Guardians of Ga'Hoole: To Be A King (8 page)

P
hineas thought he smelled the telltale stench. He had been skimming close to the low-growing bushes and scanning the nettles and spiny shrubs that grew in this region bordering the Desert of Kuneer when he had sighted a small ball of dark fluff and then caught the unmistakable whiff. He lighted down next to the shrub.

“Look,” said Phineas.

“What?” asked Hoole, lighting down next to him.

“Small feathers, black ones, pin feathers,” Phineas replied.

“What is it?” asked the Snow Rose.

“Tumbledown,” Phineas said. Tumbledown was the delicate fluffy underfeathers of a bird. So light were these feathers that when molted, they would blow away and get caught up in tall grass or shrubs. With most birds, the tumbledown was pale in color, but this was black. Phineas looked up at his mates. “Tumbledown from a hagsfiend.”

The three owls wilfed a bit. It was a long time before
anyone spoke. Hoole twisted his head nearly completely around and then settled his gaze to the southwest. “The Desert of Kuneer is very close, I think.”

“A quarter night’s flight at the most,” the Snow Rose replied.

“It would make a perfect place for hagsfiends, wouldn’t it?” Hoole asked. “Dry, landlocked, far from any sea.” Water, especially salt water, was the only thing hagsfiends really feared. The N’yrthghar was the safe haven for hagsfiends because for most of the year the Everwinter Sea was frozen. So it made sense that if they came to the Southern Kingdoms that the Desert of Kuneer would offer refuge. But then again, the Beyond would also be safe. Far from any seas, it was a desert of sorts, too. Hoole wondered if any had gone there. They had certainly fought there. Yes, they had had to retreat, but could the wolves have kept them away?

Hoole shut his eyes for a long time and thought. Hagsfiends in the south. Rumors of the Ice Palace falling to new rebels. It would be a fight on all fronts. Hoole knew that unless forced to, they could not fight anywhere until they were ready. But they were less than two moon cycles away from Short Light. Still, it would be reckless to go into the Desert of Kuneer and hunt down hagsfiends now. Before passing out of Ambala into the desert, they had
checked a dead drop. There had been a coded message from Grank asking about his progress and reporting that the rumor of an all-hagsfiend division led by Ullryk was true, though there had been no confirmation from either Joss or Theo that this division was the one holding the Ice Palace. All of this ran through Hoole’s mind now. His gizzard was in a fever, but Short Light or no, he would not act rashly. He still needed more information.

“We need to turn back. I need to see Rupert again and have him build me a fire. I need some good flames to read.”

And so they returned that very evening to Ambala.

“Back so soon?” Rupert looked up from his forge. “Don’t tell me, more hagsfiends?”

Hoole nodded. “We think so. Rupert, I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything at all,” Rupert replied.

“I need your fire, Rupert.”

Rupert looked perplexed. “Wanna try your hand at a bit of smithing, do you? Bet you’re a natural.”

“Well, no actually, Rupert—I have a certain gift for reading the flames.” He looked now very seriously at Rupert. “It is a talent, Rupert. It is not magic. It is the same as when some owls are born with more sensitive gizzards
and seem to sense things before they happen. That is the way it is with me and flames. Might I use your fire?”

Rupert stepped away. “It is all yours, Hoole.”

“And one more thing, might you give that rock on top of the vent a shove? I would like the fire to get some more air and build up the flames a bit.”

Within a very few minutes, great towering flames were leaping from the crack in the boulder. Hoole hovered in front of them. It was several minutes before he found the gizzard of the flames. He did not know precisely what he was looking for. One could not come to a fire with preconceived notions and ideas and demand that the flames answer specific questions. That was not how it worked. He had to empty his mind and let the antic flickerings sort themselves into an image. And now in the gizzard of the fire, in that curved yellow plane, was a pinprick of color. Yes! A familiar green was seeping into the yellow. Where had he seen it before? The ember of Hoole had some green in it, but that was not it. And then it burst upon him.
It’s the green in the eyes of dire wolves!
The eyes of dire wolves burned like green fire. A certainty glimmered, then grew in Hoole’s gizzard: The green of the wolves’ eyes bore some trace of magen. If only he could get them
to focus the powerful green of their eyes.
Yes…yes! That’s what we need for an attack on hagsfiends
—
wolves!
The thought had crossed his mind before, but in truth he hadn’t had a clue as to how he would have used the wolves back then. But now he thought he knew. Wolves had cunning strategies and uncanny instincts for what an enemy was about to do. Their unmatched abilities to communicate in the thick of action with nary a sound or detectable signal would be invaluable. But to whom should he go with this plan? Fengo? No. Hordweard. Or as she now called herself, Namara. Yes, Namara MacNamara the brave wolf. The wolf he had believed in when every other wolf and owl thought her a traitor.
I must find Namara,
Hoole thought.
I must run again with the wolves. I must run with Namara!

