The Shattering (Guardians of Ga'hoole) (13 page)

“It will not all be in Krakish, however. Some will be in Hoolian. We shall be giving information, or I should say misinformation, about troop positions, battle claws, and not just platoons—but divisions!”

Brilliant!
Soren thought.
Absolutely brilliant.
And because they would sometimes be speaking in Krakish, the language of the Northern Kingdoms, the enemy would think that they had recruits from there. The owls of the Northern Kingdoms were thought to be the fiercest fighters on earth. It would scare the gizzards out of the Pure Ones.
Oh, I hope it works,
Soren fervently wished.

“It cannot fail!” thundered Ezylryb.

G
ishmahad frissah bralaag gyrrrmach tuoy oschuven…”

Nyra blinked in astonishment. It simply could not be! But it was. She was hearing it. The harsh sounds of ancient Krakish, a language now only spoken in the Northern Kingdoms, were crashing in her ear slits. Nyra herself had come from the Northern Kingdoms and still spoke and understood the language. A sublieutenant from her squadron had picked up on it and reported to her immediately. Smoke had grown thick once more, and they had lost the sky track of the Barn Owl and the Pygmy just before the sublieutenant, Uglamore, had appeared with the devastating news. She followed him to a safe tree upwind of the fire. Uglamore had reported that he had first picked up bits of Hoolian and then the language had become incomprehensible, but he had a feeling it might be Krakish.

“You did well in seeking me out,” Nyra said. If there were Northern Kingdom owls in the vicinity and they were in league with the owls of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, it
could prove disastrous. For a few seconds she forgot about the Sacred Orb. She continued swiveling her head in small movements to scan by degrees the source of the conversation. As best as she could ascertain, there was a large group of owls somewhere to the northwest of the tree in which she was now perched. There were a number of safe trees in that direction that would offer refuge. Now she blinked again. Her head froze. “Division! They have a division!” she gasped. The owls surrounding her wilfed.

“Division Six requests sixty pairs of deep ice claws, forty-two standard battle claws.”

“Sub-squadron Four requests additional colliers.” Then from another tree there was a burst of Krakish.

Ezylryb suppressed his desire to laugh. It was a classic peg-out operation. Division Six and sub-squadron Four were entirely fictitious. They existed only in the ears and probably the gizzards of the enemy. To accomplish this, he had divided the Ga’Hoolian owls into three groups, stationing them in three different trees. The owls were then ordered to chatter about plans and weapons, troop positions, and strategies. With this small yet elegant ruse, he might be able to deflect a significant number of the enemy from the trail of Primrose and Eglantine into the fire. Then the rest of the Pure Ones would have to fight in blazing
forests, which was not the best terrain for them. Not all of the Ga’Hoolian owls were trained, as the colliering chaw was, to maneuver through towering flames, but they had all been required to do some work in fire conditions, and they were all proficient at fighting with burning branches.

The flame squadron, which was sometimes called the Bonk Brigade, was there. The Chaw of Chaws had been recruited for the flame squadron in the last battle with the Pure Ones. They were all here and a messenger had been sent back to the great tree to bring in every other fighting unit. Whether they would arrive in time was uncertain.
Who would ever have imagined when we set out to rescue two young owls that it would turn into this,
Ezylryb thought.
What if they found out we are a mere twenty-four owls without even one single battle claw between us!

Just then, Soren cocked his head and raised one toe of his left talon. This was the sign that Ezylryb had been waiting for. It meant that an enemy squadron was being split. Soren continued to listen. A second later, he raised two toes. This was what they had been waiting for. A platoon was being directed away from the fire! Only one and a half enemy squadrons were left.
Now that’s a fair match,
Ezylryb thought. It was time for the action code to be given.

“The sea is dry. The puffins are perfect.” Nyra blinked. Obviously, it was a code she was hearing. She had ordered complete silence. She had now realized—but too late—that the owls of Ga’Hoole could hear her if they had a Barn Owl among them. Although so far she had heard only non-Barn Owl voices, and there had been a reference to Soren being back at the Island of Hoole.
Now what could this code mean?
There was no way she could possibly break it in the short time required. She felt it was best to stick to her plan of splitting the squadron; one half to go to the northwest front, which was some distance from the fire, and she would lead the remaining squadron into the fire. She had to get that egg back!
If only Kludd were here.
But he had taken the best of their elite units south to St. Aggie’s.

