Eglantine peered down into her own jelly. It wasn’t a slug or a grasshopper. It was a centipede, her very favorite bug. It had to be a sign—a sign that her dreams were real. Her mum had always brought back centipedes as a special treat for her, and Soren would sing the centipede song. She looked up at Soren now with huge, blinking eyes.
“Eglantine, you’re not going to make me sing the centipede song here?” he whispered.
Eglantine giggled. “No, don’t worry.” And she might have said aloud what she was thinking: I don’t need the centipede song to prove that my dream is real. Mum is waiting for me with a dozen centipedes, I just know it!
The shortest night and longest day of the year were approaching. It was called Nimsy night, and all of the owls looked forward to it because it was after Nimsy that the nights began to grow longer by slivers, first in seconds, then in minutes, and finally, at summer’s end, by hours. Eglantine had decided that she would fly to the hollow in The Beaks after Nimsy, when the longer nights would give her more time.
However, on these short summer nights and long summer days before Nimsy, the owls tended to stay up longer and go to sleep later. There were only so many hours an owl could sleep during the day, especially when their night flight exercise was cut short.
“Let’s go to the library,” Otulissa said. “I want to study this chart.”
On one of the larger tables, Otulissa unrolled the chart she had gotten from Trader Mags. It showed a diagram of the owl brain cross-referenced with a diagram of the owl gizzard. Perhaps it could help explain fleckasia, Otulissa thought. “If I only had that whole book on fleckasia,” she sighed.
“But you have that page we found when we were out doing weather experiments for Ezylryb,” Gylfie said.
“Yes, but it was hardly legible.” Otulissa stared down at the diagram. “Quadrant!” she suddenly said in a hushed voice. With a shaking talon, Otulissa pointed to the chart.
“You see the word ‘quadrant’ in both that section of the brain and that section of the gizzard. The very word that was on the torn page you found! I’ll be back in a second.” Otulissa flapped her wings and flew out of the library. In less than a minute, she was back with the torn page in her beak. She bent over the page and peered. Then swung her head toward the chart. “There’s the number two, look. I can barely make it out, but it’s there.” She blinked and slowly began to speak. “I get it. See. The gizzard is divided into four quadrants and so is the brain.”
“And so is the night sky for navigation,” Gylfie said. “Strix Struma taught us that.”
“Right!” Otulissa said. “When Ezylryb was lost, it was because the bags of flecks had destroyed his sense of the quadrants for navigation. He no longer knew where the earth’s magnetic poles were.”
A creaky voice scratched the air. “Indeed, Otulissa. You are right.” It was Ezylryb. “Aha! A humors chart,” the old Whiskered Screech proclaimed.
“Humors?” Twilight said. “What’s so funny about an owl gizzard and brain?”
“It’s not ha-ha humor. No, not in the least. The lost book, Fleckasia and Other Disorders of the Gizzard, would have explained much about humors…and how they relate to shattering.”
Soren blinked. Shattering was the terrible disease that Otulissa had told them about.
“Tell me, Ezylryb,” Soren asked hesitantly. “Is that what’s wrong with Dewlap? Was she shattered?”
Ezylryb sighed heavily, then shook his head. “No, she is not shattered. She is an old and foolish owl. Still, there was no rupture between the gizzard and brain. She was just misguided, used bad judgment, and her focus was limited. She felt the Pure Ones would take better care of the tree than we would.”
“But what exactly is ‘shattering’?” Otulissa asked.
“It is very complicated, Otulissa. It is even beyond higher magnetics, which I know you know a lot about. But without the book, I don’t know how I could begin to explain it.”
“It’s connected to higher magnetics?” Otulissa asked.
“Oh, indeed it is. You know how in all of our brains there are tiny bits of magnetic particles much smaller than flecks. They are sometimes called iron oxides. They aid us with navigation because they help us sense the earth’s magnetic field.”
Primrose had come into the library and was now also listening intently.
