Exile (8 page)

B
ubo had stayed up the rest of the night working in his forge, juicing a coal. He peered out into the breaking dawn. He always thought that first light of twixt time was like a cold ember creeping over the horizon. Then the sun would heat up to a real sizzle, until it was full morning light. Bubo thought of everything in terms of coals and embers and flames. It was his measure, his tool, but when Otulissa had told him about the scraps of burnt paper and the book lift that she and Fritha had been flying, he was shocked. He had never thought of fire consuming parchment or paper before. Iron, metals—those were what one used fire for: to shape it, to make something new, to create something that didn’t exist before. But burning paper? This made no sense whatsoever. It only destroyed. Metals—silver, iron, gold, these noble materials—were equal to the strikes of the hammer, perched on the throne of an anvil, ready to receive blows. But paper and parchment were noble in a different way.
Blank, clean, ready to receive the strokes of a quill dipped in ink or a brush tipped with paint. This burning of books was wrong. He had been so absorbed with these thoughts that he had not heard the approaching scratch of talons outside his cave.

“Bubo!”

The blacksmith wheeled around.
Coryn, already!
“Coryn, what brings you here?” Pelli had been right. He had not juiced that coal a moment too soon!

“Bubo, the time has come for me to have the ember again. I am the king. It belongs with me.” He was speaking rapidly, giving too many reasons. Bubo knew that it would not be wise to give in too easily. It would only arouse suspicion. He must show some resistance.

“Have you discussed this with the Band?”

“The Band isn’t here. You know that,” Coryn said somewhat tersely.

“Well…er…yes…but don’t you think maybe you should wait until they return and discuss it with them then?”

“No, I don’t see any advantage in waiting.” He shook his head and his eyes seemed a dull, lusterless black. If Bubo hadn’t known better, he’d think this owl was moon blinked.

“Well, I don’t know, Coryn.”

“I am your king. It is not for you to know.”

These words, spoken in a dull, cold voice, stunned Bubo more than anything. Bubo sighed. “All right. Whatever you say.” There was no response from Coryn. Bubo fetched the teardrop-shaped case and then his tongs. He poked down into the coal pit and pretended to search for several seconds and then plucked up the juiced ember. He dared not look at Coryn, but he sent a little prayer up to Glaux. Bubo was not really a praying kind of owl. So it was difficult for him to shape a prayer without some of his usual rough language. His prayers were more like strikes at the anvil then words of great reverence.
Racdrops! Let me pull this off, Glaux
, he thought.
Be a frinkin’ shame were he to see this sprink ember for what it really is
. He slipped it into the teardrop-shaped case before Coryn could get a close look at it. It was just the green rim that worried him.

“There you be!” he said, handing the case to Coryn.

Coryn reached for it but did not meet Bubo’s eyes. “Don’t worry, Bubo. I’m different now.” It was all Bubo could do not to say “Don’t I know it.” But he held his beak. Coryn was almost out of the cave when Bubo said, “Coryn.” His voice was sharper. Coryn finally looked at him. Bubo skewered him with the intense gold of his eyes. “You do right by that ember, Coryn. You do right by her.” Coryn suddenly looked stricken. He stumbled a bit. “Don’t
worry.” His voice quaked. Then he repeated the words but this time there was a testy edge to his voice. “Don’t worry.”

“I am sorry, so sorry that these troubles have to be the reason for our first meeting. I have heard so much about you, Bess.” Pelli was perched on the edge of a dictionary stand in the Palace of Mists. “And this place,” she added, swiveling her head around. The stand held the largest dictionary she had ever seen. There were at least a thousand pages, with what must have been millions of words.

“Don’t apologize, please. This situation sounds dire. And you were right to bring the ember here. Don’t worry, I know a good place to hide it. But forgive me if I don’t tell you where. It would only make it more dangerous for you.”

“Yes, of course. The fewer who know about it the better.” Pelli nodded in agreement. “But you have heard nothing of this blue owl’s activities here on the mainland?”

“No, only at the great tree when Otulissa came with that young Pygmy…”

“Fritha?”

“Yes, Fritha, when they brought the books. I suppose.” Bess nervously tapped the cabinet on which she perched with her foot. She began again. “I suppose I should have
gone out and explored a bit. But I have a hard time leaving this place. It’s…my…my weakness.”

“Yes,” Pelli replied softly. Soren had told her about this fear Bess had of leaving the Palace of Mists. “I don’t think it’s weakness, Bess. It’s loyalty and love that keeps you here.”