With her lifted talon, she gave the signal to proceed with the plan of splitting the squadron and diverting the platoon to the northwest. Uglamore lifted off from the limb and soon Nyra did, too, heading for the fire with her squadron and a half.

Meanwhile, high on a branch of a very tall larch tree, Primrose and Eglantine perched. Eglantine had propped herself in a V-shaped wedge where a branch joined the main trunk of the tree. She could therefore still hang on to
the egg with her talons. Although the tree had thus far been untouched by the fire, she could feel the branches tremble from the onslaught of the hot gusts and intense thermal drafts that the forest fire created. Soren had said forest fires had their own private weather system and one had to learn how to ride the hot updrafts and cruise around something they called the heat band. All owls, when they reached a certain age, were supposed to do some training in each of the chaws even if it was not necessarily the one they had been assigned to. But neither Eglantine nor Primrose had reached that age yet. However, they had some training in flying with burning branches for torch fighting, which had been used to great effect against the Pure Ones.

Primrose crept out to the end of the branch.

“Any sign?” Eglantine asked by beaking the words silently. If Nyra was around, she didn’t want her to hear anything that would give away their location. Primrose shook her head to indicate no. But it was not more than three seconds later that Eglantine heard her gasp and saw Primrose twist her head around and flip it back. Eglantine did the same. Overhead in combat formation were the Nyra Annihilators!

B
ut look!” Eglantine shouted and then clamped her beak shut. She had been so excited at the sight of Soren flying out of a smoke bank and leading the Chaw of Chaws, with Bubo and the colliering chaw following, that she had forgotten and spoken aloud. In that instant, Nyra suddenly went into a steep, banking turn and headed directly toward the tree where Eglantine and Primrose were perched.

“To the fire! Leave the egg, Eglantine,” Primrose screeched.

“No! Never!”

Egg! What egg?
Then Soren remembered that Digger had found the imprint of an egg. Soren’s mind was racing. His gizzard was aquiver with gladness and terror. Gladness that his sister was alive and terror as he saw Nyra head directly toward the sound of Eglantine’s voice. Then he saw his sister and Primrose blast out of the branches of the
larch tree and head directly toward the fire.
Genius! Little genius! She’s leading them into the flame field, which she knows they cannot contend with as skillfully as we can. But can Eglantine and Primrose do it? They’re so inexperienced.
The thought had barely passed through his mind when another slammed into it. It all made sense now. That egg. He saw Eglantine clutching it.
It must be Nyra’s egg!

“Very high stakes your sister plays with.” Twilight slid in next to Soren.

“Where’s Ezylryb?” Soren asked.

“Back with the Frost Beaks,” Twilight replied. Soren had asked the question in all seriousness and had forgotten that Nyra and the other enemy Barn Owls could pick up on everything. How quick of Twilight to carry on the fiction of the Northern Kingdoms with a reference to the legendary 24
^th
Frost Beaks Division, which Ezylryb himself had commanded.

Eglantine and Primrose had just sliced through the clear space between two blazing trees.

“Torch,” Soren said. Otulissa and Ruby approached with burning branches in their beaks.

“Snap set one.” At that, Bubo flew up and, having the strongest beak of all the owls, bit the two burning branches in half.

“Ignite,” Soren ordered.

Martin, as the smallest of the colliering owls, flew in with a small, glowing, kindling twig and set fire to the ends of the newly broken branches. Now instead of two burning branches there were four.

“Snap set two.” This time Poot, the first lieutenant in colliering, and Elvan, a Great Gray who was the colliering ryb, flew in with two more branches. Bubo repeated the action. Now there were eight. The burning branches multiplied expontentially.

Soon they were all armed and flying. So far, the colliering chaw and the Chaw of Chaws had performed flawlessly, meshing their particular skills, their actions, and their maneuvers in perfect harmony.