“Imagine, however, if something disturbed those bits in our brain,” Ezylryb continued. “Exposure to too many flecks not only causes problems to the internal compass that we use for navigational purposes, as it did mine, but in certain conditions it can cause a shattering to other vital systems. In fact, sometimes it is not the navigational system that is affected, but the gizzard. The gizzard itself becomes almost like stone, incapable of sorting out feelings and emotions. It can even cause delusions. That is what fleckasia is all about.”
“Well, is there a book on the humors or these quadrants, so I can find out more?” Otulissa asked.
“Oh, yes, indeed. Here, let me show you.” Ezylryb made his way toward a far shelf in the library, and Otulissa bustled behind him. The other four owls looked at one another. This was Otulissa’s kind of thing, not theirs. Soren was thankful that Ezylryb had come in. Perhaps if Otulissa began sinking herself into a study of fleckasia, she would ease up on her battle plans for attacking the Pure Ones. She was sure they would be back. She kept saying, “First strike! We must make the first strike!” But Soren knew she would never convince Boron and Barran or any of the parliament members. It was absolutely against the tradition of the Guardians to strike the first blow, certainly not on the scale that Otulissa was planning.
“Can I come look at the book, too?” Primrose asked.
Otulissa blinked as did the others. Primrose had never struck them as much of an intellect. “Sure,” said Otulissa.
“Just want to take a peek,” Primrose said.
The sun was well up over the horizon by the time the owls made their way to their hollows. Eglantine was tired because that night had been the first long-distance flight she had made in some time. Madame Plonk had begun to sing the “Night Is Done” song, and by the time she reached the second verse, Eglantine was sound asleep.
Primrose had come back to the hollow she shared with Ginger and Eglantine just after Madame Plonk had begun the song. She had been reading with Otulissa in the library the whole time. Now, as she entered the hollow, Ginger woke up.
“Where’ve you been?”
“Reading in the library,” Primrose answered.
“Must have been interesting.”
For the second time ever, Primrose lied outright. “Oh, just doing some of those game and riddle books that Eglantine loves so much.” She looked over and blinked at her best friend. Then she turned again to Ginger and whispered, “I do hope she stops having those dreams. I know she says they are lovely but I think they’re not. She twitches all night long when she has them.”
“Yes,” said Ginger sleepily. “I know what you mean. Sometimes I just get up and pat her, and it seems to calm her down a little.”
“That’s kind of you, Ginger,” Primrose said. I really must be nicer to this owl, she thought. She’s not so bad. And soon it will be Nimsy night. Everyone always feels better once the earth turns and chases away the sun and lets the nights grow longer. She listened to the end of the beautiful song. The lovely ting of Madame Plonk’s voice now hung like silver chimes in the morning as she sang the next verse.
We thank thee for our nights
’Neath the moon and stars so bright
We are home in our tree
We are owls, we are free
As we go, this we know, Glaux is nigh.
Soon, Primrose was asleep. Late in the afternoon she heard a stirring and sleepily opened one eye. Ginger was bent over Eglantine. Oh, dear. She must be having one of those dreams and Ginger is patting her. Then Primrose yawned and sunk back into sleep.
Eglantine was having a dream. She had finally poked her beak through the stran
ds of moss. From behind, the female owl looked exactly like her mother. She was about to say “Mum” when the owl turned around. She did look like her mum! Almost, but not quite. Her face seemed whiter, and there was a seam across it where the feathers parted a bit.
“I’ve been waiting for you all this time!”
“You have?!”
“Yes, darling one!”
Something seemed to jolt Eglantine in her sleep. Darling. That word sounded odd coming from her mum. It wasn’t a word she used. But still she was drawn in.
“Who are you?”
“Why, you know who I am! And no need to wait until so long after Nimsy night. You’ll be ready much sooner, darling…”
The jolt coursed through her again. And then her eyes blinked open. The soft lavender of twilight had seeped into the hollow. She looked over to Primrose’s corner. The Pygmy Owl was already up and out of the hollow, but Ginger was still sleeping. The dream Eglantine had just experienced was more real than ever. Her mum had said that she would be ready soon! Ready to go soon after Nimsy night. This was so exciting. Oh, she just had to tell someone. She looked over at Ginger again. She was beginning to stir. What would Ginger say if she told her about the dream? Would she think that she was just plain yoicks? Ginger’s eyes blinked open now and Eglantine hopped over to where she slept.
