(GoG Book 02) The Journey (9 page)

Soren felt Twilight rustle behind him. He knew it was Twilight without even flipping his head for a look. He also felt that the old owl, Ezylryb, despite his yawning and munching, was looking at him sharply. Indeed, he felt locked in that old owl’s sights. He might as well be a mouse scuttling across a forest floor about to be pounced on by a bird of prey. It was as if that little scrap of amber that glimmered through the squinty eye had trapped him. He had never felt such a penetrating, piercing look and yet to the other owls of the parliament it did not appear as if Ezylryb was regarding him at all. Rather, it seemed as if he was bored silly with the young Barn Owl.

Boron continued to speak, “It takes time, of which I think you have an abundance. It takes patience—and that, I am not sure how much you have and, most important, it takes dedication and that, young’un, is found both in the heart and the gizzard. The nobility of the owls you see here in the parliament has not simply been given, nor has it been earned through courageous acts. Indeed, nobility is not always found in the flash of battle claws or flying through the embered wakes of firestorms, or even in making strong the weak, mending the broken, vanquishing
the proud, or making powerless those who abuse the frail.”

Soren’s gizzard grew quiet as Boron spoke. “It is also found in the resolute heart, the gizzard that can withstand the temptations of false dreams, the mind that has the imagination to comprehend another’s pain, as I think one young owl did tonight when he sat by the little Pygmy Owl with quiet understanding of her loss of tree, nest, family, and egg. It is all of this that ultimately confers nobility and makes the Guardians of Ga’Hoole rise in the night with hearts sublime.” Boron paused and looked at the other three owls. “And so as I said when you arrived, one journey has ended and now another starts. On the night of the morrow your training shall begin.”

D
awn is the thief of night, and the night is when owls stir and become alive, when they fly. So the day that follows that dawn is only for sleeping, to prepare for the night. For some, however, the day feels like an eternity. And for the four young owls the night to come, the morrow night of their training, was still hours away.

Perhaps it had been a mild twinge in Soren’s gizzard or a faint stirring in his heart, but sometime near midday, while the hollow was thick with sleep, the young Barn Owl sensed that something was slightly amiss, perhaps incomplete. It was not the feeling of dreadful cold fear that could steal into one’s gizzard and make one’s wings go yeep. No, not that at all, but something was not right. Soren’s eyes blinked open, and in the dim milky light of the day that filtered into the hollow he saw only two other owls. Twilight was gone!

Soren blinked again. Was he really gone? In the flick of a wing, Soren had lofted onto the rim of the hollow. Every
limb of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree stood out keen and black against the dull winter sky. Shadows were cast with sharp edges. There was, however, one long shadow stretched between the thick, gnarled branches of the tree, swelling like a dark cloud dropped down from above. That shadow was Twilight’s. The Great Gray was perched on one of the less public takeoff branches. Soren flew up.

“What are you doing, Twilight?” Soren spoke softly.

“Thinking.”

That was a good sign. Twilight was a creature of action, of instinct. Not to say that the Great Gray Owl was stupid. He just acted out of an incredibly honed instinct and rarely meditated. “Thinking of leaving,” Twilight added in a flat, dull voice.

“Leaving?” Soren was stunned. “But we’re a band, Twilight.”

“We’re not a band, Soren. Boron and Barran said as much.”

“They didn’t exactly say we’re not a band, Twilight.”

“I think that is exactly what they meant. They said it was highly unlikely that any of us would be chosen for the same chaw. They said it was not the Ga’Hoolian way. In other words, they are separating us.”

“They are separating us only for the chaws and that’s because they want us all to learn different things. That
doesn’t mean we’re not a band. A band isn’t just perching side by side, or even flying side by side all the time.”

Twilight blinked. “Well, what is it, then?”

Soren paused. This was hard. Maybe he wasn’t quite sure what a band was. But no, that wasn’t right. In his gizzard he knew they were a band. “We are a band despite what any owl says or does. In our gizzards, we are a band and we feel that. It cannot be undone. We are what we are and I know it and you know it and we all know it—even they know it.”

Twilight dropped his eyelids so that they were only glinting slits of gold.

