The Hatchling

by Kathryn Lasky

  Gwyndor was right. He must find out the truth for himself. What he had seen in the fire was a strange and bloody history. It began with his father when he was even younger than Nyroc, pushing his brother, Soren, from the nest. And then he saw his mother trying to kill another owl who looked remarkably like Soren, possibly a sister. He had seen quick flashing images of murderous rampages. Finally, Nyroc saw the cave where his father had died, and it was not his uncle Soren trying to kill his father, but quite the reverse, his father trying to kill his uncle Soren. Then another owl had flown in. It looked like a Great Gray and in one powerful stroke with a glittering sword, he had broken his father’s back. The fire had roiled with blood and murder.

  He needed to get away from the Pure Ones—and especially his mother—to think about all he had seen. To find out if the flames had lied. He could not go alone, however, for the places he really needed to go to seek out the truth were the other owl kingdoms. Dustytuft was older, more experienced. Dustytuft knew the lay of the land and the way out of the canyonlands to other places. He knew how to navigate through all kinds of weather. Nyroc suddenly realized a new truth: Dustytuft’s skills had been frightfully wasted by the Pure Ones, simply because he was not considered pure enough. He had been given the lowliest tasks and yet he had come here with plenty of experience—he had, after all, escaped a forest fire, navigated through the smoke and poisoned air with his da, and yet he had been treated like some ignorant, useless owl unfit for anything. Sheer stupidity on the part of the Pure Ones. Well, he would not be so stupid. He would take Dustytuft…No, Nyroc thought, I will never call him Dustytuft again. He is Phillip. Together Phillip and I will find the truth.

  He had to tell Phillip, and they must leave right now even though the sun was over the horizon. They must risk crows. They must risk the tangled maze of the canyonlands. They must risk his mum’s vengeance.

  Just before he stepped onto the ledge to fly off, he looked back at his mum in the morning shadows of the stone hollow. She was a beautiful owl, the most beautiful he had ever seen, despite the scar that ran like a fine line across her face. I am leaving, Nyroc thought, all that I have ever known, and all that I have ever believed in. I am leaving my rock hollow and my bedding, fluffed with the down from my mother’s own breast. I am leaving this cliff’s cool shade in the summer, this cliff’s ledges and overhangs and its shelter against the bite of winter’s wind. I am leaving the colors that stream through the rocks that made me think of sunsets. I am leaving the fat rats that my mum is so good at catching, and the foxes that I would never dare to go after but that taste so good. I am leaving my mum, the hunter. I am leaving my mum, the murderer.

  And with that last thought, Nyroc spread his wings and stepped into the air.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Negotiating with Crows

  Wake up!” Nyroc shook the Sooty who slept on a stone perch on the far side of the cliff, in one of the less desirable hollows that faced the prevailing wind. Nyroc leaned in close to his friend’s ear slit. “Phillip!” he whispered.

  “What? What?” the Sooty Owl was immediately awake. “Oh, hi, Nyroc.” He blinked again. “Nyroc, it’s full morning. What are you doing here? You should be asleep back in your hollow.”

  “No. We have to get out, Phillip, right now. I’ll explain later.”

  “What?”

  “I told you. I can’t explain now.” There was no way that he could explain to Phillip right now what he had seen in the fire. He knew he had to be away, a long way away from his mum. He had to think about things, and he had to ask Phillip a lot of questions that the Sooty might not want to answer while surrounded by Pure Ones. “Just think of this as a quest, Phillip.” Nyroc paused. “A quest for truth,” he said solemnly. “I need your help.”

  Phillip blinked in astonishment. It was one thing waiting attendance on the heir of the Tytonic Union in various ceremonies. But it was quite another being asked to join him as an equal, it seemed, in a quest—a noble quest for truth. Yes, indeed, it sounded quite noble to him.

  “But how will we get out of here? There are crows in the daylight.”

  “We have no choice,” Nyroc replied.

  “During the last great battle against Ga’Hoole, during The Burning, I was posted on the far side of the canyonlands. I know that territory. If we fly out of the Great Horns it will be too easy for them to follow us. Besides, there are always lookouts there. But not on the far side of the canyonlands. But, Nyroc, what is this truth you are in search of and where do you think we should go in search of it?”