“Ginger, I have to tell you something.” The Barn Owl was instantly alert. “Promise you won’t think I’ve gone yoicks.”
“Why would I ever think that? You are one of the most sensible owls I have ever met,” Ginger replied.
“Promise on your gizzard not to tell?”
Ginger touched the feathers on her belly and said, “On my gizzard. Now, what is it?”
“All right.” Eglantine took a deep breath. “Well, I have been having these dreams, you know.”
Ginger nodded.
“And well, I think they are actually more than just dreams. They are very real in a way. They are telling me something.”
“What are they telling you, Eglantine?” Ginger said in a very soft voice.
“My mum is alive, and I think my da is, too. And I think I know where they are.” She paused. “The Beaks.”
“I believe you, Eglantine. Why wouldn’t I believe you? They say that your brother Soren has starsight. Why shouldn’t you, too, dream about things before they happen?”
“You’re right! Ginger, I never thought of that. It must run in the family. Oh, my goodness. I am so glad I told you. And you know what else?”
“No, what?” Ginger said eagerly.
“Well, I just know I can find that hollow in The Beaks and my mum wants me to come. I had already decided to go maybe a month or so after Nimsy night because the darkness will hold longer then, and I would have more time to get there. But Mum, I mean my dream mum, says that I’ll be ready before that. She says I’ll soon be strong enough for the flight.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful and, of course, who knows you better than your own mum? Mums know best.”
Eglantine blinked. How does Ginger always know exactly the right thing to say? Eglantine thought. Ginger was the most wonderful hollowmate.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mum Waits for Me
Nimsy night had come and gone and as the day’s light dissolved minute by minute earlier and earlier, and the nights grew longer, the owls of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree grew happier because night was indeed their element. The long hot days pressed thickly upon them as they slept, the time passing so slowly, creeping by at the pace of a sluggish caterpillar until the cool of the evening descended and the sky turned faintly lavender, then deep purple, and finally black. For Eglantine, each extra minute of the black was a cause for celebration. She flew now with great enthusiasm and growing strength in each class—whether it was her own chaw practice for search-and-rescue with the lovely Burrowing Owl Sylvanaryb, or navigation class, now under the leadership of a Barred Owl named Woody, who had succeeded the late Strix Struma as the navigation ryb.
Soren was pleased to see Eglantine acting like her old self and free of the summer flux or whatever the strange sleeping sickness was that had afflicted her earlier. Indeed, everyone except Primrose seemed pleased with Eglantine’s recovery. But Primrose was not sure. Yes, Eglantine seemed better, but she knew that she still twitched while she dreamed. Often she would awake sleepily to see Ginger bent over her. And yes, it was true that now the three of them, Ginger, Primrose, and Eglantine, did many things together, so she could not accuse Eglantine of leaving her out.
Still, Primrose sensed that there was a bond between Eglantine and Ginger—an inviolable bond. There was something they shared, and Primrose was not sure what it was. Some things shared are good, but others are not. Some secrets that are shared strengthen one, but others can sap one’s strength in insidious ways. Primrose thought this might be happening with Eglantine, who seemed to be growing stronger in flight after her weeks of languishing in sleep. Yes, her wings were back to full power, but something else was growing weaker by the minute. Primrose sensed it.
Now, almost a week after Nimsy night, Eglantine and Ginger seemed especially excited. Although they were never so impolite as to whisper to each other in the dining hollow as they had once done, Primrose would find them huddled together on limbs of the Ga’Hoole Tree, and as soon as she would light down, they would clamp their beaks shut and be almost too nice to her. She also noticed that on free flights, when there were no classes, Ginger and Eglantine would often just slip away.
