A Guide Book to the Great Tree (10 page)

“You'll always be recognized as a knight here. You don't have to fight to be a real owl. There are plenty of other things you can do.” Theo pushed the iron foot toward Ivar. “This will help.”

“Help? Help me look like a fool, perhaps.”

This was not the reaction Theo had hoped for. “It will allow you to do more than
this.
” He reminded himself to soften his tone. “You will be able to perch normally. And, in time, walk and—”

“What do you take me for? A
ground
animal? What good does walking do me? I will never be anything but a broken owl. I would have been better off dying with my comrades.”

Theo could not hold back his anger. “I just thought that, maybe, you'd want to try to live your life again. That maybe you'd like to do the things that we owls do, to perch, to fly, and maybe even to hunt, or to—”

Ivar's yellow eyes brightened for the first time since his return to the tree. “Might I truly be able to…to
fly
?” The word “fly” came out of his beak in a bare whisper, as if saying it too loudly would quash the possibility.

Theo's gizzard quickened. “Yes, yes, I think so.”

“Let's have a better look at this iron foot of yours, then.”

Ivar would learn to fly a second time. And for the next moon cycle, he became a chick again—first learning to stand firmly on his new foot, learning to balance on a perch, and then to walk. The iron leg was heavy, and, despite Theo's crafty design, hard to control. Ivar had to
regain his strength before he was capable of even attempting to branch. But with Theo as his tutor, Ivar grew closer to flight each night.

“It's an issue of balance. Remember when you first learned to fly with battle claws? It's like that, but just…well, more so. Let's begin with a simple glide.” Theo and Ivar stood on a branch of the great tree. For the first time since his return, Ivar was about to take to the air.

“It
is
like a battle claw, isn't it? I'm ready.”

Theo gave him a reassuring nod, and the Spotted Owl lifted off.

“Woah! Wooooah!” Ivar was in the air for no more than a few seconds before he started to stagger. Theo remembered how Grank had given him a little bit of a wing prop when he first learned to fly with battle claws. He did the same for Ivar by quickly flying under him and pumping his own wings to send up a few supportive puffs of air.

“Pump harder with your starboard wing! A little more. That's it, lift! Lift! Easy on the port side!”

“I'm doing it! I'm flying! Aiyee, I feel like an owlet again!” Although he was a bit unsteady, he was airborne. Ivar was ecstatic.

Theo was even more ecstatic.
He's flying! He is almost his old self again!
he thought. Somehow, seeing the once-broken
knight in flight eased the regrets he had about making battle claws. His smithing had done something good for owlkind. His smithing had restored a young owl. Theo had been teaching many of the owls at the tree his art. Now, finally, he was sure that he was doing the right thing by passing his craft to the next generation.

Theo and Ivar became mentor and protégé. The two owls would practice together every night when the weather was clear and the winds not too blustery. Ivar's flight grew more and more stable. He was able to bank and dive with some training. He found landing to be surprisingly easy, as the weight of the iron foot actually made for a steadier approach. He began to work on catching prey—that took more coordination than he imagined. The one aspect of flight that eluded Ivar was endurance. Despite all his hard work, he could only fly for a few minutes at a time, usually circling the Island of Hoole. Never was he able to leave the air mass above the island for fear of losing altitude over water. That is, until Ivar made a curious finding.

Being a Spotted Owl, Ivar was particularly sensitive to changes in atmospheric pressure. Every night, as he circled the island with Theo, he noticed a slightly buoyant pocket of warm air as he passed over the southwestern
coast. Whenever he was over this pocket, the iron foot's weight disappeared and he felt as though he had never lost it. He began to explore this pocket on his own. Sure enough, when he found its edges, he discovered that, if he stayed within them, he could fly for hours. It was as if he was back in his old fighting form again. One discovery led to another. As the months passed, Ivar explored farther and farther, finding more atmospheric anomalies around the island. With his iron foot, to which he was now fully accustomed, he drew diagrams of all of them. These charts were the first ever to be drawn in such detail.

“These are amazing!” Theo remarked over the charts that now numbered in the dozens. Ivar had asked Theo to meet him one evening in the great tree's new library. “You should show these to the chaw leaders. They might want to add these to our collection.” Theo gestured to the growing stacks of books and maps around them.

“I'm no scholar.” Ivar let out a modest chuckle. “I leave that to the likes of Strix Strumajen and her daughter. They have no need for a talzzard like me.” Talzzard was a nickname that some of the fighter owls used to describe themselves—all talon and gizzard, and all fight.

