The Shattering (Guardians of Ga'hoole) (6 page)

“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 strands 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.

N
imsy 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.”

“You’re right. It’s been so hot. They’ll all be over there cooling off in those chilly crests.”

“But we can pick up the sweet wind on the south side. No one will know where we’ve gone. They’ll just think we’re off doing something else.”

“I hope so,” Eglantine said in a tentative voice. She was
thinking how she had just been complaining yesterday to Soren, and he had said that they might get the northerly wind soon. But if she and Ginger left right now they could pretend that they had flown off before they knew the wind crests were arriving. Yes, that was what they must do! Eglantine was so thrilled at the prospect of seeing her mum that she thought her gizzard might just burst from the joy.

At last I am going toward something, I’m going home! Home! To Mum, to Da perhaps, to our family hollow
. As the two Barn Owls circled out and climbed over the Sea of Hoolemere, the moon rose and cast a glinting silver thread of light that led right to The Beaks. For Eglantine, it seemed as if she had lived in an empty hollow forever; yes, that was what death meant for those who had not died but grieved endlessly. The grieving life was a large bare hollow, with long empty flight paths leading to it. But now she knew everything was about to change. Her life would have meaning again. With her mum and da, she was somebody and she would live in a lovely mossy hollow hung with vines of ivy and lichen, listening to their stories. Their legends of that place called the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. To them, it was just a legend. Eglantine knew the tree was real, but it didn’t really count, not like a hollow, not like home.

She began to hum a song that she had often heard her
mother sing. Oh, she wished she could remember the words. Her mother had sung it when she was returning to the nest from hunting. It was halfway between a hunting song and a lullaby. Suddenly, the words came back to her, and Eglantine began singing the lovely old song.

I’m coming home to my tall tree
In a forest deep and green,
Where my owl chicks wait for me
Tucked away in my tall tree.

I bring you vole,
I bring coon.
The blood’s not cold,
I’ll be there soon.

And from my breast,
I’ll pluck some down,
So you can rest
‘Til the moon grows round.

Sleep on, babes, grow strong.
May your feathers fledge,
Your wings grow long.

And then at day’s edge
When dark drinks light,
We’ll rise together in chick’s first flight.

Like a seam in the night, the coastline of The Beaks began to glimmer.

“This way,” Eglantine cried out to Ginger and tipped her head toward a lake that was shining in the distance. It sparkled with the reflections of the moon and the stars. Eglantine had never seen anything so beautiful. “It’s like a mirror!” she exclaimed, and, indeed, when she looked down, she could see both of their faces.

“But look over there, Eglantine—a tree, a fir tree! Just like the one you told me about. The one in your dreams!”

“But this isn’t a dream, Ginger. This is REAL!”