  Nyroc ignored the question of what truth and stuck to the where of it.

  “I am not sure. Maybe The Barrens, maybe the forest kingdom of Ambala.” Nyroc then took a deep breath. “Maybe the Great Ga’Hoole Tree.” Nyroc amazed himself. He had actually said the words “Great Ga’Hoole Tree” out loud.

  Phillip was stunned. “The great tree!” he exclaimed. Insane! he thought. But he tried not to betray just how crazy he thought this notion was. He tried to sound reasonable.

  “But why, Nyroc? You know all talk of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree is forbidden. You know how awful that place is.”

  “No, I don’t know. I want to find out the truth for myself.”

  “For yourself,” Phillip repeated in a whisper filled with awe. This sounded peculiar—and dangerous—to the Sooty Owl.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, first of all, the most direct route to the Island of Hoole takes you right through some terrible currents of air called the Shredders. Real hag winds. The Guardians of Ga’hoole can fly them because they are fantastic fliers. They can fly in any weather.”

  “Couldn’t we get to the Island of Hoole some other way?” Nyroc asked.

  Phillip blinked at him. Is this owl yoicks or what? He thinks he can simply fly to the Great Ga’Hoole Tree where the Guardians live? He’s the hootin’ image of his mum. We are the enemy of Ga’Hoole. But he couldn’t bear to tell the young owl this. It would be hard enough for him to find a place he could live in peace anywhere in the owl kingdoms. He simply looked too much like Nyra and Kludd and they were feared and hated everywhere—even though Kludd was dead. There had, in fact, been rumors of his scroom. Phillip had heard Uglamore and Stryker talking about it one night. “Well, Nyroc. We’ll think about that later. You might be able to find a lot of the truth you seek on the way, outside of the canyonlands.”

  “Yes, that is exactly what I was thinking. We must leave here for a while.” And maybe forever, Nyroc thought.

  And so they did, in broad daylight while the rest of the Pure Ones slept in their hollows. Flying almost due north, the two owls sought a warm thermal current to boost their flight. “This is an easy wind to fly,” Nyroc said.

  “Exactly, easy for us but difficult for any bird flying in from the opposite direction. That’s why they never expected the Guardians of Ga’Hoole to come from that direction and especially over The Needles.”

  “What are The Needles?”

  “You’ll see them soon enough. That’s where the Shredders begin. But remember—we’re not going there, not yet, at least.”

  “We’ll find another way to the great tree. There must be a way.”

  But Phillip did not reply. The less said about these yoickish plans of Nyroc, the better.

  Very soon, Nyroc saw the rocky red spires scratching the sky. The two owls carved a turn to the east now and were flying parallel to a long cliff wall, when suddenly they saw what appeared to be a black cloud roll out from the wall. Nyroc blinked.

  “Crows!” Phillip screamed.

  Nyroc felt his wings begin to collapse. Glaux, I’m going to yeep. Then he remembered suddenly. Once when his mother had been very, very angry because he had done something imperfectly, she had screeched at him. She had called him “yeepish.” It was the worst thing she had ever said to him. Her voice, her gizzard-searing voice, came back to him now, at this very moment. “You are a yeepish sort of owl, hatchling. Get yourself some gallgrot
! Shameful yeepish little pellet, you. Pellet! Not even that. You might as well be a wet pooper.” To be compared to a wetpooping bird was one of the worst insults an owl could throw at another. I am not yeepish! The words exploded in Nyroc’s head.

  At about the same time that these four words roared through his brain and stiffened his gizzard, he heard the thuds of a rat, scurrying below. Without thinking, he plunged into a kill-spiral. Forget that this was the biggest prey he had ever gone after. It was perhaps instinct that led him to strike at the back of the rat’s neck. He was hurling downward at a dizzying speed and although he probably was lighter in weight than the rat, his sharp beak delivered a fatal blow. Immediately, he scooped up the dead rodent in his talons.

  “What are you doing?” Phillip was beside him now.

  “Help me carry this rat. It’s heavy.”

  Phillip slipped in beside him and grasped the rat by the tail.

  “But what are we doing? The crows are gaining on us.”