“Seems to me that you're more than a talzzard now. I
think they might ask you to start sharing your discoveries with the rest of the tree.” Theo was proud of the young Spotted Owl. Indeed, he had become so much more than he was before his injury. He was participating in as many chaw practices as he could fit into a given night. His enthusiasm had greatly impressed many of the chaw leaders.

“Maybe another night. I asked you here to show you this.” Ivar pushed an unfinished chart toward Theo. Exactly what it showed, I cannot be sure. What I do know is that it showed some sort of air current. “It's unfinished because I had been afraid to fly farther west. I suspected that I might not make it back if I kept following it. Bucking this thermal stream would be grueling even for a very strong flier. But then I thought perhaps there is a windkin”—a windkin is a companion for another wind from an opposite quadrant; they work together in strange ways—“and if I could find the windkin for this one I might be able to fly to some faraway place.”

“Fascinating! How will you know where this thermal stream, or its windkin as you call it, might lead? You must show this to Strix Strumajen. Maybe she can—”

“No. I want to fly it. Alone. I need to see where it leads, Theo.”

Theo was taken aback. “You just said yourself that you think you might not make it back. This is an issue of safety.”

“I can't worry about safety. I'm just going to follow it. And I mean to leave tonight.”

“It's just, awfully impulsive, don't you think?” Theo remembered when Grank had accused
him
of being impulsive. That was so long ago.
Maybe impulse is one of those things that dwenks like the moon as an owl grows older.
He turned his attention back to the Spotted Owl.

“Maybe it will bring me back here one day, or maybe it won't. All those months ago, just before you brought me this iron foot, I thought that my days of adventuring were over, that my life was over. But you changed that. And I knew in my gizzard as soon as I took to the air that I had another long voyage in me.” Ivar paused for a moment. “Something about being in that river of wind, feeling like I can fly forever, makes me feel whole again.”

That, more than anything, touched Theo. To make Ivar whole again, wasn't that what he had set out to do? He was about to lose a friend, yes. But he was losing a friend to a fantastic voyage, not to war or violence. The gizzard-resister in him felt at peace for the first time since he strapped on battle claws. At last, he found balance in
his heart and gizzard. Ivar began rolling up his charts, deftly using his iron foot in the process. Theo thought about making a comment about the foot, the charts, and this journey, but instead all he said was, “Glauxspeed, Ivar, Glauxspeed.”

Theo left the tree shortly after Ivar's departure. Now, you must understand that in the legends, it was never clear where Theo went. For centuries, there were rumors that he finally joined the Glauxian Brothers, but no one knew for sure. Then there were other tales that intimated that Theo never joined the brothers and, in fact, followed Ivar. The recently discovered Theo Papers indeed prove this to be so. I am still in the process of translating them, and have yet to find out all the details of his life after he left the great tree, and his residence in what we now call the Sixth Kingdom. But I do know one thing—and that is that this Great Horned left behind an incredible legacy, not just of battle claws, but of creations that bettered owlkind. The Great Ga'Hoole Tree's loss was the Sixth Kingdom's gain.

I
n the world of owls, many holidays are celebrated and numerous festivals are held throughout the year. Some of these are boisterous and grand while others are solemn and intimate. Some are universally observed while others are unique to the Great Ga'Hoole Tree. We revel all night and into the day to mark those things that are most meaningful to us, for such is the way of owls.

FOUNDER'S NIGHT (OR LONG NIGHT)

Founder's Night is the first and last holiday of the owl year at the Great Ga'Hoole Tree. It begins at twilight on the shortest day of the year. Before Hoole came to power, Founder's Night was simply known as Long Night. Long Night had been one of the most festive holidays in the N'yrthghar, for it celebrated the disappearance of the sun
and the longest darkness of the whole year. And in the universe of owls, where night is more valued than day, it became a festive time when young owls and older owls could fly to their gizzards' content and waste little time sleeping. The days would thereafter begin to lengthen and the long dark of the night would disappear sliver by sliver until, come summer, it would all begin to reverse again and there would be still another celebration on the shortest night to welcome back the darkness.

Shortly after the great tree was established, the owls of the tree renamed the holiday Founder's Night for their new king, Hoole, who was hatched on Long Night. Many owls from the Northern Kingdoms still refer to it as Long Night. Whatever you call it, it's the liveliest celebration of the year! There are all sorts of sports and games, and gad-feathers come to sing and do their lively sky jigs against the moon.