Bess just shook her head slowly. “I am not sure myself anymore. But whatever I can do here to help you, the Band, and the Guardians, I will. Rest assured.”

“The Band did not stop here, did they?”

“No, I haven’t seen a feather of them since they began the weather experiments Otulissa wrote me about.”

“I wish I could find them. They sent a letter back to Coryn saying that they needed to extend their stay indefinitely.”

“To Coryn? Didn’t Soren write you a note?” Bess asked. Pelli shook her head. “How odd.”

“Yes, I thought so, too.” Pelli sighed. “Well, I must go straight back, before I am missed. I left the B’s in Mrs. Plithiver’s charge.”

“Ah, Mrs. Plithiver. What an extraordinary creature.”

“Indeed!”

Pelli had planned to go straight back. She would have had she not caught a glimpse of something flapping
against the broad and mottled trunk of a sycamore tree. Going into a steep dive, she pulled out of it mid-trunk-level and hovered so she could read the piece of paper. It was a notice, written by a scribe undoubtedly, and tied to the tree with vines. She read it aloud to herself.

“‘The four members of the Guardians of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, known collectively throughout the owl kingdoms as the Band, were seen consorting with scrooms and dabbling in faithless acts of hagscraft. They were doing this under the cover of a so-called scientific expedition. Further information suggests that they have renounced their Guardian oath and switched their allegiance to the Northern Kingdoms. For this reason, the parliament of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree forbids anyone to welcome them into their hollows, speak to them, or transact any manner of business with them. Warning: These owls are considered dangerous.’“

“I can’t believe it!” Pelli said. A terrible bilious feeling rose in her gizzard. She thought she might be sick. She settled on a branch just below the notices, then flipped her head almost upside down and read it again. It was as if her entire world fell apart in that minute. Of course, not for one second did she believe it. “Get a grip!” she muttered and, in fact, tightened her grip on the slender branch where she perched.
Think, think, Pelli!
she counseled herself. She took several deep breaths. Her mind began to
organize itself. Quietly, the thoughts came to her in a more orderly fashion. If the Band had seen this notice, their first instincts, she realized, would be to fly back to the great tree and say this was nothing but a pack of lies. “But that would be the last thing they
should
do,” she whispered to herself.
Because
, she finished the thought in her head,
it must be some sort of trap!
And this is what she must tell them. But how to find them? How?
Mist!
Her gizzard and her brain suddenly twinkled with the thought. A light seemed to flood through her. They often visited Mist, or Hortense, as Soren and Gylfie called her. Hortense was the Glauxparent to the three B’s. It was a long trip to Ambala but she would spend an even longer time searching for the Band. Mist and her two eagles and the snakes always seemed to know almost everything that was transpiring on the mainland. In the end, it would save her time if she went directly there. She would make up some excuse if she was really late coming back.

But a dread began to rise within her. Although the Striga didn’t know she had left, if she were gone long enough to be missed, he would know that she might have seen the notices and then what? Well, she could not worry about that now. The most important thing was to alert the Band. Thank Glaux, she had gotten the Ember of Hoole out of there. “Thank Glaux,” she murmured to
herself. She only hoped that Bubo’s ruse with the counterfeit ember had worked. It then dawned on her that the ember was not the only thing that was counterfeit. That letter Coryn had read! The one extending the Band’s “experiments.” Of course it was a fake! Hadn’t she really known it all along? And besides that, there was nothing wrong with consorting with scrooms. Many owls had at one time or another in their lives encountered the scroom of a relative or dear friend. It was consorting with hagsfiends that was bad. And, in that moment, Pelli reached the same conclusion that her mate had:
This is hagscraft
.

She then had one further thought:
There’s a hagsfiend in the great tree. It might be blue, it might look like an owl, fly like an owl. But it’s haggish, I swear by Glaux!

H
ortense had settled herself into one of the heartwood branches high above the mossy dell of the Brad and watched quietly for a while. She reflected on all that she had learned in the last few days. When the Band had returned with the shocking news of the notice that had been posted of their exile and the horror of the charred remains of a burnt owl, Hortense asked them to repeat it, not once or twice, but three times. It was simply unbelievable. But there had been many things during her long life that at first had seemed unbelievable to her and that later she had come to realize were true. Almost as soon as she had sent the Band off to the Brad, Pelli had arrived with the news that things had deteriorated even further at the great tree, and that she and Otulissa and Bubo feared for the ember. And very shortly after all that, Slynella and Stingyll reported that a blue owl—known as Tengshu—had somehow found his way to the Brad. This, at least, was good news. The Band had told her of
this sage owl and now with his help a plan was taking shape for regaining the tree. If anyone could help the Band and the Guardians rid themselves of the Striga it would be this Tengshu from the Middle Kingdom. Although a sage, he was also a master of the fighting art of Danyar. And that was exactly what Tengshu was teaching the Ambala owls of the Brad now as Hortense looked down from her branch high in the heartwood grove. If the Band was to return to the great tree, they had to be prepared and they would need all the help they could get. As if this news was not enough, Gwyndor had also come to Hortense with rumors of something being planned for Balefire Night. Something bad.

