Guardians of Ga'Hoole: To Be A King (6 page)

“
S
o, as I was saying, I had just confronted that young lieutenant who didn’t know his pin feathers from his flight feathers, ‘That ain’t the way you fight these creatures—begging your pardon, sir,’ I told him. ‘When you got them hagsfiends with their cursed fyngrots, you chase them toward open water.’ So that’s exactly what we did. I took charge of the operation and…”

Hoole, the Snow Rose, and Phineas had alighted in the grog tree, just as the Great Horned Owl had begun to hold forth. When he finished, he turned to the three new arrivals. “Bless my gizzard, what have we here? Three gadfeathers. Come from the north, did you?”

“Any good fighting up there?” a Great Gray asked. Hoole recognized him. He had come with the hireclaws Siv had gathered when she had flown to the Beyond for that last battle. He hoped that the Great Gray would not recognize him in his gadfeather disguise.

“Good fighting in the north,” a Barred Owl interrupted.

“I’ll say. Me cousin says that the Glacier Palace has been invaded by hagsfiends led by a young hothead. Some claim he’s mad.” Hoole felt his gizzard still.

The Great Gray turned to the Snow Rose and Phineas, ignoring Hoole, for which he was thankful. “Then you fellas missed the big battle down here. In the Beyond,” the Great Gray said. “Spectacular. I’ll never forget the sight of the young king coming through that wall of flames with the ember.” Hoole wilfed a bit and kept his head low between his shoulders. “Some bingle juice, will you? And some for my friends here.” The Great Gray summoned the grog tree keeper, a disreputable-looking Screech Owl, who arrived with nutshells that held the potent liquid. They would only pretend to drink the juice. Hoole, Phineas, and the Snow Rose had to keep their heads clear.

Just then, a completely Trufynkken Short-eared Owl staggered through the air. “Another one, please, Harry! Medicinal purposes, you know.”

“She was wounded up on the H’rathghar. Lost half of one foot,” a Barred Owl whispered to Hoole and Phineas. They looked at her port-side foot, which had only two talons left.

“Must make hunting hard,” Hoole said.

“We look after her. She should lay off the juice a bit, though,” the Barred Owl said.

“Whatcha be sayin’ about me, Alastair?” The Shorteared Owl suddenly spun her head around. Some bingle juice spat out with her words.

“Nothing, dear. Nothing.”

“It is for medicinal purposes—the brother who tended me when I got down here said…He said to me…‘Lolly, darlin’, nothing like a little touch of the old bingle to ease the pain, especially when winter comes on.’”

“Brother! A Glauxian Brother?” Hoole asked.

“Well, certainly not my own. Me own brother ain’t worth a seagull’s splat.” Hearty laughter roared through the tree and shook the branches. A couple of the smaller owls, who could not hold their bingle juice, fell from the tree and, though half Trufynkken, managed to recover flight before slamming into the ground.

“Do you recall his name?” Hoole asked.

“Uh…uh…” She shook her head in short little jogs as if trying to rearrange her brain. “Wyckber, I think. Either Wyckber or Berwyck.”

“Berwyck!” Hoole said. “A Boreal, right?”

“Yes, yes. That he be. A Boreal.”

“Where can we find him?”

“Oh, dear, now—that could be a problem.” Again she jogged her head around. “Let’s see. I was pretty tired when I finally made it out of the N’yrthghar, but luckily had
tailwinds. But I imagine…oh, yes, I probably made it well into Silverveil. ’Cause I wouldn’t want to stop on the cape for long. No real trees, you know. Oh, it’s coming back to me!” Lolly’s amber eyes brightened, and she looked slightly less tipsy. “It was near that place where the Others done lived before they vanished. One of them whatchamacallits.”

“Church?” Alastair the Barred Owl prompted.

“Yes, that be it.”

“Lovely old place.”

“There be ruins from the Others all through Silverveil,” the Great Gray spoke up.