He’s going to tell me about the Orphan School of Tough Learning. I just know it,
Soren thought.

But Twilight didn’t. “I am an owl of low birth in the eyes of the world because I have had no proper upbringing.” All the bluster was gone from Twilight’s voice; even his feathers seemed to sag a bit and he appeared slightly smaller. “I have had no First Ceremonies, no First Insect, no First Fur-on-Meat ceremony. There is much I don’t know.”

Soren was stunned. Twilight never admitted to not knowing anything.

“But there is much I do know. I know light and shadow and everything in between. I know the life pulse in the throat of a bobcat and where to slash to break the blood
pump that is the cat’s heart. I know mountains and deserts and the creatures who fly and those who don’t, but slither or crawl or leap. I know of all sorts of claws, as well as fangs and poisons that lock the talons and freeze the wings. I know the false horizon that comes in the heat of the summer when the air is thick with dew and confuses old owls so that they go yeep and fall. And I know all this, not because I was reared in a hollow lined with the down of my mother’s breast, but because I was not. I was alone within minutes of my hatching. I can be alone. It is a special talent. And I can be alone again.”

Soren’s gizzard twisted in slow dread. Twilight turned his head slowly and blinked. “But I also know that I am a better owl with you and with Gylfie and Digger. I know now that I am part of a band. And I know this because of you, Soren—you alone.” The Great Gray paused and mused. The gold in his eyes seemed to grow softer, like that pale haze of yellow just above the horizon as the sun begins to set.

“Perhaps, Soren, you are the blood pump of the band, and I would not want to slash such a life pulse.” Soren blinked. “You are right, Soren. We are a band. And nothing can or will undo it. We are our own guardians.”

“And maybe someday we shall become the Guardians of Ga’Hoole,” Soren said quietly.

So the two owls returned to the hollow for sleep and the day grew brighter and brighter. And finally, the light began to seep away as the dull blue of the winter sky darkened. The clouds became tinged with purple and the last blaze of the sinking sun turned the horizon as red as the bobcat’s blood. Then, at last, the stars broke out and it was time for the owls of Ga’Hoole to rise.

I
t was the deep, black part of the night. The moon had passed through its last moment of the dwenking and now it was gone completely. Gone for two nights at least, until its first silvery thread would reappear at the newing. Soren had been at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree for almost a month, which meant thirty nights and one complete moon cycle from dwenking to newing. Yes, Soren knew how to count now. To count and much more, really. But counting was special. He remembered thinking that his father had said that the fir tree in which his family had their hollow was nearly ninety feet tall. But Soren had no idea what the number meant, just as he had no idea how long sixty-six days were, which was the length of time it took a Barn Owl, such as himself, to fledge flight feathers. Numbers had been meaningless and he had promised himself, once he had escaped from the awful St. Aggie’s, that he would learn how to count.

But there was so much more to learn than simply
counting. For a month now, he had had many lessons—flying lessons, even work with battle claws. They had practiced with almost every chaw except for the navigation chaw and the colliering and weather interpretation chaws. For the last chaw, weather, Soren had felt spared because it was led by the grizzled old Screech, Ezylryb. The members were considered among the fiercest and the bravest of the entire Great Ga’Hoole Tree, for they had to fly through all sorts of storms, blizzards, and even hurricanes to gather important information for troops going into battle or on missions of search-and-rescue. And they brought back coals from burning forest fires, which fed the forge that made so many vital things for the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, from battle claws to pots and pans, and, of course, gave light to the candles.

And now on this blackest of nights, he was learning to navigate from Strix Struma.

“We shall begin with a few simple tracing exercises,” Strix Struma had announced when they were poised on the main takeoff branch of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. “The Great Glaux will soon rise,” she continued. “The time of the Little Raccoon has, of course, passed by this season but a new beauty shall appear for the first time tonight. The Golden Talons. It is an unusual constellation, for in this part of the world it shall be with us through summer.” She
raised her foot from the branch. “And just like our talons, there are four—long, curved, and sharp ones formed by the stars.”

“But not gold,” piped up Primrose, the Pygmy Owl that Soren had befriended on the night she had been brought in from the borderlands, singed and orphaned.