So it was after seeing the two young owls slip off three nights in a row that Primrose decided that one night soon she would follow them. She was sure they were up to something. She was turning all this over in her mind at tweener.
“You got the slug, Primrose!” Soren exclaimed.
The slug was the best thing to find in one’s jelly. It meant an extra helping of dessert.
“I did!”
“Great Glaux, if I hadn’t pointed it out, you would have never noticed.”
Primrose blinked. Soren was right. She had been so absorbed in her thoughts, she had nearly missed the slug. She ate it quickly, then blinked once, twice, and then a huge belch issued from her beak. She keeled over right on top of Mrs. Plithiver.
“Oh, dear!” Mrs. P. said. “Is that Primrose?”
A great commotion followed.
“Bad slug! Bad slug!” someone yelled. “Call the matrons!”
Eglantine looked stunned and fearful as they carried Primrose out. “Is she going to be all right?” she cried desperately.
“Just a bad slug, dear,” Barran said. “Don’t worry about it. She’ll be all right. They’ll give her a glister and that will fix her up just fine. Weak for a couple of days. It is a harsh treatment. But she’ll recover. We must have a talk with Cook about being more careful with the slugs.”
“Guess she won’t have her second helping,” Ginger said. “Who gets it?”
Soren and Digger both turned their gaze on her and blinked.
Then Otulissa spoke. “You know, that really frinks me off, Ginger.”
They all felt Mrs. Plithiver flinch at the sound of the curse word. Otulissa turned and glared at Ginger. “I hardly think this is a moment to celebrate. Perhaps Primrose can have it when she recovers. In fact, I think she should get two extra helpings.”
“Just asking,” Ginger said in a small voice.
“Well, don’t,” Gylfie replied tartly.
“Sorry,” Ginger muttered.
“What’s wrong, Ginger?” Eglantine asked after tweener and before free flight that evening.
“Nobody likes me here. I do everything wrong. They are all still mad at me for asking about the extra helping, even after I said I was sorry.”
“That’s not true, Ginger. The owls like you. They understand that you’ve been brought up differently.”
“Yeah, and they never let me forget it. I bet your mum wouldn’t be that way. I bet she’d accept me just the way I am.”
“You’re
probably right.” Eglantine nodded and a dreamy look filled her eyes.
But then it seemed as if a wary silence hung between them, as if neither one of them dared to say what they were thinking.
Wouldn’t it be lovely, Eglantine thought, if Ginger could come and stay with us. Mum would love her. I just know it. I’d have a sister at last.
Finally, the silence was broken by Ginger. She had swiveled her head and was looking out the hollow’s opening. “Look. The wind has shifted. It’s blowing from the north, right toward The Beaks. They call it a sweet wind, don’t they?”
“Yes, it’s a sweet wind if it blows toward the southeast in the summer. I’m not sure why. Maybe it cools things down in the worst of the summer heat. But it’s a sign, Eglantine thought. Yes, indeed, the sweet wind is a sign just as the centipede in the milkberry jelly had been a sign that Mum is near, and I should go to her. The sweet wind will carry me there.
“Ginger, I have an idea.”
“Yes?” Ginger leaned forward eagerly, her dark eyes shining.
“I think with this favorable wind, this sweet wind, I could easily make it to my mum’s hollow in The Beaks tonight.”
“I think you could, too, Eglantine,” she said. Then she cast her eyes down shyly. Eglantine could tell that Ginger wanted to say something more, but for some reason she was having trouble getting the words out.
“What is it, Ginger?”
“I’m not sure I can ask this. It seems so…so…I don’t know.”
“Ginger, do you want to know if you can come with me? Is that it?”
Ginger gave a barely discernible nod and then fluttered her eyelids.
“Why, of course you can. I wouldn’t think of going without you. Mum will love you.”
“Really?”
“Really,” replied Eglantine. “Now, when should we go?”
“I think we should leave as soon as free flight begins tonight. There are no classes all night, and I bet every owl will be over on the north side of the island riding those northerly wind crests as they come in.”