Yonot fyngrot velink velink,

inhale the vapor and the stink.

Transform this mess of cursed stew
and make it into haggish brew.

Snick, snick the gizzard is nigh on gone
and thus a new monster is spawned.

Gimlich gimloc machten ma,

this is the hagsfiends’ nachtga’th.

T
he smee chant swirled in Kreeth’s head as she flew out of the Ice Narrows. She must find a feather from the family of Emerilla. The most likely choice would be Emerilla’s father, who had been killed in a battle over the Ice Dagger. She must find the hagsfiend who went off with his head. There was a covey of hagsfiends that lived near the Ice Talons, and one in particular by the name of Penryck interested her. He was a skillful fighter. She had heard that he had thrown in his lot with Lord Arrin. But
Lord Arrin was not faring well these days and Penryck was not one to fly about with losers. She turned east and flew up a twisting channel that penetrated deep into the cliff where it was said there was another ice palace of the old king’s, the palace of the Ice Cliffs. Very difficult to find and not nearly as elaborate and grand as the H’rathghar glacier palace, it was said to be deep within an impenetrable maze of ice canyons.

But the Ice Cliffs themselves were riddled with the hollows of hagsfiends. It was a very safe place because the water remained frozen in the channels for most of the year. It was pure daring of King H’rath to have a hideaway so close to hagsfiends. Kreeth had to credit the king and queen for their audacity. But it was also true that most hagsfiends were not extraordinarily bright. It would have been a challenge for them to navigate through the tangled maze of ice channels and canyons. Kreeth, of course, counted herself an exception to this rule.

A hagsfiend now flew in her wake and swooped in beside Kreeth as the narrow channel widened and deepened into a canyon.

“What brings you here, Kreeth?”

“I seek Penryck. He fought in the Battle of the Ice Talons, did he not?”

“Yes, as did I.”

Kreeth looked at the hagsfiend but she could not remember her name. “There was an old lieutenant, a Spotted Owl.”

“Oh, Strix Hurthwel.”

“Who killed him?”

“A hagsfiend named Mycroft.”

“And where might this hagsfiend be found?”

“In the Ice Narrows.”

“What?”
Kreeth staggered in flight. “No hagsfiends live in the Narrows except for me.”

“He indeed does.”

“Don’t you ‘indeed’ me! You, you…” She wheeled around on her port wing and headed back to the Ice Narrows.

Flying as fast as she could and beating her great ragged wings against the wind, she was in the Narrows before the moon had risen. She had intended to scour every cave and cranny for this Mycroft. But then she suddenly realized there was no need for that. No need at all. The divining eyeball! It had taken years for her to find just the right eyeball, but not long ago she had plucked one from a young Barred Owl who had been blown into the Narrows by accident. It had all happened just before Lutta had hatched.

“Did you bring the feather?” Lutta asked as Kreeth swept into the ice cave.

“No. The head is in the possession of a certain hags-fiend called Mycroft.”

Neither Kreeth or Lutta noticed, but the puffowl began to wilf and cower in a corner when the name Mycroft was spoken. He knew of Mycroft, and Mycroft himself had promised to change the puffowl into either an owl or a puffin if he would spy and bring him the secrets of Kreeth’s potions. It was a dangerous game the puffowl was playing, but he was sick of Kreeth and her experiments and her abuse. He was sick of being this horrible, ridiculous waddling mixture.

Kreeth got the eyeball and suspended it over a small ice pyramid. It turned slowly and the slivers of gold began to sparkle and glint. An image was forming. “What is it, Auntie?” Lutta asked.

“Shut up. I’m concentrating.”

Lutta backed away. Kreeth bent closer to the eyeball.

