Guardians of Ga'Hoole: To Be A King (10 page)

F
rom the air the byrrgis looked like a long silvery streak coursing through the countryside. Hoole had never imagined that such a gathering of wolves could be mustered. But after her long absence from the Beyond, Namara was greeted like a returning hero. The clan chieftains ran in the forefront of the byrrgis. There was stalwart Dunmore, fearless Duncan MacDuncan, rugged Stormfast, dauntless Banquo, and behind them scores of others from various clans. Fengo himself, though old, was also part of this byrrgis. Although Hoole was the king of the great tree, the wolves knew that the young king was indeed a guardian of all creatures, be they of land or sky. They remembered him from the time he had run with them on the hunt and how when he killed he performed the lochinvyrr as if he were a wolf. They remembered his courage in battle and, perhaps most of all, they remembered his loyalty to Hordweard, the outcast wolf, who now, as Namara MacNamara, led this byrrgis.

The forests were vanishing as Hoole looked below at the ground turning scrubby with brambles and low-growing, shallow-rooted plants. They were nearing the Desert of Kuneer. Traveling both day and night, they had made good time. Hoole had seen no signs of crows, and in any case did not fear daylight flying now, for with the wolves directly beneath him he could quickly dive into the byrrgis for protection if crows began to mob.

Together, the wolves and Hoole had devised a plan. They would not travel too far into the desert, but first look for a good base, either a cave or sand embankment that they could burrow into or hide behind. Hoole and the wolves would work together. Because of his aerial vantage point, Hoole was responsible for scanning the terrain for a base of operations. The wolves, given their keen sense of smell, would send out a tracking team to find the hagsfiends or any telltale signs of them, such as the tumbledown that Phineas had found.

It was not long before Hoole spotted the perfect hideout; a large cave in the side of a low sandstone shelf with some outlying rocks. As soon as they had settled into this natural fortification, Hoole took command. Perched on one of the rocks, he looked around.

“My thought is that this place, so perfect for us, would also offer protection to the hagsfiends. We found it
quickly. I think that there are similar formations that might give them shelter. My plan is to fly out at dawn and reconnoiter. The hagsfiends will be asleep.”

“But what about the crows, Hoole?” Fengo asked.

“The desert does not seem their kind of territory.”

“‘Seem,’ Hoole?” Fengo asked. There was a low grumbling among the wolves. “I think you should fly with a guard.”

“I’ll go!” “Count me in!” “Me as well.” A dozen wolves called out to accompany the young king.

“I am sure,” Hoole said, “that three will be enough.” He scanned the pack. “Donneghail, Cailean, and Camran, you will run with me.” The three wolves were among the largest of the entire pack. They would defend him well. Donneghail, in addition to being fast and strong, was alert to the smallest things. If there was tumbledown in the brush, Donneghail would spot it.

Following sunrise, Hoole had not been flying long when he saw a depression in the sand with big boulders along one side. He slowed his flight and then spiraled down to alert the three wolves.

“Donneghail, you go out ahead and see if you spot any of the tumbledown. Remember it is not as black as their flight feathers—just soft balls of gray fluff.”

“Yes, Hoole.”

When he came back, he reported that there were no such telltale signs, neither tumbledown nor hag scent.

Hoole lofted himself once more into flight, and the three wolves loped along beneath him.
Perhaps,
Hoole thought,
these hideouts are not as plentiful as I thought.
But at just that moment, he saw the wolves suddenly stop below him, and then about a quarter league ahead, he saw them, their immense black shapes billowing in a sandpit. Hoole flew a little closer for a better look. Even though they were only about twice the size of owls, their wings were huge and it appeared as if the darkest storm clouds had settled on the earth. There must have been at least thirty of them, their black-feathered bodies rising and falling in the rhythms of sleep. Hoole carved a turn and flew back to a boulder where the three wolves waited.

“There are at least thirty of them.”

“The sun is high. So there are hours left until they rouse themselves,” Cailean said. “Should we go back and get the others and then attack them?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Donneghail said. Camran agreed.

