The Rescue

by Kathryn Lasky

  “But they call her the rogue smith of Silverveil,” Gylfie said. “So most likely she is closer to Silverveil.”

  There were countless details to work out. Should they “borrow” battle claws from the armory? No, they would be found out immediately even if the older owls were tipsy. Could they leave any earlier? What weather was coming in? If it was a south wind and they were flying south by southeast, it could slow them down. Amid all this jabber there was one little pocket of silence. And that was when Eglantine retreated to her own corner of the hollow and tried to weep as silently as possible in the fluffy nest of down. But it wasn’t her mum’s down. It didn’t smell anything like her mum, and there was too much moss in it. But she couldn’t let Soren see her crying. She had just told him that she was strong enough to fly with them to Silverveil. She wanted to be included so much. They mustn’t think she was a baby. Well, there was only one place to go when she was feeling this bad—to Mrs. Plithiver. She hoped Mrs. P.’s hollow mates—two other nest-maid snakes—wouldn’t be there. It would be all over the tree if they saw her crying. Nest-maids were notorious gossips.

  “There, there, dear.” Mrs. Plithiver had coiled up and was stretching as far as possible to stroke Eglantine’s wing. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “But it is, Mrs. P. You don’t understand.”

  “No, I don’t. Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

  So Eglantine told the old nest-maid snake about what Soren had seen in the spirit forest, about the scrooms of their parents, and how Twilight had said “dead is dead.” But Soren had said “not exactly” and the part about Metal Beak and the unfinished business. “See, Mrs. P., I know this is wrong but if the business gets finished, Mum and Da will go to glaumora, and then I’ll never see them again.”

  Mrs. Plithiver was silent for a long time. If she had had eyes they might have wept. Finally, she spoke. “It’s not wrong, Eglantine, to want to see your parents again, but the real question is would you be happy if you saw them—or their scrooms—and they were very, very sad and worried about you?”

  Eglantine blinked. She hadn’t thought of that.

  “Was Soren happy?” Mrs. P. continued. “Did he say anything about being so happy and glad to have seen them?” Now that Eglantine thought about it, Soren hadn’t seemed at all happy since he had returned from the spirit woods. He seemed completely dragged down by something. And Mrs. Plithiver, as if seeing directly into Eglantine’s brain, said, “It’s the scrooms. Scrooms with unfinished business, although they seem only to be made of mist and vapor, can be a terrible weight on the living. I noticed it as soon as Soren returned.”

  “You did?” Eglantine blinked in astonishment. Mrs. P. nodded her rose-colored head, and her eye dents seemed to flinch. “How?” Eglantine asked.

  “I’ve told you, Eglantine, that although we are blind, nest-maid snakes have very finely tuned sensibilities. We pick up on these things, especially if it concerns family members, and I worked for your family for so long—well, I just know when any one of you is out of sorts. But, Eglantine, the main thing is that you must rid yourself of this notion that to see your parents just one more time, to meet their scrooms, would make you feel happy. It won’t, my dear, believe me.”

  “It’s hard.” Eglantine paused.

  “I know, I know. But you know, dear, you must think about the good times you had with your parents, the happy times.”

  “Like when Da would tell us the stories of the order of the guardian owls of Ga’Hoole before we went to sleep. ‘Knights’ he called them.”

  “Yes, dear, I listened to his stories, too. He had a lovely sonorous voice, especially for a Barn Owl.”

  “But Mrs. P., Da thought that the stories were just legends. He didn’t know they were true and that now Soren and I are here and someday we, too, shall be Guardians of Ga’Hoole. If Mum and Da only knew.” Eglantine sighed deeply.

  “But I think they do, dear. That’s just the point. Why else would their scrooms have tried to warn Soren? They might have had unfinished business, but they knew that you and Soren and Twilight and Digger and Gylfie could finish the business, for you are almost Guardians of Ga’Hoole, are you not?”

  “Well, they are. But not me—yet.”

  “Oh, yet!” Mrs. Plithiver swung her head as if to wipe away the word. “In your gizzard, I know you feel it. And that you are.”

