The River of Wind (13 page)
Authors: Kathryn Lasky
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T
he Aurora Glaucora was playing across the sky as the returning owls flew across the Sea of Hoolemere. All the owls of the tree would be out frolicking in the colors that washed the night.
“Like banners! Like the tails of the qui,” Ruby said as she caught sight of the undulating waves’ light.
“More beautiful, I am sure,” Mrs. Plithiver spoke, and tilted her head toward the shimmering, shifting lights of the night sky. It was as if she could sense every drop of color.
“Pelli!” Soren cried out as he spotted his beloved mate, and behind her in the folds of color that swayed in the sky, three young owlets flew. “Da! Da!” It was Bell, who rushed ahead of her two sisters.
“Da!” she shreed, then turned to the blue owl. “Striga, you came back. You came back.”
“Of course I did, little Bell.”
Although tired, the returning owls joined the others
and wove themselves through the pulsating banners of color for the rest of the night until the dawn crept over the horizon.
“Death of night,” Soren said to himself.
“What’s that, dear?” Pelli asked as they headed back to their hollow.
“Oh, it’s just an expression of the sixth kingdom. They don’t call it twixt time and tweener or First Black, but death of day for night and death of night for day, or sometimes the hatch of night. I like that.”
“Oh, yes,” Pelli replied thoughtfully. “They see it as a kind of cycle that goes in a circle.”
“Yes, they speak that way. The wheel of life is another expression.”
“Wheel…I saw a wheel once, or part of one, I think. Trader Mags brought it shortly after I first came here. They say it just goes around and around in endless circles. Seems rather pointless, doesn’t it? Wheel of life. I can’t imagine.”
Soren shook his head. No, she could never imagine. In his gizzard, he felt the dimmest tremor as he thought of phonqua and the blue owl who had saved his dear little Bell. The three B’s were already sound asleep. He peered out the port of their hollow. Pink-and-orange light streaked the morning and the Sea of Hoolemere glittered
fiercely.
It all seems rather…rather
…Pelli was looking at him. She sensed what he was thinking.
“Rather tawdry and cheap, isn’t it, after the delicate colors of the Aurora Glaucora?” she said.
“My thoughts exactly,” Soren churred. “It truly is the death of night, isn’t it?”
“But night will return—just like the wheel of life,” Pelli said.
“Yes, like the wheel of life.”
“Mum,” a small voice called. “Can I have a drink of water?” It was Blythe.
“Me, too,” said Bash. “I want one, too.”
But Bell slept on peacefully, dreamless and simply content, safely tucked into the soft nest made from Mum’s and Da’s downiest feathers.
Book One:
The Capture
Book Two:
The Journey
Book Three:
The Rescue
Book Four:
The Siege
Book Five:
The Shattering
Book Six:
The Burning
Book Seven:
The Hatchling
Book Eight:
The Outcast
Book Nine:
The First Collier
Book Ten:
The Coming of Hoole
Book Eleven:
To Be a King
Book Twelve:
The Golden Tree
Book Thirteen:
The River of Wind
Book Fourteen:
Exile
Book Fifteen:
The War of the Ember
A Guide Book to the Great Tree
Lost Tales of Ga’Hoole
and others
from the
GUARDIANS OF GA’HOOLE SERIES
The Band
SOREN: Barn Owl,
Tyto alba,
from the Forest Kingdom of Tyto; escaped from St. Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls; a Guardian at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree and close advisor to the king
GYLFIE: Elf Owl,
Micranthene whitneyi,
from the desert kingdom of Kuneer; escaped from St. Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls; Soren’s best friend; a Guardian at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree and ryb of navigation chaw
TWILIGHT: Great Gray Owl,
Strix nebulosa,
free flier; orphaned within hours of hatching; Guardian at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree
DIGGER: Burrowing Owl,
Athene cunicularia,
from the desert kingdom of Kuneer; lost in desert after attack in which his brother was killed by owls from St. Aegolius; a Guardian at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree
The Leaders of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree
CORYN: Barn Owl,
Tyto alba,
the new young king of the great tree; son of Nyra, leader of the Pure Ones
EZYLRYB: Whiskered Screech Owl,
Otus trichopsis,
Soren’s former mentor; the wise, much-loved, departed ryb at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree
Others at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree
OTULISSA: Spotted Owl,
Strix occidentalis
, chief ryb and ryb of Ga’Hoology and weather chaws; an owl of great learning and prestigious lineage
MARTIN: Northern Saw-whet Owl,
Aegolius acadicus,
member of the Chaw of Chaws; a Guardian at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree
RUBY: Short-eared Owl,
Asio flammeus,
member of the Chaw of Chaws; a Guardian at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree
EGLANTINE: Barn Owl,
Tyto alba
, Soren’s younger sister
MADAME PLONK: Snowy Owl,
Nyctea scandiaca
, the elegant singer of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree
MRS. PLITHIVER: blind snake, formerly the nest-maid for Soren’s family; now a member of the harp guild at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree
PELLI: Barn Owl,
Tyto alba,
Soren’s mate
PRIMROSE: Pygmy Owl,
Glaucidium californicum,
Eglantine’s best friend
OCTAVIA: Kielian snake, nest-maid for many years for Madame Plonk and Ezylryb (also known as BRIGID)
DOC FINEBEAK: Snowy Owl,
Nyctea scandiaca
, famed freelance tracker once in the employ of the Pure Ones, now at the great tree; Madame Plonk’s companion
Characters from the Time of the Legends
GRANK: Spotted Owl,
Strix occidentalis,
the first collier; friend to young King H’rath and Queen Siv during their youth; first owl to find the ember
HOOLE: Spotted Owl,
Strix occidentalis,
son of H’rath; retriever of the ember of Hoole; founder and first king of the great tree
H’RATH: Spotted Owl,
Strix occidentalis,
king of the N’yrthghar, a frigid region known in later times as the Northern Kingdoms; father of Hoole
SIV: Spotted Owl,
Strix occidentalis,
mate of H’rath and Queen of the N’yrthghar, a frigid region known in later times as the Northern Kingdoms; mother of Hoole
KREETH: Female hagsfiend with strong powers of nachtmagen; friend of Ygryk; conjures Lutta into being
Other Characters
NYRA: Barn Owl,
Tyto alba
, leader of the Pure Ones; Coryn’s mother
STRYKER: Barn Owl,
Tyto alba
, a commander of the Pure Ones under Nyra
GYLLBANE: courageous member of the MacHeath clan of dire wolves; her pup, Cody, was maimed by clan leader Dunleavy MacHeath
BESS: Boreal Owl,
Aegolius funerus
, daughter of Grimble, who was a guard at St. Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls; keeper of the Palace of Mists (also known as THE KNOWER)
Blue Owls
STRIGA: Blue Snowy Owl,
Nyctea scandiaca
, a former dragon owl from the Middle Kingdom seeking a more meaningful life (also known as ORLANDO)
TENGSHU: Blue Long-eared Owl,
Asio otis
, qui master and sage of the Middle Kingdom
O
tulissa had not gone to Coryn’s hollow for the conference. In addition to her other duties, which were many, she had temporarily taken on the job of chief librarian when Winifred’s, an ancient Barred Owl, arthritis had kicked up. So while the Band had been discussing the Harvest Festival with Coryn, Otulissa was minding the library. This was a job she loved, for it afforded her the opportunity to further her research on a weather-interpretation project she had been pursuing since her return from the Middle Kingdom—windkins and the system of air known as the River of Wind that flowed between the Ga’Hoolian world and the Middle Kingdom. Otulissa’s powers of concentration were great. She did not hear the clutch of little owlets giggling over a joke book nor did she hear the owl approaching the desk where she perched. It was actually the desk of Ezylryb, the late distinguished ryb, scholar, poet, historian, and, once upon a time, great warrior of the tree.
“Ahem.” The owl cleared his throat. Otulissa’s head jerked up from her labors. The blue owl, the Striga, perched before her.