“But, my friends, there is a problem.” Hoole spoke thoughtfully. “We would have the element of surprise, but the brightness of the day would rob the greenness of your eyes’ light.”

Hoole had thought about this deeply since he had first looked into the flames of Rupert’s fire and had seen the green light that had so reminded him of the ember. It had come to him at that time that Grank himself had told him long ago that he had first seen the image of the ember in the eyes of Fengo. Hoole, most of all, was suspicious of the power of the ember in many ways. He had seen evidence of how it could alter those who came near it. Was it its light, its heat, that caused these altered states? And was there an affinity between some of the ember’s powers and that of wolves? They both shared this intense green light. Was it possible that the wolves had a power equal to—if not greater than—that of the fyngrot of the hagsfiends? How then might it be used to greater effect?

“We must have the darkness of the night for my plan to work,” Hoole said.

“Aaah!” All three wolves realized at once that what the young king said was true. Hoole had explained to them that the green light in the eyes of the wolves was so similar to that of the ember, he felt in his gizzard that it could shatter the fyngrot. They must trade the element of surprise for the effectiveness of the dark. And this would be a perfect night because the moon had dwenked and the newing had not yet begun. It would be black as pitch.

“There are at least thirty of them,” Hoole explained when they returned to the other wolves. “They sleep in a shallow pit. Much shallower than this one. My plan is this.” Hoole lofted down from the rock where he had perched and dragged one talon through the sand. “This is the shape of the pit. There are rocks here, here, here, here, and here. That is five rocks with broad surfaces. There are thirty of you as well. You will divide into five teams, six wolves to a team, and I shall help out wherever needed.

“We need to leave before tween time.” Hoole paused. “Sorry, I forget myself. That is owl talk for the time between the last drop of daylight and the first shadows of night. We’ll approach the rocks under the camouflage of these first shadows. Now, do you all understand the strategy?”

“Yes,” they answered. It was a strategy that was very similar to the one they used in hunting caribou.

“Remember, if we do this right, there should be very little fighting at the onset, and then you can set in for the kill.”

Once again the wolves bayed, “Yes.”

“Fengo, you are prepared to lead the howls?”

“Yes, Hoole. We will start with the lowest of the howls, the close-to-ground whines, proceed to the pack howl, and then to the death howl.”

“To the death howl!” Stormfast, a huge wolf leaped up on his hind legs and struck at the sinking sun with his forepaws.

“To the death howl!” The others leaped toward the sky.

Hoole marveled. There was nothing more faithful than a wolf. So noble and so intelligent.

And although the ember was far away, smoldering in its teardrop strongbox, he felt the power of it every time he looked into the green fire of those wolf eyes. Even though Grank had told Hoole that he had first glimpsed the image of the ember in the eyes of Fengo, in truth, every wolf seemed to have a reflection of this ember in their eyes, that unearthly green shimmer that inspired Hoole. He did not need to have the ember close by. He only needed to look into a wolf’s eyes. It would be this same green that emanated from those eyes that Hoole knew deep in his gizzard would lead to the downfall of the hagsfiends. But it was a magic they did not understand, could never believe in.

E
ver since Hoole had run with the wolves that first time in the Beyond, there had been fleeting moments when he felt more wolf than owl. It was like that now as Hoole flew low over their silver-and-gray backs. The owl and the wolves were moving forward with the shadows as the night came on. Hoole felt each light footfall of the wolves. His breath came in the same panting rhythms. The wolves had assumed the tight pack of an ambush byrrgis. There would be a subtle shifting of positions as they advanced. It was the seamless movements, their flawless communication that was the real force that drove their intricate strategies, whether it was for hunting, tracking, or simply traveling; Hoole found it fascinating. The wolves played out these designs through a series of silent signals that appeared as smooth as the orbits of planets or the transit of the stars across the sky. The wolves had a name for such strategies: They called them the Great Game.