When Hoole had first come to the S’yrthghar, there had been no time to linger. They had had to fly straight to the Beyond, but he had always longed to see these strange hollows of the Others.

“Well, we’d best be on our way if we hope to find him,” the Snow Rose said.

“Not before a song you don’t.” The Great Horned, the perch warrior who had been expounding on his wartime experiences in the N’yrthghar, spoke up. “You know, before we went into battle, old King H’rath always had some gadfeathers in to give us a rousing tune.”

“What a bunch of rubbish,” the Snow Rose muttered.

“What are we going to do?” Phineas whispered desperately.

“Leave it to me.” The Snow Rose stepped out on the branch where she perched. “My two friends here are not in voice right now, having just come through their mid-season molt with slight sore throats.” There was a murmur of understanding that swirled through the tree. It was, of course, a bit of nonsense, but these tipsy owls were ready to believe almost anything. “And I myself know few battle tunes. But I might sing you a song of ice and sky.” This met with great approval, and the night swelled with hurrahs and cheers.

The Snow Rose began to sing. Her lovely voice flowed into the night of liquid moonlight and wove through the grog tree, making everything seem to shimmer.

Where the ice meets the sky,

where the trees never grow,

where the water is locked,

so still, forever slow.

Where the wind scours the land,

carving bridges, spires, and peaks,

listen closely, my friend,

and you’ll hear the ice speak.

It speaks of times gone by,

creatures frozen in the deep.

Of a place where time grows still,

a place of long eternal sleep,

where the ice never melts

and the trees never grow.

That is where I long to fly—I have ice crystals in my soul.

The last notes had hardly floated into the air before the three owls had taken wing.

“Phew! That was a close one!” Phineas sighed as he felt the sweet billow of a warm thermal curl under his wings.

T
he polar bear sat on her haunches and regarded the Great Horned Owl. He was an honest fellow if there ever was one and, though this spying business did not appeal to her, she knew it was for a good cause. Her loyalty to the memory of Siv required that she do everything in her power to support Siv’s son, the young king who seemed so good. “Theo,” she began, “I will keep an eye out for you here. But the bear you really need to meet is Svarr, the father of my cubs. He lives up near Lord Arrin’s stronghold in the eastern side of the Firth of Fangs. He knows a lot. He might know where to find this spotted owl, Emerilla, whom you seek.”

“Where is this stronghold of Lord Arrin?”

“When you leave this inlet, head north and continue flying up the Firth of Fangs. It will grow narrow, then widen again, and just before it reaches a large lagoon, it narrows a second time. At this second set of narrows, fly east, following a tickle.”

“A tickle?”

“Well, a firthkin is a small firth, and a tickle is even smaller than a firthkin. Polar bears call it that because when we swim such narrow passageways, it is barely wide enough for us to pass through and it tickles our sides sometimes.”

Theo blinked. He had never thought of these enormous creatures with their thick fur and tough hides as being ticklish.

“Then at the end of the firthkin where the ice piles up, there is a cave. That is where you can find Svarr.”

“And you say it is close to where Lord Arrin has his stronghold?”

“Yes. But it’s not the closeness. It’s the smee holes that are important.”

“Smee holes? Why are they important?”

“We polar bears love smee holes. We love the hot steam that comes from them and the lovely thermal baths that surround them. Svarr especially loves them. He’s getting on a bit and has a touch of stiffness in his shoulders. The hot water helps. Anyhow, a long time ago, polar bears discovered that smee holes conduct sound very easily. Svarr is a nosy sort of fellow and he found it interesting to listen in on various conversations, if indeed any were going on while he was soaking. I went to visit him myself several moon cycles back on behalf of Siv to learn what Lord
Arrin was up to. Svarr will be able to help you.” She paused. “And, by the way, give him my best and tell him that in two years we can meet up again. Same time, same place.”