She saw Mycroft in his cave. He was not an especially large hagsfiend. His tail barely swept the floor. His cave was also strewn with the bits and pieces scavenged from slaughtered creatures. She scanned the cave as he busied himself with his work. Within a minute, no more, she saw it. On an ice ledge in the cave, there was a head—and a
handsome one it was!
Well,
she thought,
there is no denying that Spotted Owls are handsome, comely birds.
And this one’s eyes had retained a wonderful luster. Kreeth tried to suppress her excitement. She must get a feather or two from that magnificent head and then…and then she froze.

In an ice bowl on the shelf in Mycroft’s cave floated two yarped pellets and the spine of a dead fish. That was her formula! The one she hoped would render water powerless against hagsfiends. There was only one way Mycroft could have come up with that formula! Kreeth spun around. “Puffowl!” she screeched, but the creature was gone.

She flew out of the cave, first turning north into the Narrows and then south. She searched for him for an hour. She went back and looked into her divining eyeball, but it had grown murky and she could see nothing. Where was the cursed little beast? Had he gone to warn Mycroft? There was no way of knowing. At least not until the eyeball had recovered its sight. Until then, she was essentially blind. There could be no divining. Well, she would wait. If there was one thing Kreeth had, it was patience. But it galled her to think that another hagsfiend was living in the Ice Narrows and was now stealing her formulas, her spells! Was there no honor in this world?

And so she waited one night, then two, and finally on
the third night, the divining eyeball cleared. She fully expected to see the puffowl in the cave. She had thought he would have flown to Mycroft’s cave to warn him, but the cave appeared empty and the beautiful head was still in its niche. Was it a trap to lure her there? Had the puffowl warned him of her intentions? She looked again in the divining eyeball and muttered an old demonic incantation, a charm especially suited for making visible the invisible and revealing what was concealed. Her breathing calmed. It looked as if neither the puffowl nor Mycroft was around. The time was now.

“Come, Lutta. We need to get you a feather.”

T
he splendor of the Ice Palace of the H’rathghar could be seen from many leagues away. It was a majestic sight on a clear sunny day. Its spires of ice shimmered like silver in the blue sky. Its walls and ice bridges and towers all carved by the wind seemed to blaze with a brilliance unmatched by any diamond. But by moonlight it was even more magnificent. As they approached the palace, Theo’s mother couldn’t stop talking.

“Oh, you’ve never seen the likes of it. And to think it is all Shadyk’s now!”

“But what happened to Lord Arrin?” Theo asked.

“I told you, Theo. He ain’t got no respect anymore. Not after the Battle in the Beyond, where he was beat so bad. Half his forces flew off. Some of the hagsfiends left to start up their own bands; one was named Ullryk, I believe.”

She
believes!
She says it so casually. As if it doesn’t matter who fights for what anymore. Or who fights on which side. So now they fight among themselves
—
hagsfiends, rebel owls, kraals. It truly is as Svarr said: A feast for vultures.

Theo’s gizzard lurched as he caught sight of the hagsfiends draped over the ice parapets of the palace, their shaggy black wings dark slashes against the shimmering ice. Philma gave four long hoots and then two short, the usual hoot pattern of a Great Horned Owl, but then she paused and gave three more short ones. She swiveled her head toward Theo. “That’s our signature call. They know I’m Shadyk’s mum. Oh, it’s all so grand. You won’t believe how fine they treat us, Theo. We’re very important now, almost like royalty.”

“But how did Shadyk get to be—what do you call him?”

“We’ll call him king soon. He’s to have a crowning ceremony—what’cha call that?”

“A coronation.” But
how did all this happen? Was it raw power on Shadyk’s part?
Theo was about to ask when his mother interrupted.

“My goodness, there seem to be more hagsfiends than usual outside the Ice Palace. Oh, and Theo, wait until you see the throne hollow and Shadyk sitting on the
throne. To think, a son of mine sitting upon the H’rathian throne. Ain’t it grand?”

