Exile (12 page)

“I can’t believe how many of these the owls were hoarding, but they have learned their lesson now!” said Field Marshal Cram.

“Your work has succeeded, Striga,” said another owl who wore not one but two blue feathers.

“Mission accomplished!” said a third rather smugly.

And at precisely that moment, Pelli and Otulissa did a midair four-point roll with a turn and tuck and raced toward the viewing branches followed by ten of the finest fliers from the old Strix Struma Strikers. “Eeeeyow!” The Field Marshal saw half his wing hanging limply at his side. Then a cry went up. “It’s the Band!”

The Greenowls of Ambala flung off their moss capes. Some wore battle claws, but some flew clawless, and beneath the fiery clamor of the mounting battle was the strange windy din of the Danyar fighters inhaling their breaths of qui. There was a loud smack as Braithe of the Brad, flanked by two owls on either side, smashed into the main viewing perch, dislodging a dozen of the Blue Brigade.

Cries from the Blue Brigade went up to fetch battle claws, fire branches. For in essence, these owls were weaponless, which was exactly what Pelli and Otulissa had counted on. If they could prevent the Blue Brigade and the Striga from gaining access, this would be a battle easily won.

Ruby was in charge of the Flame Squadron and signaled the lighting, and thirty or more owls flew into the Balefire of burning vanities to spark the branches they had hidden in caches around the tree. The nest-maid snakes had already begun to herd the young’uns into the tree and lead them to safety in the old siege tunnel. Bell looked back and saw her mum flying with her ice pick. Her eyes opened in horror.
She might die. It’s all my fault!

She looked around quickly. No one was watching. Certainly not the blind nest-maid snakes. So Bell made a
dash to the nearest port in the tree.
I’m coming, Mum
, she thought.
I’ll fight beside you
.

Everything was chaos and confusion. The night whizzed with sparks from the huge Balefire and the ignited branches. Ice weapons sparkled high in the canopy of the tree. The curved-edged scimitars, like scallops of a newing moon, slashed through the darkness. An owl fell to the ground. Bell made her way through the melee of smoke, flying ice chips, and sizzling branches. All she had to do was find a weapon of her own. She could handle an ice pick or one of the short blades. There was a burning twig on the ground. She could do something with that. She seized it, spread her wings, and flew off to find her mother. But where had her mother gone? Pelli had been near the viewing perch close to the thick of the battle. But the heaviest fighting seemed to have moved. A cry rose in the night.

“The Great Hollow’s been breached!” Bell saw a rush of owls head for the tree. Then a few of the Blue Brigade flew out, fully clawed, the iron talons extended in attack position. She thought she saw Elvanryb fall as she rushed to the scene. She knew she must drop her fire branch before she flew through the opening of the tree. There were no fire weapons in the tree. No owl would ever fight with fire in the tree. But there had never been a battle
within the Great Ga’Hoole Tree in its thousand-year history. Bell crouched now in the harp gallery amid the pile of tangled strings and watched. If only there were a pair of battle claws she could get to. She heard a song rise up with a thumping beat. Great Glaux, it must be Twilight! Every young owl knew of these battle chants, but no one had ever actually heard him. But now the chant pounded in Bell’s ear slits. She saw the Great Gray prancing in the air in front of two fierce-looking Great Horneds from the Blue Brigade.

Talk about vanities, bunch of wet poop!
Twilight’s here to give you the scoop!
You dim-witted creeps feathered blue
Don’t mess with me, ‘cause I am cruel
.
I do me a little Breath of Qui
Smash you to smithereens and let it be
.
Let it be, you crazy creeps
Gonna bring you down, gonna make you weep
Call for your mama, call for your pop—
Hey, I’m Twilight, cream of the crop!

“Awesome!” Bell whispered. Her attention was so riveted on Twilight that she had not noticed that another duel was going on very close to her. “Mum!” The Striga
and two others were advancing on Pelli. She was slashing at them with an ice scimitar but they had her backed against the perch rail of the harp gallery. There was a splintering sound and fragments spun through the air. Bell buried herself in the tangled grass strings of the harp. What should she do? She peeked out again. Oh, Glaux! Her mum was defenseless. They were closing in on her. She wanted to call for help. Where was her da? Was there no one to help? The tip of something sparkled in the grass strings of the harp. Bell’s eyes widened. It was a splinter of ice from one of the ice scimitars. Big enough for her to use. She wrapped a talon around its base. It cut into the tough hide of her talon, but it didn’t bleed. She took a deep breath and powered out of the tangle of grass, wielding the small splinter. It was the perfect size. She hurled herself toward the closest owl, a Barred Owl.