At First Lavender, throngs of owls emerge from their hollows and nests and take to the skies for a tween-time flight to kick off the celebration. This leads to the most exciting activity of the night—the flying contests. There's always a contest to see who's the fastest flier, of course. But we owls can get pretty creative when it comes to flying. I've seen (and even flown in a few) contests for
the steepest dives, the sharpest turns, the fastest spirals, the most number of somersaults in a row, the tightest formations…You name it, an owl has flown it. And if the conditions are right, there are colliering contests, too. Winners are greeted with roaring cheers and crowned with wreaths woven of humble materials such as vines and shoots of the Ga'Hoole tree. This reminds us of two things; that Hoole wore no crown of gold and needed no kingly trappings, and that each and every owl is noble in spirit if noble in deed.

There is also a hunting contest to celebrate the spirit of lochinvyrr, taught to Hoole in his day and Coryn in ours by the dire wolves of Beyond the Beyond. Only a few owls, the best hunters, are selected to participate. Owls compete to see who gets the quickest kill, the largest prey, and the quietest approach. When the hunters bring back their prey, they are greeted with much gratitude. Following the hunting contest, there is a great feast. The
raw prey is shared by all to remind us that we have been able to survive only through the sharing of resources.

As the night goes on, owls return to the sky for more dancing and fancy flying. By daybreak, most owls are exhausted and return to their nests and hollows for a most restful day of sleep.

OWLIPOPPEN FESTIVAL

The Owlipoppen Festival takes place on the night of the first full moon after Founder's Night. It's a minor festival, but also one of the oldest. I have loved going to this festival ever since I was an owlet. And even though I am a fully fledged owl, a ryb at the great tree no less, I have never ceased to get a thrill out of seeing all those colorful owlipoppen. While I am usually not a fan of ostentatious displays, this festival is just so full of history and artistic expression that I cannot help but love it.

In this festival, elaboratly decorated owlipoppen—little owl dolls made from down, molted feathers, and sometimes twigs—are loaded up on makeshift rafts and sent out to sea with the tide with the wish that they take with them any bad luck for the coming year.

This festival is steeped in tradition. It began in the coastal regions of the Southern Kingdoms thousands of years ago as a cleansing ritual. Originally, owls would gather their molted feathers and rub them all over themselves. Misfortune was thought to have been transferred to the feathers. The feathers would then be cast off into the sea, and the owl would have nothing but good luck throughout the year. Soon, owls who lived along rivers began to pick up the custom as well, sending their molted feathers downriver.

This ritual evolved into the making of owlipoppen. These days, owls sometimes begin making the elaborate dolls weeks before the festival. They are often much fancier than the owlipoppen that parents make for their chicks. Feathers are dyed using the juices from berries and grasses. And if there are owlets in the family, they help to decorate the finished dolls with leaves, nuts, and small stones. The night before the festival, owls gather to make a raft. They tie sticks and twigs together with dried vines to make a large floating platform for the owlipoppen.

On the night of the festival, all the owls in the community bring their owlipoppen to the shore and place them on the raft. Everyone admires the other owlipoppen
and sings the “Good Luck Song” together. I had been fairly certain that the song is a recent addition to the festival. My research proved me right—it was written and first sung by Madame Uli Plonk, a singer at the great tree only two centuries ago.

Luck be in my feathers, sorrows I untether

Luck be in my feathers for all that I will weather

Gather at the waters

Owls of all the land

All my sons and daughters

Let ill omens be banned

Come sing a joyful note

To help improve our lot

Sorrows that yonder float

Shall quickly be forgot

Let the owlipoppen drift

Toward the light of dawn

In waters that run swift

Our fortunes be redrawn

Luck be in my feathers, sorrows I untether

Luck be in my feathers for all that I will weather

When the tide is right, the owl who has been designated as “Lucky Owl” for the festival (usually some sort of community leader), pushes the raft into the sea or river. As the owlipoppen float out over the water, all the owls who have gathered take to the skies and hoot and holler as loudly as they can to give any bad luck a proper sendoff. The night ends with the choosing of the Lucky Owl for next year's Owlipoppen Festival.

EGG FESTIVAL

The Egg Festival takes place on the first equal-night of the year, when the length of the day is the same as the length
of the night. It is the night that marks the beginning of spring—one of the most important times of the year for owls, for it is the time when most eggs are laid and the next generation comes into being. The Egg Festival celebrates this process.