A sickening feeling swept through Theo as they entered the palace and proceeded to the throne room. It was immediately evident why the hagsfiends were all outside. The inside of the once magnificent palace was rotting.
Rotten ice!
The two words shrieked in Theo’s brain. He had always thought it was just an expression, but now he knew that it was real. Inside the palace the ice was cloudy, and it looked as if it were disintegrating. Theo had seen a honeycomb in a tree hollow in the S’yrthghar and that was exactly what this ice looked like to him, a honeycomb.
Sweet rotten ice!,
Theo thought as they entered the throne hollow. The palace was rotting from the inside, so only the outer walls were safe for the hagsfiends to perch on. How long would they remain to serve their leader, their monarch, this ridiculous-looking owl who perched upon the melting throne? Shadyk was not that much larger than when Theo had left, and his feathers were bedraggled and looked as if they had not been preened in ages, although four female owls, a Pygmy Owl and three Elf Owls, were busy running their beaks through his feathers and picking nits from his ear slits and between his talons.

“Mum?” Shadyk leaned forward.

“Yes, sweetie. Look who I’ve brought.”

Shadyk immediately stiffened. “How often do I have to tell you that I am to be addressed as Commander—Commander Strong Talon.” He turned to Theo. “Good evening, brother. It has been a long time. You have been studying, I suppose, not soldiering.” He turned to the other owls who were in the hollow. “My brother, Theo, is of a studious bent. Not a fighting sort of owl.” There were mumbles that Theo interpreted as disapproving. “Indeed,” Shadyk flew down from the throne, that fabled throne that was said to have been miraculously sculpted by the elements to resemble a tree with scores of limbs on which the king, his queen, princes, and princesses could all perch. But most of the limbs had rotted away, and it was evident that all this once resplendent throne could now sustain was the weight of one rather small Great Horned and his minions of tiny Elf and Pygmy owls. Theo stepped forward.

“That’s far enough!” Shadyk flapped his wings.

“Good evening.” Theo paused, and Shadyk swelled up into a threat posture. “Commander Strong Talon,” Theo added.

In those brief seconds, Theo realized that Shadyk had either forgotten or denied their past history—all the
times that he had protected his younger brother from his father’s rages, nursed not only his bruised feelings but his bruised wings and broken shafts—it was in that moment that Theo realized that Shadyk was not just yoicks but completely insane. A mad glint danced in his amber eyes.

“Ain’t it all so grand, Theo?” Philma whispered to him. He thought that if his mum said “grand” one more time he’d yarp a pellet. “He’s got quite a way about him, don’t he, lovey?”

“My family and I shall adjourn to the banquet hollow.” Shadyk turned to the Elf and Pygmy owls. “Please join us, my sweets.” The small owls twittered about him, making fawning gestures.

The banquet hollow was a disgusting mess. The remains of half-eaten lemmings, snow squirrels, and ice rats were strewn around but no one seemed to notice or care. The melting ice was streaked with blood. Theo had thought he was hungry but had no appetite now, even as several owls flew in with fresh kill.

“So, brother,” Shadyk swiveled his head toward Theo. “Still studying? Join the Glauxian Brothers yet?” he drawled, and cast a glance at his audience. There was a loud raucous churring from the delegation of owls who had
followed them into the dining hollow. They clearly had contempt for study and contemplative owls.

“Uh…” Theo hesitated. “Yes, um, yes, I have been studying and am thinking of taking my vows.”
So far, the truth. They need not know that I have taken vows as a Guardian on a faraway island in the S’yrthghar and sworn allegiance to the rightful heir to this throne.
For the first time in his life when not in the midst of the violence of war and given no choice, Theo felt true rage rising within him.
Now,
he thought,
I am truly a warrior!

“I don’t know if many of us in this palace have the time for such study. It does seem rather like a luxury now, does it not?” Shadyk drawled while weaving and bobbing his head about to catch everyone’s eye except that of his brother.

His ways have become very strange,
Theo thought.
He speaks in an odd manner, each word prolonged to the point of silliness. And he casts his eyes in glances that are both simpering and haughty. My brother is mad. And yet no one sees it. Not Mum, not Wyg. Not the four little owls flitting about him. How has he done this? How has he gathered these owls and these hagsfiends around him? Does no one else see that this palace is rotting? Are the only sane creatures the hagsfiends who perch on the parapets and the turrets?

At that moment, he saw a Spotted Owl come to serve her master a plump ice rat. She approached him in mincing steps, her head bent, obsequious, submissive, the perfect
attendant to a king on the rotting throne. But despite that bowed head, Theo glimpsed a glint of gold in her dark brown eyes, her very sane dark brown eyes, and he knew that he was the only one who recognized her sanity. And who also recognized
her
: This was Emerilla, daughter of Strix Strumajen and Strix Hurthwel!