  “Really, Mrs. Plithiver?”

  “Really, Eglantine.”

  Eglantine returned to the hollow feeling much better. Indeed, she was almost excited about their adventure.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Harvest Festival

  At the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, there were four seasons, beginning in winter with the time of the white rain, then spring, which was known as the time of the silver rain, followed in the summer by the golden rain, and finally the autumn, which was known as the season of the copper rose. The seasons were thus called because of the vines of milkberries that cascaded from every branch of the great tree. The delicious berries of the vines made up a major part of the owls’ nonmeat diet. From the ripened berries they brewed their tea, and made stews and cakes, loaves of fragrant bread, and soup. The dried berries were used for highly nutritious snacks, and as a source of instant energy as well as flavoring for other dishes.

  Right now, at the time of the copper rose, was when the berries were the ripest and the plumpest for picking. During this time, the owls forsook their usual schedule and even shortened their daytime sleep so they could harvest the strands. The Ga’Hoolology ryb, a Burrowing Owl known as Dewlap, supervised the harvest. For the past week, they had all been on shifts under her command, cutting lengths of the berry vines just the right way.

  “Remember, young’uns,” Dewlap trilled as they flew with the strands of vines in their beaks. “No cutting below the third nodule. We must leave something so the vine shall sprout again come the time of the silver rain.”

  Soren and his friend Primrose, a Pygmy Owl, who had been rescued the night that Soren had arrived at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, were flying together with a vine between them.

  “She is such a bore,” sighed Primrose. “Aren’t you thankful that none of us got the Ga’Hoolology chaw?”

  “Yes, just going to Dewlap’s classes is bad enough. I was really worried that Eglantine might get the chaw.”

  “Never!” Primrose said. “She’s perfect for search-and-rescue with her fine hearing skills. She’s a natural for the chaw, I would say.”

  Soren, of course, could not help but wonder about their own mission to the border between Silverveil and The Barrens, which, if all went according to plan, would begin tonight just after the last of the vines had been cut.

  Just then a cheer began to rise, and with the first strains of the harp, a song rang out. It was a solemn song, the “Harvest Hymn,” led by Madame Plonk and Dewlap.

  Dearest tree we give our thanks

  for your blessings through the years.

  Vines heavy with sweet berries

  nourish us and quench our fears.

  And in times of summer droughts,

  searing heat or winters cold,

  from your bounty freely given

  we grow strong and we grow bold.

  Let us always tend with care

  your bark, your roots, your vines so fair—

  And then, suddenly, a raucous song blasted out, led by Bubo.

  Drink, drink to old Ga’Hoole—

  boola boola boola boole!

  Come along, mates, and give a tipple—

  how that wine makes gizzards ripple!

  Just as the song swelled with Bubo’s voice leading, Otulissa swept up beside Soren and Primrose. “I can’t believe Madame Plonk. She’s sashaying about with a rose in her beak and wiggling her tail feathers in a most unseemly fashion. And Dewlap had hardly finished with the hymn before that coarse old owl began his vulgar song. Simply appalling.”

  Soren thought if he heard Otulissa say the word “a
ppalling” one more time he might crack her on the head. Then that Spotted Owl would really see spots. But he didn’t. Instead, he just turned to her and blinked. “Give it a blow, Otulissa. It’s a festival for Glaux’s sake. We can’t be singing hymns the whole time.”

  “I agree,” said Primrose. “Who wants a festival to be all serious? I’m hoping to pick up a few wet-poop jokes.”

  “Why, I never!” Otulissa said, genuinely shocked. “You know, Primrose, that wet-poop jokes are strictly forbidden at mealtimes.”

  “But they say all the grown-ups get very tipsy and start making them themselves.”

  “Well, I’m sure Strix Struma won’t.” Strix Struma, an elderly Spotted Owl who taught navigation, was one of the most esteemed owls of the tree. She was elegant. She was fierce. And she was revered, especially by Otulissa, who absolutely worshiped the old Spotted Owl. It was difficult, in fact, thinking of Strix Struma doing anything the least bit vulgar. The young Spotted Owl flew off in a huff toward the entrance of the Great Hollow.