The night was growing darker. There would be no moon, and shortly the hagsfiends would begin to stir. But as each minute passed, Hoole felt himself grow more wolflike. He felt the dish shape of his face begin to extend into the night and could imagine the almost square muzzle of a wolf instead of a beak. His ear slits seemed to move toward the top of his head, and he could twitch them in one direction and then another to collect sounds. In his chest, he felt a bigger heart pumping loudly, and even his talons began to feel different.
I am not a wolf, but I am a wolf,
he thought.
A winged wolf.

They were now approaching the five boulders. They would hunker down behind them and then when the first hags began to stir, Hoole would give a signal and the Great Game would enter the next phase.

They waited and waited. Finally, Hoole detected a change in the hags’ breathing. He dragged his talon across a rock’s surface. The scratching of the talon was the first signal, and the wolves leaped to their positions on the boulders. Led by Fengo, the howling began, a wild and untamed sound scrolling through the night. The hagsfiends were aghast. They staggered from their sleep and in a great confusion tried to rise and loft themselves into the air. But the night was now crisscrossed with a shimmering green light. Hoole could hear the hagsfiends
giving commands to their half-hags in that peculiar language reserved only for speaking to the tiny poisonous creatures. Although he could see their plumage stirring, the half-hags did not emerge. It was as if the green light had made them fall yeep before they could even fly out from the safety of their hosts’ feathers. This sent the hags-fiends into a panic. An order to cast a fyngrot was shrieked. Hoole knew that this would be the real test.

The wolves now tipped their heads up. Green light issued from thirty pairs of eyes. Fengo began howling commands to direct their gaze, and just as he had hoped, shimmering green light beams shot across and over the hagsfiends as they tried to cast their ghastly fyngrot. Glaring yellow flashed from haggish eyes, but green blades of light cut through it, and the yellow fractured, shattering into millions of pieces.

Hoole, aloft, together with Fengo on the boulder coordinated their commands from their different vantage points and guided the wolves’ eyes. For those hagsfiends who had lofted themselves into flight, it was as if the entire night had turned into a slope glazed in slippery green ice. They were losing their purchase on the air. Then Hoole saw something that froze his gizzard. “Behind you, Fengo! Behind!”

Two hagsfiends who had slid down from the night sky
were slithering on their bellies through the desert sand. Their talons were inches from Fengo’s back. Suddenly there were streaks of blood in the silver fur, and Fengo was rising in the night, clutched in the immense talons of a hagsfiend.

“Look up! Look up! Cast your green!” Hoole shouted, but his words were swallowed by the night. The second hagsfiend was now racing toward Fengo’s head. One talon extended beyond the length of the rest. The truth of this moment began to sink in. The hagsfiend was going for Fengo’s eyes. Blood spurted into the night. A sickening feeling engulfed him.

When Hoole had fought in the Battle of the Beyond, he had not been aware that his mother had sustained a direct hit. He thought she was beside him the entire time until he suddenly became aware that she was gone. This time, however, he had seen the attack. This time he could do something and a rage built in Hoole’s gizzard. He had never felt anything so intensely in his life. It was as if the heat of the ember was rising within him. A passion that seemed almost craven in its power flooded his entire being. He flew directly at the hagsfiend that had seized Fengo. They were high in the air. If the hag dropped Fengo, the wolf would surely die. And Hoole—not even half of the size of a hag—would not have the strength to carry his weight.

“Do not drop him. I command you to set him down
gently!” The words sounded entirely foolish. It was hard to imagine, let alone daring, to command a hagsfiend to do such a thing. But if any creature had looked up, they would have seen a curious sight. Overhead, an owl began to glow luminous green. He appeared to be composed more of light than feathers and bones and flesh. The hags-fiend was trying desperately to cast a fyngrot, but the yellow simply washed away in the night. “Down, down gently! Gently.” The hag, as if in some strange hypnotic state, began to sink slowly through the air and gently laid the bleeding wolf on the boulder.

Taking their cue from Hoole, the other wolves began to bring the rest of the hagsfiends to ground by manipulating the beams of their eyes until a large web of green light was formed that, like a spider gathering its prey, drew them in.