  And then, with real shock, Phillip felt Nyroc begin to turn directly toward the crows. The blood from the rat’s broken neck flew back in their faces, staining the white disk of Nyroc’s disklike face. It was now the crows’ turn to be shocked.

  “You want this rat?” Nyroc shouted. “It’s all yours.” The young Barn Owl must have looked especially fearsome with his blood-splattered face. “Follow us,” he called, and began flying toward a nearby rock ledge. He set the dead rat down on the ledge. The crows hovered hungrily nearby.

  “What are you doing, Nyroc?” Phillip asked in a quivering voice.

  “We’re going to get out of this. Just listen, Phillip.”

  I’m all ear slits, the Sooty thought, and watched in amazement.

  Nyroc seemed to grow bigger as he faced the crows with a classic thronkenspeer, or threat display, his plumage ruffled and raised, swelling himself to almost twice his normal size. “This rat is a lot tastier than we are with our hollow bones and feathers. This is red meat! Enough for all of you,” Nyroc yelled at the crows. He lowered his head and spread his wings, tipping them slightly forward so that the upper surfaces faced the crows. He swung his head from side to side and between his words he hissed and clacked his beak.

  This is absolutely brilliant, thought Phillip. Crows were not very good hunters. They were just good bullies. Usually, they had to settle for the leftovers from another predator’s kill. Rarely did they taste fresh meat with the blood still running out of it. Then Phillip saw Nyroc begin a gesture of the threat display that only Barn Owls make. As he began the next part of the speech, Nyroc bowed deeply—it would never be mistaken for a bow of servitude or respect—and began shaking his head rapidly as he spoke.

  “This rat is yours if you give us free passage,” Nyroc said.

  The lead crow looked at the young Barn Owl. Nyroc was not sure what the crow was thinking. Was he imagining that next to this fat rat, he and Phillip would make a pretty miserable meal? The crows settled on a ledge across from the one where he and Phillip perched.

  “The blood’s still running out of this animal. It’s not getting any tastier. Better make up your mind.” A few more seconds passed and then the crows approached the rat.

  “Not so fast!” Nyroc shreed. Glaux, he thought, I sound like a full-grown owl. Even Phillip blinked at him. “Not one bite until you send one of your mob off to tell the other crows that we get to fly free through daylight.”

  Smart! thought Phillip. How did this young owl, barely beyond being a hatchling, figure all this out?

  Nyroc felt a tremor pass through his gizzard. It’s working! It’s working!

  Yes, it worked. But crows were not the only problem for Nyroc and Phillip.

  As the sun began to set, the most deadly danger of all was just starting to awaken.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Chase Begins

  Nyra had just woken up in the stone nest. She blinked several times as she looked toward the pile of down and lichen where Nyroc usually slept. “Most unusual,” she murmured. “Now where could he have gone?” Maybe out to fetch a mouse for tweener, she thought. That would be nice.

  Every day of Nyroc’s life, Nyra had gone out for the tweener mouse or rat. About time he started doing a little of the work around the nest. As a matter of fact, that was one of the things she despised most about being a mum. You always had to be feeding them, doing all the work. It was definitely a two-owl job. And here she was a poor widow. She looked down at her breast, which was nearly plucked bare. What a sight she was! “Oh, Kludd,” she sighed.

  She went out and perched on the edge of the hollow. Stryker, one of her best lieutenants, flew by. “So tonight’s the big night,” he said in passing.

  “Yes, yes, the Special ceremony for Nyroc. And my fine young lad I do believe went to hunt tweener for me.”

  “Good boy—a plummel off his old man, I’d say.” But almost as soon as he said it, Stryker knew he had made a mistake.

  “I would say the old lady had something to do with it!” Nyra snapped back.

  “Oh, yes, Mam. Yes, Mam.” Stryker had begun to loop back in his flight to apologize.

  “And kindly call me General. General Mam, if you must. But General. Do remember, Stryker.”

  “I shall, General. General Mam.”

  “Excellent!” Nyra nodded, and Stryker flew off.

  Blyrric, a sergeant missing one eye, alighted on a ledge between Nyra’s hollow and that of her first lieutenant, Uglamore. “Anyone see Dustytuft?”