  As they passed through, two owls helped to part the moss curtains as they had on the night when Soren, Gylfie, Twilight, and Digger had first arrived nearly a year before. Now, however, the Great Hollow was festooned with strands of milkberry vines that seemed almost to glow in the reflected light of hundreds of candles. The festivities had already begun and owls were swooping in flight to the music of the harp. The great grass harp stood on a balcony and was played by the nest-maid snakes who belonged to the harp guild. Their pink forms glistened as they wove themselves through the strings of the harp. Soren scanned the strings for Mrs. P., who was a sliptween. Only the most talented of the snakes were sliptweens, for they were required to jump octaves. Mrs. P. usually hung around G-flat. Ah, he spotted her!

  Just then, Otulissa swept by wing to wing with Strix Struma doing a kind of stately waltz that owls called the Glaucana. Then Bubo lurched by in a jig with Madame Plonk herself. They were butting flight feathers and laughing uproariously.

  “Already had a tipple, I would say.” Gylfie slid into flight next to Soren. Soren was dying to say, Yes, and we better not. For tonight was the night that they would steal away to find the rogue smith, but not until everyone else was in their cups. Their Ga’Hoole nuts cups contained the milkberry wine or even the more strongly brewed berry mead. Soren could not really say this in front of Primrose for she had not been included in this adventure. And he must be careful around Martin and Ruby as well. They had decided that it should only be their original band and Eglantine who went on this mission to Silverveil. But, in truth, Soren was having serious doubts about Eglantine.

  The plan for getting away was fairly simple. At a certain point well into the evening, the dancing would move outside among the branches. It would be easier to slip away then. They planned to go, if possible, one by one and meet at the cliffs on the far side of the island. Owls very seldom went to that side of the island, for it lengthened any journey across the Sea of Hoolemere. But the wind this evening was light and favorable so it might not lengthen their crossing by too much.

  The evening, however, seemed to drag on and on. Owls were getting tipsy, but would the dancing ever spill over to the outside? Otulissa had come up and insisted on a dance with Soren. He didn’t even like to dance. He felt awkward and stupid. It wasn’t like flying at all, even though it was done in the air. Now Otulissa had taken it on herself to instruct him in this silly dance called the Glauc-glauc.

  “Look, Soren, it’s not that hard. It’s one two, glauc-glauc-glauc. Then backward one two, glauc-glauc-glauc.” Otulissa was batting her eyes and shaking her tail feathers.

  Great Glaux, was she flirting with him? Suddenly, he had an idea. If she was flirting with him he might as well use it to his advantage.

  “You know, Otulissa, I think I could do this better if we were outside.”

  “Oh, that’s an idea!”

  Now, hopefully others would follow.

  Twilight was doing the Glauc-glauc with another Great Gray, and Soren caught his eye. Twilight, always a quick study, steered his partner outside, following Soren.

  Others began to fly out of the Great Hollow and weave their way through the branches in the Glauc-glauc dance. Now Eglantine was coming with another Spotted Owl. Perfect! Soren thought. He knew that Otulissa had a crush on the particular Spotted Owl whom Eglantine now had as her dance partner. He came from a lineage as ancient and distinguished as Otulissa’s own. Soren managed to glauc-glauc-glauc across the air and through some branches to where the Spotted Owl and Eglantine were dancing.

  “May I cut in and have a dance with my own sister?”

  When Otulissa saw with whom she was about to be partnered, she nearly swooned midair.

  Soren danced Eglantine off toward Gylfie and Digger, who were dancing with each other. Digger had a lot of smooth moves for being such a great walker, as all Burrowing Owls were. He combined these with flight maneuvers in a unique way.

  “Watch this, Soren. I do the Glauc-glauc with a four-four beat. It’s incredible. It’s like the Glauc-glauc squared. Ready, Gylf?”

  “Ready, Diggy!” Diggy! This was too much. Had they all been drinking?

  “Listen!” Soren said sharply. “I think it’ll be time to go soon. Everyone’s pretty much in their cups from the look of it.”