Then the Great Hollow spun. She jabbed forward with the splinter. There was a great spurt of blood. The Barred Owl dropped. She heard an anguished screech, “Bell!” She saw her mum fly away. Free! Just as the word free exploded in her head she felt talons closing around her. The ice splinter was wrenched painfully from her grip. She felt something cold against her neck. A silence fell upon the Great Hollow.

“All right.” It was the voice of the Striga. Bell couldn’t believe it. She had been caught by the Striga. “Everyone drop their weapons or her head comes off.”

“No! No!” Bell cried. She felt shame wash through her. Was she saying “No, don’t let me die” or “No, don’t drop your weapons”? She was not sure. She did not want to die, but she did not want to live. “It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault,” she wailed. She began to hear the clank of weapons dropping, at first one by one, then a large clatter as the rest fell.

“Yes, that is more like it!” said the Striga. A strange sucking sound filled the silence. Bell saw the flames in the large torches that lit the Great Hollow quiver and then extinguish. She felt the Striga’s grip tighten and his heart race as he muttered something in Jouzhen. Was she feeling his wings fold in? Was he going yeep?

And then she was twirling through the air. The Striga had forgotten that one weapon could never be dropped—the Breath of Qui!

“After him,” someone yelled.

“Are you all right?” Bell blinked. It was another blue owl who was speaking to her. “I had to hit him hard enough to dislodge her.” Tengshu turned to Pelli. “But I couldn’t do it with full force or I would have killed her.”

Pelli scooped Bell into her wings. “Of course you couldn’t!” She sobbed. “Of course.”

“But he got away, didn’t he?” Tengshu asked.

“Don’t worry,” Soren said, flying up. “He’s gone. Most of the rest are dead. A few followed him out. You saved Bell’s life.”

“And,” Pelli added, turning to Bell. “You saved
my
life.”

“I did?” Bell blinked.

“You did,” Pelli said, and grasped her daughter. “It was a foolish thing, you sneaking away from the other young’uns. It all turned out well. But still, whatever possessed you?”

“It was my fault. All this was my fault,” Bell gasped.

“No!” Pelli said staunchly. “Now you listen to me, Bell. None of this was your fault. It is never a young’un’s fault. It is grown owls who are to blame. Grown owls who should know better.”

Ruby now raced up. “Otulissa is hurt.” She gulped and wilfed. Her ruddy feathers lay flat and sleek against her side. She looked so small.

“Where is she?” Soren asked.

“The matrons are tending her down there on the floor of the Great Hollow. She’s too injured to move. She’s hurt bad, Soren. Real bad.”

“Go to her, Soren. Go to her!” Pelli said. “I’ll take care of Bell.”

I
’ll do what I can do,” Fleemus the grizzled Long-eared Owl said. Fleemus was the great tree healer. “But it’s a head wound. She’s lost a lot of blood, and the eye looks bad. I don’t know if I can save the eye.” There was a single unspoken thought that passed through the Chaw of Chaws who had gathered around Otulissa, almost a prayer:
For Glaux’s sake, save her brain
. What would the tree do without their greatest mind, their greatest ryb. Otulissa, ryb of Ga’Hoolology, scholar of weather interpretation, higher magnetics. The tree without Otulissa’s brilliance would be like the tree without the milkberry vines that sparkled in rainbow hues through the twelve cycles of the moon—unthinkable.

Otulissa remained on the floor of the Great Hollow for several nights. She was feverish and often delusional but Fleemus had managed to stop the bleeding and keep any infection at bay. On the fourth night, he said she could be moved to the infirmary. On the sixth night she regained
consciousness. And when she woke, she heard Soren and Fleemus and Matron discussing her condition.

“She’ll never see out of that port
eye,”
Fleemus was saying. “And infection could still kill her. If I remove the eye, well, she’ll be scarred, disfigured, but I think it would lessen the risk of infection.”

“Well,” Soren said, “if there is one thing that Otulissa isn’t, it’s vain.” He coughed. Even the word sent chills through them.