“Oh, so sorry. I was quite absorbed here,” Otulissa said.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
But you did
, thought Otulissa. She had little tolerance for the indiscriminate use of words.
Wouldn’t it have been better to say simply, “Sorry to disturb you”?
“What is it, might I ask, that absorbs you so?” the Striga asked.
“I have for some time been immersed in a study of weather and air currents. I am a member of the weather-interpretation chaw.”
“Oh,” the Striga said with a jovial note in his voice. “I approve!”
Otulissa blinked. She did not quite understand. “Approve of what?” she cocked her head to one side.
What in the name of Glaux is there to approve of? And why should you be the one doing the approving?
But she, of course, said none of this aloud.
“I approve of the practical studies such as weather.” He swung his head slowly around. “But not the inessential, the frivolous, the, how should I put it? The heretical texts.”
“Heretical?”
“Yes. You know, the anti-Glaux books such as those the young owlets are giggling over.” He nodded toward the young owls gathered around a desk reading a book with great glee.
“It’s a joke book! That’s all!” Otulissa then told one of the few lies she had ever told in her life. “I read it myself when I was an owlet.” Otulissa had never read a joke book, but she would never deny another owl the right to read one.
“But such books are fripperies, indulgences, vanities!”
She looked at him closely.
What is this owl talking about?
This word “vanity” was often in his speech.
“I am not quite sure what you mean by the word ‘vanity’ in reference to literature.”
“Literature?” He paused. “But surely, Otulissa, you need not concern yourself with literature, for you are a student of practical disciplines—like this er…uh…weather and—what is it you are reading now?”
She didn’t like the way he asked the question. It was interfering, beaky. Why should she have to tell him what she was reading or studying? It wasn’t as if she had anything to hide. In fact, she was quite proud of this book, because it had been written by one of her own ancestors, a most distinguished scholar, the most renowned weathertrix of the previous century, Strix Emerilla. The book had the rather ponderous title
Atmospheric Pressures and Turbulations: An Interpreter’s Guide.
She held it up. “Written by my thrice-great-aunt, maternal side.”
“You must be proud,” the Striga answered softly.
“I am. I am very proud,” Otulissa replied curtly.
“You must be careful of too much pride.”
“Another vanity?” Otulissa leaned forward a bit and peered more closely at him. His face looked different from when he had first arrived at the tree. The feathers had thinned. Indeed, his face was almost bald. There was just a thin mist of blue over the gray-and-puckered skin.
“Exactly, Otulissa! Exactly!”
Otulissa flexed her head to one side, then to the other, running through a series of head postures as if she were studying the blue owl from every possible angle.
“I am curious,” Otulissa began in a reflective tone. “Just what do you mean by this word ‘vanity’?”
“Oh, I am so glad you asked.”
I’m sure you are!
Otulissa thought to herself.
“As you know, Otulissa, I came from the Dragon Court, a most impractical place.” The Striga gave special emphasis to the word “impractical.” “It had become this way because of excess—excess of luxuries, of pampering, of every kind of indulgence imaginable. At the very center of this excess, the driving force, the fuel that fired it, was vanity.”
“But what is vanity?” Otulissa asked.
“Vanities are all the indecent things in life, the fripperies, the impracticalities that distract us from Glaux and our true owlness.”
“True owlness?” Otulissa blinked.
“Yes, we are, by nature, humble creatures.”
“Hmm.” Otulissa sniffed, and thought of Twilight.
Humble, my talon!
“We must practice humility,” the Striga continued. “Anything else is vanity.”
Otulissa was tempted to say,
Well, to each his own.
But she thought better of it. “One last question,” she said.
“Of course.”
Her eyes fastened on his face. “Are you suffering from mite blight? I notice the feathers on your face are quite thin.”
“Oh, nothing of the sort,” the Striga answered almost cheerfully. “No. You see, for a long time, I was burdened with an indecent abundance of feathers. These feathers were the ultimate vanity. We dragon owls cultivated them with a disgusting mixture of pride and pleasure, preening all day. There were even special servants whose only job was to stroke and comb our feathers.” The Striga seemed to wilf just talking about it. “I can’t tell you how vile it was.”