  “I’ll say,” said Twilight, flying up to them without his partner. “Madame Plonk has passed out.”

  “Passed out!” The others gasped.

  “Oh, I’ve got to see this,” said Gylfie. Before Soren could stop her the others had followed.

  Sure enough, just inside the Great Hollow in a niche in one of the galleries there was a huge pile of white feathers. Octavia, who served as nest-maid to both Madame Plonk and Ezylryb, was slithering along the gallery toward her, muttering about how Madame couldn’t hold her berry wine, and it was always this way. But just at that moment, there came a roar from outside and then, “Aaah!”

  “The comet!” someone cried. And its red light seemed to flare for a brief moment and spill into the hollow, casting a fiery glow over everything. Madame Plonk’s feathers shimmered red and just in that same instant, Octavia, who had been nursing Madame Plonk, swung her head toward Soren. The old blind snake seemed to look right through him.

  Does she know? Does she know what we are planning and that this might be connected with Ezylryb? A shiver ran through Soren.

  “All right, it’s time,” he whispered to the others. “I’ll leave first, then Eglantine, then Gylfie, next Digger, and last Twilight. See you at the cliffs!”

  With that, Soren swept from the Great Hollow, but the entire time until the moss curtains parted, he felt the eyeless gaze of Octavia boring into him. Outside, the night seemed tinged with red. The moon, still newing, was just a sliver slipping over the horizon. In the light of the comet it looked like a battle claw dipped in blood.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Into a Night Stained Red

  Where’s Eglantine?” Soren said in a taut voice. “She was supposed to leave right after me.” All the other owls had arrived at the cliff except Eglantine. “Do you think she got frightened?” Soren asked.

  “Maybe she got caught,” Gylfie offered.

  “Oh, Glaux—I hope not.” Soren sighed. He wondered how long they should wait.

  “I hear something!” Digger said suddenly.

  Owls were unusually silent fliers, all owls, that is, except for certain ones like Pygmy and Elf Owls who did not have the soft fringes called plummels at the leading edges of their flight feathers. The wing beats that Digger heard were the unmistakable sound of Primrose. Soren knew it in an instant, for he had flown behind her many a time in navigation class. What in the name of Glaux was Primrose doing here?

  Eglantine, along with Primrose, slid onto the cliff and perched beside Soren. “I know what you’re going to say, Soren,” she blurted out breathlessly.

  But he said it anyway. “Primrose, what are you doing here?”

  The Py
gmy Owl shyly looked down at her talons. “I wanted to come, Soren. You helped me when I came to the great tree. You stayed with me all that first night, the night I lost my parents, my hollow, my tree, and the eggs.” Primrose’s parents had gone off to help out in some borderland skirmishes. They thought that she and the eggs would be safe, but a forest fire had broken out in their absence. Primrose had been rescued by owls from Ga’Hoole. But she had never seen her parents again. The truth, however, was that Primrose was from Silverveil, and Soren sensed that she wanted to go back to see if perhaps she could find her parents. This could be a distraction from their mission.

  “Primrose.” Soren fixed the little owl in the shine of his dark eyes.

  “I know what you’re going to say, Soren.”

  Everyone seemed to know what he was going to say, Soren thought, so why did he bother even saying it?

  “I am not going to look for my parents. They are dead. I know it.”

  “How do you know it?” Gylfie asked.

  “Do you remember the night after Trader Mags came last summer?” Soren would never forget that night, for it was the first night that Eglantine had really been back to her old self after being rescued. It had been a beautiful summer night and then, as if in celebration of his sister’s return, the sky had blossomed with colors—colors like he had never seen before. It was the night of the Aurora Glaucora, and all of the owls had flown in and out of the colors that throbbed and billowed in the sky.

  “Of course, I remember that night.” It was a night to remember for several reasons, one of the least happy was because on that night it had been confirmed that Ezylryb had disappeared. But in the ecstasy of the shifting colors of the sky, Soren had actually willed himself not to think about his favorite teacher.

  “Well, I remember it, too, because that was the night that I saw the scrooms of my parents,” Primrose said.