  Nyra felt a slight nausea stir in her gizzard. Dustytuft’s not around? Nor Nyroc? “You checked out the hollow where the Sooty Owls roost?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mam—I mean, General Mam,” Blyrric replied, for he had arrived just on the heels of the reprimand Nyra had given to Stryker.

  Uglamore turned to her. “You said that Nyroc was out hunting, General?”

  “I hope he is,” Nyra said quietly. But the nausea was already turning to dread—and anger. She remembered how strangely Nyroc had behaved last night in their evening flight. His disturbing silences interrupted by odd questions. Had he somehow learned something he should not have found out about Tupsi? It was very important that the ceremony be shrouded in secrecy until the last minute. Had she been right about the yeepishness that she had sensed beneath his shining armor of perfection? Nyra had often heard other young owls whispering that Nyroc was too good to be true. She had attributed this to jealousy. But was he, indeed, too good to be true?

  Anguish flowed through her now. Her gizzard contorted painfully. “How could he do this?” she screeched in a shree that seemed to almost split the rock off the cliffs. “Yeepish splat of a wet pooper! Though my blood flows in his veins, he deserts me like the miserable spawn of some vile spirit!” Nyra raged into the sunset that spilled on the horizon like a bloodied egg.

  It did not take the owls long to organize. Stryker, the best tracker, was sent out immediately to look for pellets or any sign of them.

  If only we had one of those Ga’hoolian trackers, Nyra thought. Fat chance.

  Uglamore, seeming to read her mind, spoke up. “But, General, we might employ other trackers as well.”

  “Doc Finebeak?” she asked hopefully.

  “Perhaps.”

  “See to it, Uglamore. If we find the hatchling, you shall be a colonel.”

  Nyroc and Phillip had just landed on the ragged edge of a deep-cut canyon when they first spotted the owls tracking them.

  “It’s a posse. I don’t believe it,” Phillip gasped.

  “What do you mean? What’s a posse?”

  “Stryker always leads the posses. They track and capture. We’ve got to get out of here now!”

  But both owls were exhausted. They had been flying all day and the night was just beginning.

  “How did they ever find us?” Nyroc asked. And this would not be the last time he would ask this question.

  “We should have buried our pellets. No more yarping midflight.”

&nb
sp; “But still!” Nyroc murmured.

  “Follow me.”

  “Phillip, where are you going?”

  “Down!”

  The shadows gathered densely in the bottom of the canyon.

  “Why down?”

  “I’ll explain later. But when we land, watch out for rattlesnakes.”

  “Rattlesnakes?” Nyroc had heard about rattlers. They often attacked birds who came in for a ground kill of a rodent. Seconds after a bird pounced on its prey and was delivering the death peck a rattlesnake would suddenly spring from nowhere and strike at the owl. The snake would bind itself around the owl’s legs and talons, making them useless, and then hissing, plunge its fangs directly into the owl’s breast to inject the poison. It was said to be a terrible death. Making a deal with crows was one thing, Nyroc thought, but rattlesnakes? No.

  The two owls landed very carefully.

  “Keep close to the canyon walls,” Phillip whispered. “Do not yarp, and don’t rustle your wings.”

  “What are we going to do?” Nyroc replied in a hushed voice.

  “Look for an empty burrow.”

  Nyroc knew that there were all sorts of animals—small and not so small—that lived at the base of the canyons.

  They had not been walking for long when they heard something like a sandy whisper scrape across the ground. Fryke! The command word for “conceal and freeze” blasted through both owls’ brains. Even their gizzards seemed to lock. Nyroc had never heard the low hiss of a rattlesnake but he did not need to be told that this was it. The snake was near. The two owls’ plumage grew sleek and they seemed to diminish in size as they wilfed. Both Nyroc’s and Phillip’s eyes closed shut until they were mere slits, but all the while one eye was held slightly open and alert for the danger. It was called “the peeping eye.”

  It was a rattlesnake. And it was slithering a few feet away from them. To fly would reveal their presence with no guarantee of escape. Staying concealed was their only hope. This was not learned behavior. It was completely instinctual. Their mottled coloring—on Nyroc, tawny browns and blacks, and, on Phillip, a sootish gray and brown—was the perfect camouflage. It helped them blend in perfectly with canyon walls.