Soren gave the next order. “Round out.” With those words, the Chaw of Chaw split and flew into formation for a bilateral attack on Nyra’s squadron.

Nyra saw them coming in. She felt the terror in her squadrons’ gizzards. “The Sacred Orb!” she screamed. “Cowards will have their eyes pecked out!” At that moment, Ruby struck. Nyra did not turn her head, but she heard a rearguard owl plummet from the formation toward the ground. Then she felt a stillness in the air beside her as Uglamore went yeep. She dove after him and gave him a sharp jab with her beak. “Mooncalf!” Nyra shreed in the high-pitched wail of a Barn Owl. To be called a mooncalf,
which meant both idiot and coward, was the worst insult a commander could throw at a soldier. But the jab and the insult did the trick. At twenty feet, Uglamore recovered before hitting the ground, and now they all pressed on with new vigor in their chase after Eglantine and Primrose.

“We’re leading them on a merry” Eglantine whispered. It was what Soren and Martin had done in the last battle of the siege when they had lured Nyra into a tight space. But this space was not just tight, it was hot and they were getting bounced around fiercely by the tumultuous drafts of the burning forest. Behind a curtain of flames, they had both spotted a safe tree. If only they could get there and lose Nyra and her squadron!
Look for a hole in the flame curtain. Soren told me there were holes. If not a hole, a tear, a nick. Anything will do,
Eglantine thought.

There it was! There it was! “Charge!” Eglantine yelled, and they both zipped through the opening, which closed behind them almost immediately and singed some of Primrose’s tail feathers. But they were on the other side. And there was a tree. Not as safe as their last tree, for it was smoldering at its base, but it would do for now.

They had barely lighted down on a top branch with Eglantine propped as before, guarding the egg, when Nyra and her squadron burst through. But coming around from
the other end with burning branches was the Chaw of Chaws.

Eglantine’s eyes were fastened on Twilight who, in a flame-clear space, was advancing on Nyra.

Backing him up was Soren with not one but two burning branches—one held in his beak and the other in his talons.

Martin was looping in and out of the Ga’Hoole owls and igniting their branches with a small twig. Ruby was flying at high speed directly through the enemy squadron and making them scatter. But above the crackling and hissing of the fire, Twilight’s voice could be heard. He had begun one of his battle chants.

You smokin’ now,
You moonfaced owl.
These flames gonna make you howl.
You gonna skitter
Back to where you from.
And now you think you ain’t so dumb?
Well, just let me tell you this—
You dumb as a fish,
Dumb as a snail,
Dumb as a rock,
And I shall prevail!

Nyra seemed confused and stunned. She had never before encountered Twilight, whose battle chants were in their own way as sharp and deadly as any battle claw. She had heard about this chant-talking owl and never understood how it could so disarm other owls.
But I am not other owls. I want my chick, my baby, my Sacred Orb.
And above her, Nyra heard the heartbeats of two owls high in a tree.

Then everything happened so quickly that Eglantine and Primrose could not see what was coming or understand the words being yelled. Nyra had somehow avoided Twilight’s swipe with the burning branch and had flown up as if she were flying directly toward Eglantine and Primrose. Primrose screamed something, but now the Pygmy Owl was no longer there. Had Nyra killed her? Why was she, Eglantine, standing on this branch all by herself still clutching the egg?

And now their voices from the flames were coming to her.

It was Soren’s voice. “Drop the egg! Drop the egg.”

“I can’t! I can’t! It gives us power, Soren. Power!”

Then she heard a sterner voice.
Great Glaux. It’s Boron.

“Drop the egg. That is a command!”

But their voices were now very dim in Eglantine’s head. Her gizzard stilled, her eyes fixed on the most beautiful
sight she had ever seen. Flames leaping joyfully, freely, they wound like the most gorgeous banners into the blackness of the night. For, indeed, the conflagration that raged around her was pulling the deadliest trick of all. Eglantine was flame dazed and halfway to being completely fire blinked. She saw only beauty. She felt no heat. The fire was leaping from treetop to treetop. Eglantine’s treetop was next.

“It’s crowning,” Soren yelled in a hoarse voice. “It’s crowning, Eglantine. You’ll be burned alive!”