Otulissa churred silently to herself as she heard them talk. “What makes you so sure I’m not vain, Soren?”

The three owls swiveled their heads around.

“You’re awake?” Fleemus asked.

“Awake enough to know that the real question is, can I read with one eye?” She paused. “And who knows, I might be tempted to buy one of those jaunty bandannas from Trader Mags like the one she uses to cover her bald spot. Maybe with some glitter on it. You see, I would like to restore the word ‘vanity’ to its rightful place in our language. I would like to de-vilify it. Or at least take it out of the realm of the un-Glauxly or whatever that fool owl thought. A little vanity is not a bad thing. I plan to do a linguistical analysis of this word and interpret it in a framework of moral reasoning to explore…” Fleemus, Matron, and Soren looked at one another in wonder.
Soren felt his gizzard trembling with joy.
She’s back. Brains and all. She’s back!

And she was. Still very weak but gaining strength each night. On warm nights, they moved the brave Spotted Owl to her hanging garden, the one she had tended in the trunk pockets of the tree that even in winter was still lovely with its moon-cycle ferns and huckleberry bushes and snow crocuses. She would often stay there well into the day, for the sun warmed her and made it quite comfortable. She did read, although she tired quickly. So Fritha came often to read aloud to her. They took particular pleasure in reading from the books that they had airlifted to keep safe from the Striga. Kalo, who had settled in the tree with her mate, Grom, her daughter, Siv, son, Bruno, and younger brother, Cory, also came and read to her. Kalo’s favorite book was
The Queen’s Tale
.

It was a morning late in winter, one of those days that seems to teeter on the cusp of spring, when Kalo was reading to her that Otulissa suddenly interrupted.

“Did I ever tell you, Kalo, about the time I went to the Northern Kingdoms and spent many nights in the great retreat of the Glauxian Brothers? It is located on the island where Hoole’s egg was sequestered and he hatched out…” Kalo was enthralled with the Northern Kingdoms.
She couldn’t believe that Otulissa had never mentioned this trip to her before.

“You’ve been there?”

“Oh, yes. I speak fluent Krakish, you know.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I had a very…” She paused. “A very dear friend there. His name was Cleve. He was a prince, actually.” Her single eye twinkled.

“Was?”

“Oh, probably still is. So kind. So gentle,” she said wistfully, and adjusted the bandanna over the place where her eye had been. The bandanna was not jeweled, but it was lovely, made from a piece of embroidered silk cloth. Mags had given it to her as a gift.

When Kalo finished reading, she had intended to go back to her hollow but instead turned and flew to see Coryn.

“Coryn? May I speak with you?”

“Kalo, you never have to ask. Please come in.”

“Has Otulissa ever mentioned an owl in the Northern Kingdoms named Cleve?”

“Cleve of Firthmore?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“She hasn’t mentioned him to me directly, but from the Band I have heard about him—him and Otulissa.”

“Him and Otulissa?”

“Yes, Gylfie thinks they were in love, but I guess they had differences.”

“Well, maybe those differences aren’t so great anymore,” Kalo said in a musing tone of voice.

“What are you thinking?”

“I think maybe Otulissa needs something more than what we can give her right now. She is languishing in that garden of hers. Yes, it is lovely, but spring is coming and she needs to get out and fly around a bit. And you know, I think she’s a little bit frightened to try flying with one eye. Her wings weren’t injured but it’s almost as if there is some connection between her missing eye and that wing. She drags it around.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. I noticed it, too. What are you suggesting?”

“I think we need to get Cleve. We need to go to the Northern Kingdoms and bring him here to visit an old friend.”

Coryn blinked. This was a very good idea. Why, it was only the evening before that he had been looking in the flames of his grate and he had seen something that intrigued him in the fire. He had had strange intimations that there was a reason to go to the Northern Kingdoms. Perhaps not only for Cleve. No, something more sinister.
But the shapes in the flames were vague and fleeting. Still, he would go. And perhaps it was not a good idea to take the Band. He would, of course, tell them his plans but the tree was still recovering from the battle on Balefire Night. It would not do for them all to leave at one time. He could go with Kalo, and perhaps Kalo’s mate, Grom.

And so it was decided that he and Kalo and Grom would leave in the next newing of the moon, a few short nights away. Ruby would also accompany them since she had been to the Northern Kingdoms before, but few others would be told, especially not Otulissa. This was to be a surprise.