in a barely audible voice. It was as if she sensed she had ventured into forbidden territory.
“That is for me to know, and only me.”
But what about your sister? Soren thought. Doesn’t she know your true name? And what is the difference between a true name and a real name? Is there a difference?
“So, as I was saying, I was looking for something new and different. I really wanted to separate myself from the Plonks. My sister had been good to me, but my father seemed not to care. I really had no one else to turn to. So I just left. I flew about in the Northern Kingdoms for a year or more, and then I came upon Octavia. You know Oc-tavia, don’t you?”
“Of course,” they all cried.
“She’s Ezylryb’s and your sister’s nest-maid snake,” said Soren.
“Oh, she’s working for my sister now, is she? Well, she’s a good old soul. I, of course, met her before she was blind.”
The owls all gasped in disbelief.
“You mean,” said Gylfie, “she wasn’t born blind?”
“I had heard a rumor that she had not been born blind, but I really didn’t believe it. I thought all nest-maid snakes were born blind,” Soren said.
“They are—except for Octavia. Haven’t you noticed that she’s not rosy-scaled like the others?”
Soren had noticed and wondered about Octavia’s pale greenish-blue scales.
“But that’s a whole other story. It was Octavia who told me about a rogue smith on the island of Dark Fowl, a desolate place that is lashed constantly by ice storms and gales, rocky, not a tree, not a blade of grass. But this smith was supposed to be one of the most superb blacksmiths on earth. So I went there. I wanted to learn how to make battle claws. I wanted to avenge my mother’s death. I had a dream of making battle claws that would slice to shreds the clan that had killed my mum. I had the fire in my gizzard as they say. Smithing came naturally to me, more natural than singing, I’ll tell you.” She sighed and seemed to reflect happily for a moment. “And I did kill my stepmum with some magnificent claws I made.”
“You killed your stepmother?” Twilight had swollen up with excitement. Never having even known his own parents he had no romantic notions in general about them, and an evil stepmother set his gizzard to boiling. Then the Great Gray looked down at his talons in what Soren thought was a pathetic display of shyness—for shy was the last thing that Twilight was. “I don’t want you to think I’m a violent sort of bird.”
“Ha!” the other three owls laughed.
“Well, I’m not!” Twilight said stubbornly and blinked at his mates.
However, any one of them could see the Great Gray could hardly contain himself.
“But how’d you do it? Quick slice to the gullet? How? Talon to talon? Stab with the beak to the nether down?”
“I don’t care about how,” Soren interrupted. “But why? I mean, I know she was bad, but that bad?”
“She betrayed my father. Turned out she was a slipgizzle for the other clan. Had planned to marry him from the start—as soon as they got rid of Mum.”
“How did you learn this?” Digger asked.
“I had my ways. Working for a master rogue smith you find out a lot of things. All sorts come to you by the by.”
Digger looked at the coal-dusted Snowy carefully. “Did Octavia have something do with this? Or maybe—” But the blacksmith cut him off.
Cut Digger off too quickly, Soren observed. Then the rogue smith of Silverveil seemed to clam up. Oh, she was very hospitable, giving them the best parts of the voles and making sure that they had comfortable perches for the day.
Soren did have one more question for her but something kept him from asking it. He wondered, however, if the rogue smith of Silverveil thought that Metal Beak was in any way connected with Ezylryb’s disappearance. Soren wrestled with his question all through their daytime sleep and finally, just before First Black when he noticed that the Snowy was stirring, he decided he just had to ask.
He flew down to where the blacksmith was taking some coals from a niche in the wall to build up her forging fire.
“I knew you’d come and ask,” th
e Snowy Owl said. Soren blinked. “You want to know if Metal Beak had something to do with Ezylryb.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Never mind that,” she snapped. “The fact is I’m not sure, but Ezylryb, well, how to explain? Ezylryb has a past. He is a legend. He does have enemies.”
“Enemies?” This was unbelievable to Soren. Ezylryb never went into battle. This was a well-known fact at the great tree. He might be gruff, but he was the most nonviolent owl imaginable. How could such an owl have enemies? He didn’t even own battle claws. In fact, he once said he despised them. Thought the owl kingdoms were becoming much too dependent on them. “Give them books, give them tasty milkberry tarts, teach them to cook, teach them the ways of Ga’Hoole,” he had said to the owl parliament, “and every cantankerous owl will be on our side.” Ezylryb violent! It’s absurd.