Then, when the hagsfiends touched ground, a silent signal was given, and the wolves sank their teeth into the throats of the stupefied hagsfiends. Hoole ripped open the chest of the hag that had gouged out Fengo’s eye, and another wolf killed the hag whose talons had clutched Fengo.

Blood seeped from Fengo’s empty eye socket. The other eye still burned fiercely, but Fengo’s breath came in ragged gasps. “My time on earth is near its end, my friend, dear Hoole.”

“No! No! It cannot be. It simply cannot be!”

“But it is, Hoole,” Fengo said calmly.

“The ember. I felt the power of the ember. It brought the hagsfiends to the ground. It can bring you back to life.”

“No, no, young king. It does not work that way.”

“The magic of the ember can, though. It is good magen, not nachtmagen.”

“Just the point, young’un. Good magic works in harmony with Lupus and Glaux and nature. Death is also part of the Great Game we wolves play. I am an old wolf, my time has come. You must not go against such things just because you have the ember.” There was a weird gurgling sound that came from Fengo as his chest heaved, gasping for every breath. “Say farewell to my old friend Grank… And now the time.” With his last bit of strength, he cocked his head and fixed his single eye on Hoole. It was time for lochinvyrr. Even though Hoole had not brought on this death, and although Fengo was not Hoole’s prey, this was an honorable death. It must be recognized as such in order for Fengo’s spirit to climb the spirit trail of the stars to the cave of souls, the wolf heaven.

Namara, who had been standing off to one side, now approached Hoole. “The hagsfiends are all dead, Hoole. There were thirty to start with and there are thirty bodies accounted for.”

Hoole looked up. He saw small piles of feathers. Once again, as in Ambala, he was astonished at how small they appeared in death. Hoole wondered, however, if these were the only hagsfiends in the S’yrthghar. And if they had simply strayed here after the Battle in the Beyond or if they had been ordered here by Lord Arrin. Had they diminished the enemy’s strength enough so that when the Short Light came, the enemy could be defeated? Well, he had done his best with the help of the wolves, but there were many questions still to be answered, and at least one battle yet to be fought.

And was the world of owls any closer to being rid of all magic? That was the real question.

The wolves dragged Fengo’s body far from those of the hagsfiends. At the bottom of a sandy rise they dug a pit and buried their chief so the carrion eaters would not tear his body to pieces.

The owl and the wolves then left the desert, and before the night was half over they were back in Ambala where they found a large old oak. It had turned cold and the wolves made what they called a sleep fold, in which they huddled together for warmth when there was no real shelter. As for Hoole, he was happy to be back in a tree. The night was still too young for any self-respecting owl to sleep,
so he flew to the topmost branch of the tree. The darkness flowed with stars. Grank had taught him the names of the different stars and constellations, and Hoole knew that the group of stars that the owls called the Golden Talons was known as Lupus or the Star Wolf to the wolves. And as the last stars climbed to the front paws of the wolf, Hoole felt a strange mixture of sadness and joy: sadness at the loss of his old friend, and joy as he watched the spirit trail burn out of the night sky just beneath the Star Wolf.
He’s on his way to the cave of souls,
Hoole thought. Quietly, Hoole lifted off from the tree and flew into the night.

Am I flying or loping through these stars?
he thought as he traced with a wing tip the outline of the Star Wolf’s muzzle. There was a gathering of mist in the shape of a wolf that appeared to trot softly up the spirit trail. It passed Hoole and then paused. Turning its head, it raised its muzzle high and a sonorous howl flowed that was made of clouds and mists, star shine, and all the heavenly bits of the night. “Good-bye, my friend,” Hoole whispered. “Good-bye.”

And far away on an island in the middle of the southern sea, another Spotted Owl peered into his own fire and saw that his old friend from the Beyond was climbing the spirit trail to the cave of souls.
Glaumora? The cave of souls?
thought Grank.
They are one. We shall meet again.