This is not a festival full of feasts and gatherings as some others are. It is one that is observed unfussily. Nevertheless, it is full of significance for owlkind.

Rituals vary from region to region and from species to species. Calling songs are always sung. Each species has its own unique call. Spotted Owls, for example, issue a series of short, barking hoots, whereas Barn Owls emit long, drawn-out shrieks. As the night falls, and the Egg Festival begins, a symphony of calls can be heard in every place where owls live. Some owls also put egg-shaped stones in their nests to symbolize their wish for a brood of healthy, robust chicks.

SCROOMSA WIKKEN

To owls, death is believed to be the passage to another life in glaumora. It's not necessarily scary or sad, but merely a journey that we must all embark upon. Scroomsawikken has been celebrated since the time of the legends as a
night when the living remember and honor their departed loved ones.

Traditionally, on the night of Scroomsawikken, on the first new moon after spring's equal night, the mood is bright and not at all gruesome. It's treated almost like a family reunion of sorts. The deceased are remembered fondly. Owls return to the site of their loved ones' final ceremonies to pay respects. Some owls offer flowers, others bits of food and furs to make the departed ones' stay in glaumora more comfortable. Often, there is singing and dancing at the sites, for owls want to bring joy to the ones they love, even after death.

At the great tree, owls light candles in the Great Hollow to pay tribute to the deceased. Every year, I light a candle for Strix Struma. Now, with the passing of Ezylryb, Boron, and Barran, there are so many more candles to light. Each point of light reminds me what amazing owls they all were, and how they're surely making glaumora an even better place.

NIMSY NIGHT

Nimsy Night takes place on the shortest night of the year and marks the start of summer. Owls see it as an
occasion for welcoming back the darkness, for after Nimsy Night, the nights grow steadily longer until the arrival of Founder's Night (Long Night). It is also the time to usher in the warmest months of the year, when prey is plentiful and flying is most pleasant.

During the time of the Golden Rain at the great tree, chaw practices are cut short, young owls take fewer classes, and all owls enjoy as many night flights as they can possibly fit into the few hours of darkness. So, all the owls look forward to the coming of Nimsy Night because it signals the change to a more leisurely schedule. I, of course, always seem to work just as hard as I do the rest of the year.

Everything is decorated with the color green for Nimsy Night. The leaves of maples, oaks, and sycamores reach a bright, verdant shade during this time of year. So owls string them together to make garlands and wreaths. These are placed over hollows and nests, and are said to bring good fortune and health. Some owls even dye their primaries green in celebration.

The best-known ritual of Nimsy Night is the picking of herbs. Since ancient times, owls have believed that herbs are at their most potent and have miraculous healing powers on the shortest night of the year. Therefore, we pick them on this night to dry and use throughout the
year. Now, I don't think this is a scientifically proven fact, so I question its validity. But, herbs do seem to be most abundant in early summer, so I suppose it's only sensible to gather them at this time.

And as with all great celebrations in the world of owls, there is a feast associated with Nimsy Night. It's not quite as grand as the feasts for Founder's Night or the Milkberry Harvest Festival, but it's wonderful nonetheless. Families of owls gather to share meat, which is plentiful at this time of year.

At the great tree, there is traditionally a snail bake. Raw snails are not the tastiest of foods for owls—most of us find them too slimy. But once they're cooked, they become an absolute delicacy! A typical snail bake begins with the heating of great stones near the shoreline. The colliering and metals chaws are responsible for this. Coals are buried among the stones early in the evening, so that at feast time, they are good and hot. Next comes the gathering of fresh seaweed—the southern coast of the Island of Hoole is especially good for this. This is usually a job for the larger owls, as the seaweed can be quite heavy. In the meantime, smaller owls gather snails from around the island. This is very easy after a rain, and somewhat more challenging when the weather has been fair. The snails are thrown onto the stones followed by the
seaweed and a few of the herbs picked earlier in the night. The sound of snail shells hitting hot stones is always met with a great cheer. Then, the whole thing is covered in sand to trap the heat. After an hour or two, when the snails have cooked and the fire cooled, the sand and seaweed are removed and the eating begins! The snail bake always reminds me how lucky I am to live at the tree—where a little ingenuity and the ability to control fire combine to create an exquisite treat out of otherwise lowly fare.