“One last question,” Soren said.
“Yes?”
“Why do they call that owl Metal Beak?”
“He got half his face torn off in a battle. A rogue smith had to make him a mask and a new beak.”
Soren felt as if he might be sick.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Flint Mops
It’s the part about Octavia not being born blind that absolutely blows my gizzard,” Gylfie was saying.
“It’s the enemies thing for me,” Digger said. “It’s unbelievable that the rogue smith told Soren that Ezylryb has enemies, and that’s why Metal Beak might be connected to his disappearance.”
“I know,” Soren said, “that’s what gets me, too.”
They had returned to the great tree. No one seemed to have missed them and now, in their hollow, Gylfie, Twilight, Soren, and Digger were reviewing and telling Eglantine all they had learned from the rogue smith of Silverveil. They really weren’t sure if they had learned that much. They were, in truth, still quite mystified. Were they any closer to Metal Beak? Was there any chance of them actually being able to do something about the scrooms’ warning?
“Tell me about the rogue smith’s forge again?” This was about the fourth time Eglantine had asked. For some reason, she was fascinated by their description of this place. So Soren began once more to describe how the stones were stacked in walls, walls that the Snowy thought might have enclosed a garden.
“Did she say anything else?”
Twilight sighed as if he was extremely bored with this conversation, but Soren felt that answering Eglantine’s interminable questions was the least he could do for his little sister after making her stay back at the tree.
“What do you mean by anything else?”
“Did she say what it might have been other than a garden?”
“Well, now that I remember she actually did say that it could have been a walled garden that was part of a castle.”
“A castle!” Eglantine’s eyes blinked.
“You know, one of those things that the Others built.”
“Yes, I know…” Eglantine responded in a tremulous voice.
She suddenly seemed very agitated. “What’s wrong, Eglantine?” Soren asked.
“I’m not sure. It’s just that the way you described those stones, those walls remind me of something.”
Soren suddenly remembered that when Eglantine was still in her state of shock after her rescue and could not even recognize him, her own brother, that it was a colorful piece of isinglass, or mica, as it was also called, that had jolted Eglantine out of her numbed state. Mags, the magpie trader who sometimes came to the tree with her odd bits scavenged from various journeys, had brought the fragment. When someone had held the isinglass up to the moon, the thin, nearly translucent piece of stone had shimmered and, suddenly, Eglantine had started shaking and screaming, “The Place! The Place!” But no one could ever figure out quite what place she was talking about, and until now Soren hadn’t really thought about it that much. At the time, he hadn’t thought it really mattered. After all, his sister had recognized him and had quickly come around to her old self. But now, Soren wondered why his description of these walls reminded her of something. He hadn’t the slightest idea. He sent Gylfie down for some milkberry tea, thinking that it might calm Eglantine enough for her to get to sleep. He hated to see his sister so distraught.
But it was Gylfie, returning with a small flask of milkberry tea in her talons, who was truly distraught.
“We’ve been discovered!”
“What?” Soren almost shrieked. “What are you talking about?”
“I didn’t tell, I swear!” Eglantine spoke in a desperate whisper.
“Of course you didn’t. I trust you, Eglantine. I know you’d never tell.” Eglantine seemed to almost melt, not just in relief but with the simple knowledge of her brother’s trust in her. She had felt she was just about useless, good for nothing of importance. But that Soren trusted her meant everything.
At that very moment, Primrose flew into their hollow. “It wasn’t Eglantine, and it wasn’t me.”
“Otulissa!” Twilight hissed.
“No, not Otulissa. Dewlap.”
“Dewlap!” They all gasped. Dewlap was the Burrowing Owl who was head of the Ga’Hoolology chaw, generally thought to be the most boring chaw in the entire tree. It was devoted to understanding the physiology and natural processes of the great tree where they lived, which sustained their lives. And even if you were not in a particular chaw, you were still required to take classes in that subject.
“Oh, racdrops!” Twilight slapped the air with his feathers, causing a hearty gust to sweep through the hollow. “Dewlap gave me a flint mop for acting up in class the other day. I completely forgot.” Twilight was always getting into trouble in Ga’Hoolology. It was easy as it was so boring. In fact, the other owls lived for Twilight’s antics during that class. He was the only source of relief from boredom. “I was supposed to go help her bury pellets at tween time.” Tween time was the time between the last drop of sun and the first shadows of the evening.