Theo thanked Svenka and spread his wings. Just as he was about to loft himself into the air, he heard the cubs. “Mum, can we swim with him just to the end of the firthkin?”

“Oh, all right, but don’t you dare go out into the big firth. Promise?”

“We promise!” they chorused.

Theo flew low and the cubs, swimming on their backs below, babbled on the entire time.

“Don’t you think it’s unfair that Mum won’t let us see any battles?”

“Yeah, she never lets us do anything except sit at seal holes and bash them when they come up.”

“It was fun at first, but then it got boring.”

“Have you ever fought in a battle, Theo?”

“Well, yes, and I didn’t much like it.”

“How come?” Rolf asked. “Were you scared?”

“Of course I was scared. You’d have to be yoicks not to be.”

“Yoicks?” Rolf asked.

“You remember, Rolf, Auntie Siv used to say that all the time. It’s like polar bears say ‘blairn,’ and owls say ‘yoicks.’”

“And now,” said Theo, “for this owl it is time to say good-bye. Be good cubs and turn around and swim back.”

“All right.” They both sighed. “Bye, Theo.”

“Bye, Rolf. Bye, Anka.”

It was close to midnight by the time Theo reached the end of the tickle, and it
was
narrow. But just before the end, he spotted the most immense bear he had ever seen. Could this be Svarr? The bear was sitting upright and looking down at something. Theo flew lower. The bear heard him, raised a paw, made a soft patting motion on the air, and then drew the paw to his muzzle as if to indicate quiet. A dark head emerged from the hole and then there was a sudden
thwack
that reverberated into the night and caused the waters of the tickle to slosh violently. Blood spread across the ice before the bear had even hauled the seal from its hole.

“Be with you in a minute,” he said as he proceeded to rake his middle claw down the seal’s belly and neatly peel back the skin. He began scooping out the blubber.

“Mmmm-mmm, that is one tasty seal.” He turned to look at Theo. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you Svarr?”

“Oh, no! What’s she up to now?”

“Who?”

“Svenka.”

“How’d you know?”

“Svenka has become quite social of late. Most un-bearish. She seems to consort with owls.”

“Well, from what I understand, you know quite a bit about owls yourself,” Theo said.

“Indeed, I do. But they don’t know about me.” The great bear looked amused.

“What interests you so about owls?” Theo was genuinely curious.

“Their politics, their wars, their scheming blairney ways. Very entertaining.”

“Well, I count myself lucky for meeting you,” Theo said amicably.

Svarr looked up for the first time at Theo. “I’m glad you didn’t take offense.”

“No offense. It’s true. I really don’t care for the politics myself. Or the war.”

“So, why are you here, and where do you come from?”

“Originally, I come from the Firth of Grundenspyrr, not far from here.”

“Good sealing up there.”

“Yes. But now I come from another place in the S’yrthghar—the Southern Kingdoms. I come as an emissary of King Hoole.”

Svarr put down a bloody hunk of blubber and opened his eyes wide. “You do, do you?”

Theo nodded.

“I hear the young king is a good sort. Fought bravely at the battle in Beyond the Beyond. And got some sort of magic ember. Maybe he could knock out the hagsfiends with it. Now that would be a blessing of Ursa!”

“You hear a lot, Svarr, and that is why I have come.”

“Why’s that?” Svarr was suddenly alert.

“What you hear could help our young king.” Theo went on to explain Hoole’s plan to have a network of slipgizzles that could keep him informed.

“Well, you know polar bears, we’ve never taken sides. But these owls and their hagsfiends are a bad lot. I heard Svenka herself got caught in a fyngrot back before her cubs were born.”

“Oh, that reminds me. I have a message from Svenka. She said in two years she would meet you. Same time, same place.”

Svarr rolled his huge dark eyes. “What’s a fella to do?” He sighed, and when he exhaled, it nearly blew Theo off the ice outcropping on which he perched. “So you want me to keep an ear open by the old smee holes?”