“The gold is an illusion, my dear,” Strix Struma said. “It is caused by atmospheric wobble that you shall learn more about.”

With a sudden blur and a slicing sound through the air, Strix Struma’s talons shot out and caught a fruit bat on the wing. “A little snack before we fly,” she said and quickly de-winged it, then served up tasty morsels to the class. “We don’t want to overeat before our lesson. That is never good, but a bit of bat gives a boost, I always find. Now, ready!”

“Yes, Strix Struma,” they all replied.

Strix Struma preferred to dispense with the title of ryb and instead be called by her family name. She was a Spotted Owl who came from a very ancient ancestry of which she was intensely proud. “Good, then. Primrose, I would like you flying directly behind me. Otulissa, seeing as you have had navigation class before, I think I shall put you on my windward flank. Gylfie, you shall fly in the downwind flanking position. And Soren, you fly tail. Any questions?”

Soren blinked in amazement. Although he had been at the Tree a month, those two simple words “Any questions” were still like magic to him after St. Aggie’s.

Strix Struma always used the battle terminology, such as “flanks.” For not only did Strix Struma have a proud and ancient lineage, but she had been trained for combat as a windward flanking sub-commander and had seen action at the Battle of Little Hoole. “Off we go, then!” And the large Spotted Owl rose in flight with the four young owls quickly maneuvering into their positions.

Soren flew several lengths behind Strix Struma so as not to be affected by the eddies curling off her very broad tail. He wished Twilight and Digger were flying with them but Twilight was in a more advanced navigation class. And Digger was still in power-flight school due to his weak flying skills.

Twilight’s orphan school of tough learning had apparently taught him a lot because he had been placed in many advanced classes.

“All right, class.” Strix Struma spoke in the broad hooting tones that were indeed the voice of a mature Spotted Owl. These hoots now rolled back toward Soren. “Two points off to windward. Please note the first star of the Golden Talons rising.”

“Ooooh, this is sooooo exciting.” It was Otulissa trying
her best to sound exactly like Strix Struma, which she would someday, for she, too, was a Spotted Owl. But right now,she just sounded like what she was—a beak-polishing, feather-fluffing idiotic owl always trying to impress the rybs. “And it’s such an honor to be flying windward flank, Strix Struma, in the grand tradition of your noble family.”

Soren blinked and winced. If Twilight had been here he would have yarped a pellet mid-flight right in her face. Soren saw Glyfie spin her head back and blink as she moved her beak silently. But Soren could understand perfectly what she was saying: “Do you believe her?”

Primrose spoke up. “Do you have a cold, Otulissa? You sound clogged up.”

Oh, great Glaux.
Soren thought he might die laughing. Leave it to Primrose! And the best part of it was that she was sincere. Primrose never suspected anyone of anything. “Guileless,” Gylfie called her. “Charmingly guileless.” Often Soren didn’t understand the words that Gylfie used, but in this case he began to. He knew what Gylfie meant. Primrose didn’t have a fake hollow bone in her body. She was utterly truthful and always believed that owls were motivated by the best of reasons. She had, needless to say, never spent any time at St. Aggie’s.

The navigation class flew on. It was not long after the first star in the Talons rose that several more broke out of
the blackness, and it did seem as if four great golden talons clawed at the night.

“We shall trace each talon from its toe base to its sharp tip,” hooted Strix Struma.

Soren was now flying directly behind Primrose, and he was becoming slightly confused as she constantly swiveled her head. An oddity about Pygmy Owls was that they had two dark spots on the back of the head that indeed looked like eyes. Soren was finding this disorienting.

“Confusing, isn’t it, dear?” Strix Struma had dropped back. “You’re in a difficult position behind Primrose, but it’s good training.”

“Oh, Soren.” Primrose swiveled her head. “It’s my darned spots, isn’t it? I’m so embarrassed.”

“Nonsense, child!” Strix Struma hooted. “Don’t you ever belittle those spots. You’ll see, they’ll come in handy someday. We must learn to use our Glaux-given gifts and in that way they truly become not just gifts but treasures. Now you fly on. You’re doing a nice job and I shall teach Soren some tricks to reduce his disorientation.