“Well, she started snooping around and found all of you gone,” Primrose said.
“Do they know where we were?” Soren asked.
Gylfie shrugged. “I don’t know. But the four of us are to report immediately to Boron and Barran.” Gylfie paused. “In the parliament.”
“Oh, Glaux! In front of everyone?” Digger said. There were in all eleven owls who made up the governing body of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree known as the parliament. They decided to which chaws the new owls, after a period of general training and education, would be assigned. They planned the precise dates on which the milkberries would be harvested. They were in charge of all missions of diplomacy, war, and, most important, support to owls or groups of owls in need. They supervised all the many ceremonies and festivals of the great tree and settled all arguments. They also decided on appropriate “flint mops,” as they were called, since there was no real word for “punish” or “punishment” in the language of the owls of Ga’Hoole. Owls were never struck, hit, bitten, locked up, or given less food. They did not even believe in taking away privileges such as attending parties or festivities or banquets. What they did believe in was the flint mop. Flint stone was the most valuable tool the owls of Ga’Hoole had. It was with their flint stones that they ignited their fires. The word flint had, over the years, become a synonym for anything of great value. To say something was flinty or had flint meant it had real worth. Therefore to be a flint mopper was to be someone who scorned the value of something. And if you scorned the value of something, you were required to pay back what you had taken away. Thus, the term for the payback came to be known as a “flint mop” as well. A flint mop was as close as owls came to the word punishment. And the flint mop in Twilight’s case was helping Dewlap, the Ga’Hoolology ryb, bury pellets which nourished the roots of the tree.
“So we have to go to the parliament right now?” Soren asked.
“Right now.” Gylfie nodded. “And I don’t think we should be late.”
“Enter!” It was the loud resonan
t hoot of Boron through the bark doors of the parliament hollow. This hollow was one of the few that had actual doors, for the business of the parliament was often top secret. Although Twilight, Soren, Gylfie, and Digger had, in fact, discovered a place deep within the tangled roots of the tree where something strange happened to the timber of the trunk just above and the voices of the parliament owls could be heard. Sometimes the four owls listened in. Had this been found out it might be considered worse than what they had done now. Although Soren was still not sure what they had done that was so bad. Yes, they had gone away during the harvest festival—but was that really all that bad? It was bad if it had been found out where they had gone perhaps, but the only one who could really be considered a flint mopper was Twilight, who had completely forgotten to do his flint mop.
Only three owls of the parliament were perched on the white birch branch that had been bent into a half circle. There was Boron, his mate, Barran, and Dewlap. He supposed he should be relieved that there were just three and not the entire parliament. And, insofar that the only other owl present besides the monarchs was Dewlap, this might mean that indeed the worst error was Twilight’s forgetting his flint mop.
“Young’uns,” Barran began. “It was brought to our attention by the good ryb Dewlap that Twilight was absent from his flint-mopping tasks of burying pellets, which nourishes our great tree. Upon further investigation, it was found out that all four of you, the entire ‘band’ as you are known, had left the tree on the night of the festivities. So not only was Twilight unavailable for flint mopping but the rest of you could not participate in the sorting and grading of milkberries, as is customary after the harvest festivities, not to mention the award ceremonies, which follow the sorting, for those who have distinugished themselves at the harvest through their diligence.”
Sorting, grading awards? Soren had never heard about all this. He stole a look at Gylfie who appeared equally bewildered.
Then Barran, as if reading their minds, continued, “Yes, young’uns, there are things you do not yet know about—practices and ceremonies that we have here at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. For example, Soren, it was while you were gone that we had a First-Meat-on-Bones ceremony for your sister, Eglantine, and other young’uns from the Great Downing who had missed that owl stone event.” An owl stone event was one that was considered of great significance in the development of a young owl. The First-Meat-on-Bones ceremony was one of the most important of all the ceremonies that marked a young owl’s passage through life from hatchling to fully fledged flier to adept hunter. Boron and Barran felt that even though owls like Eglantine had long been eating Meat on Bones because they had been orphaned early on and missed this ceremony with their parents, it was still important to have these moments recognized. “Better late than never,” Barran always said.