“Yes. Find out if Lord Arrin is planning a counterattack
of some sort. How many troops does he have? Any new hagsfiends?”

“Whooo-hee!”

Again Theo had to grip with his talons on the ice. He wished that Svarr did not indulge in such windy exclamations. “You, my fine friend, are behind the times. These days, Lord Arrin hardly has two yarped pellets to rub together.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“That last battle shattered his forces. They split like ice fields on a summer’s day.”

“You mean they’re gone?”

“Not gone. Regrouped. They’re all fighting for the spoils. It’s a feast for vultures up here in the N’yrthghar. Before the Battle in the Beyond, Lord Arrin had taken old King H’rath’s Ice Cliff Palace on the H’rathghar glacier, but now some upstart, with a force double the size of Arrin’s, laid siege to it and drove Lord Arrin’s forces out. Then Ullryck, a horrible hagsfiend if there ever was one—and Lord Arrin’s best assassin—well, she up and starts a division of all her own hagsfiends. No owls at all.”

“New alliances, eh?”

“Yes, new alliances. They are all struggling for power.
There is even a gang of old gadfeathers who have decided to fight.”

“Gadfeathers fighting?” Theo was aghast.

“Shocking, isn’t it? They don’t call themselves gadfeathers anymore. They call themselves kraals. They’re not so much interested in power or killing. They just like to steal, mostly.”

“Kraals.” Theo repeated the word. It must have come from the old Krakish word “kraalynk,” which meant to attack for treasure.

“They’ve traded in their gaudy bits and bobs for paint and live in ground nests out on the tundra. They figured out how to make colored paints from berries, mosses, and the like. You’ve never seen anything like them. All painted up. Makes a gadfeather look plain, I tell you!”

“And you say that some other group has taken over the palace on the H’rathghar glacier?” Theo asked.

“Yes. Can’t remember the fellow’s name. And he has hagsfiends with him. Young ones, from what I hear.”

Svarr had definitely heard a lot, Theo reflected. But the most important piece of information was that the N’yrthghar was in shambles. A feast for vultures, indeed, with outlaws and kraals and hagsfiends and tyrants all competing for the spoils. He needed to visit the Ice Cliff
Palace now to find out just how many owls and hagsfiends were holding it.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Theo said shortly before he left. “Have you heard of a Spotted Owl named Emerilla?”

“Emerilla, daughter of Strumajen and Hurthwel?”

“Yes! Yes!”

“Oh, indeed I have. She was said to be one of the finest young soldiers in the Ice Regiment, but it is thought she was lost in a battle. Never heard from again.”

“You know nothing further of her?”

“No. But they talk about her all the time. Lord Arrin is obsessed with her. I think he’d like her for his mate. Some say she’s gone off with the hagsfiends. Others claim she’s with the kraals.”

“Well, thank you, Svarr. You have been most helpful. And if you hear anything, might there be a way you could get news to us?”

“Well, as you know, we are a solitary sort. But I suppose I could get word to Svenka.”

“That would be fine, because we will be checking in regularly with her.”

“She’s a good lass. I miss her sometimes. Tell her I’ll look forward to our meeting in two years. Wish her well with the cubs.”

“Would you like to send a special message to Rolf and Anka?”

“Rolf and Anka? Now why in the name of Ursa did she name them that? Those are the two most un-bearish names I’ve ever heard. We are always called good north-country names like Sven or Svarr.”

“Maybe she just wanted to try something different, original,” Theo suggested.

Svarr crinkled one eye shut and pawed at his chin fur. “You know, sometimes I think these females try to be just a little too original, don’t you?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know, really. But is there anything you want to tell the cubs?”

“No, not really. Cubs rather bore me.”

Theo blinked. No doubt, polar bears were an odd species. He thanked Svarr again and took off.
Now,
he wondered,
should I fly on and see them, Mum? Da? Shadyk?

The mere thought of his father made him flinch and his wings feel heavy as stone.