Balefire Night occurred in the very last days of the season of the Copper Rose. It was one of the major holidays of the owl calendar and celebrated owlkind’s command of fire, which began during the time of the legends; Grank was the first collier, and Theo was the first blacksmith. On this night, owls came together and built large bonfires making the night as bright as the day. There were contests of all sorts. Colliering contests, smithing competitions, flight games during which owls would compete to ride the intense thermal updrafts to new record heights. It was a joyous and boisterous holiday. Now with these rumors, who knew what Coryn, clearly under the influence of the Striga, was planning? But the Band must not rush back. It
was truly a blessing that Tengshu had flown the River of Wind across the Sea of Vastness and found them. Hortense watched now as the one the Band called “the sage” instructed the owls in this strange method of warfare called Danyar. She had never seen anything like it. No battle claws, no fire branches, none of the traditional weapons; it was all about breathing. Breath was their major weapon. The Breath of Qui, as they called it, expanded the lungs of an owl and, when released, charged the owl’s movement with great power. She was amazed at the progress made by these studious owls who had so recently devoted their lives to books. Their powers of concentration were great and undoubtedly this had helped them learn Danyar very quickly. There was a young Barred Owl, Austen, who was smashing the moss target to bits every time she hit it.

“Good, good. Excellent form, Austen!” Tengshu, with the slight Jouzhen lilt to his speech, exclaimed. “Watch Austen. Her preparation is excellent. Note how she lifts her wings ever so slightly at the beginning of the inhale.”

A few minutes later, during a break in the training, Hortense flew down to the training level and hovered quietly until someone noticed her.

“Hortense!” Soren said, and swooped toward her. Immediately, he sensed something wrong. “What is it? Something about the three B’s, Pelli?”

“Nothing worse, really, than what we already know.” She sighed. The beads of moisture shimmered greenly in the dim light of the dell. “Pelli saw the signs of your ‘faithless acts.’”

“What was she doing on the mainland?” Soren asked. “W-w-what could have brought her here now?”

“I’m getting to that,” Hortense said patiently. An absolute hush had fallen on the Band and the other few owls who had gathered nearby. “She was on a mission to deliver the ember to an undisclosed location,” she said gingerly. The Band immediately knew where it must be.

“So Coryn asked for it,” Gylfie said somberly.

“Yes, and another was substituted,” Mist replied.

“Bubo juiced one, didn’t he?” Twilight said. “And that fool owl Coryn can’t even tell the difference.”

Soren wilfed as these words were spoken about his only nephew. But it was true. How had Coryn become such a fool? How had all this happened?

“And are there still rumors about Balefire Night?” Gylfie asked.

“Yes. They say it’s going to be the biggest celebration ever.”

“Yes, so much to burn,” Soren said bitterly. None of the Band even dared think about the horrible charred skeleton they had found in that smoldering fire near
where the notice had been posted. Suddenly, Soren thought of something. “If Pelli returns to the tree and tells the other owls, the parliament, about these things, surely…”

Hortense cut him off. “We discussed this, Soren. She is going to tell only a few owls. Otulissa, Bubo, Eglantine. She has to play it very cool right now. The Blue Brigade has infiltrated the tree. The Guardians are not outnumbered—yet. When was the last time there was a battle on the Island of Hoole?”

“The Siege,” the four owls quickly replied.

“Exactly. It was bad. Strix Struma died and there were not nearly as many young’uns in the tree back then. This information of the Band being exiled is enough to trigger an uprising by the tree guardians. But they would lose—or suffer unthinkable losses. There can be no confrontation until their numbers are strengthened. You have to return, ready with these new owls of the Brad properly trained.” Hortense paused. She looked at the Band. “You have to remember, the four of you are seasoned warriors. You have spent almost a lifetime in training. But here in Ambala we have seen little war. We have always lived, as I have said, on the edge of things.”

“Madam,” Tengshu interrupted, “I want to assure you these owls will be ready.”