The War of the Ember

by Kathryn Lasky

A new wind was building. Rain and sleet slashed the darkness and, in the Beyond, thunderbolts stabbed the sky as flashes from the volcanoes ripped the night. But in the sheltered inlet, where the Sea of Vastness first broke on the rugged coast of the Beyond, a reunion was taking place.

  Three Great Gray Owls perched on a rocky outcropping, speechless, their gizzards quivering. The two older owls were staring at the face of what was unmistakably the brother they had thought was lost forever. And Twilight blinked in amazement. “I thought I was an only owlet. I thought I was alone.”

  “And we thought you had died…with Mum.”

  “Me, die!” Twilight almost shouted. “But…but I honestly never thought, never dreamed I had a brother—two brothers! I…I…” he stuttered. “I’m not alone.” He shook his head in wonder. Then he lofted himself wildly into the air. “I am not alone! I got me two bros!”

  The world in that moment brimmed with the joy that flowed from the three owls. Once more the brothers recounted how they had met up with Soren and Wensel.

  “You chased off Tarn, that bad-butt Burrowing Owl!” Twilight screeched gleefully.

  “We know him and his ways. We’ve been out in the desert for years.” Tavis turned to Digger. “No offense, but we can excavate as good as any Burrowing Owl.”

  “But they never got us,” Cletus added. Soren, Gylfie, and Digger all blinked. Soren stepped forward.

  “What do you mean they never got you?” Soren asked.

  “The Pure Ones, and that blue owl. They’ve been recruiting troops out there for Glaux knows how long now.”

  “What?” Soren was stunned. “How? Nyra has nothing. What is she promising them?”

  “A new kingdom,” Tavis said matter-of-factly.

  “What?” Gylfie flew right up to the two Great Grays. “A new kingdom? Where? How?”

  “The one they call the Middle Kingdom. The one the blue owl comes from. He promises them a palace filled with jewels, servants, great splendors. And power.”

  “It’s the same tactic that Theo used to get the hagsfiends out of the Hoolian world,” Soren said.

  “But why did we never hear of this until now? Why didn’t our slipgizzle there say anything?”

  “Oh, that Sooty Owl?” Cletus asked.

  “Yes, Kylor. That’s his name. Kylor.”

  “They bought him off,” Tavis replied.

  “How many of them are there?” Soren asked. The two brothers looked at each other and blinked. And cocked their heads this way and that.

  “Just a rough estimate,” Digger said.

  “Oh, nine hundred or so.”

  “What?” the owls gasped and instantly wilfed.

  “Not more than a thousand.”

  “And we’re supposed to find that comforting?” Gylfie gasped. “And what are we—all told—five hundred owls?”

  “And now they are all probably heading toward the Beyond because of the ember!” Twilight exploded.

  “Calm down! Calm down!” Soren said.

  At that moment a messenger arrived. It was Clover. “Finding you was a pain in the gizzard!” The Barn Owl looked weary and the fringes of her primaries were storm-tattered. “I thought you’d be at the Wolf’s Fang, but then I heard some wing beats in this direction.”

  “What’s happening? You have an update?”

  “Let me catch my breath.” Within half a minute Clover had recovered her composure. Gylfie was thoughtfully preening the Barn Owl’s fringes, which seemed to calm her. “All right. Enemy troops are heading toward the Beyond. They should be arriving in two nights. They are streaming out of Kuneer.”

  “Any sign of enemy movement in the Northern Kingdoms?”

  “No, not yet. But our allied forces are definitely mustering,” Clover replied.

  Digger took a step forward. “Why no sign of the enemy if they are, as we believe, in the Ice Cliff Palace? If they’d seen our allied forces in the Northern Kingdoms, wouldn’t they come?”

  “Not if they are busy brooding a haggish force of their own,” Gylfie said.

  “Yes, of course,” Digger replied.

  “There have been rumors of Nyra flying out of the Northern Kingdoms, flying south to a mustering point to lead her troops into the Beyond. We suspect the Striga will follow with dragon owls and…” Clover hesitated. She could hardly bring herself to say the word. “And hagsfiends within hours of their hatching.”

  Just minutes before this report from Clover, Soren had counseled them all to calm down but now his own gizzard was in a complete tumult, grinding and lurching as if there was a storm raging in there. He swallowed hard on a rising pellet. He pressed his beak shut and squinted. Concentrate! Concentrate! There was a flickering in his brain. Every Band member fell silent and stared at Soren. They knew this posture. Beak clamped, eyes slitted, he was turning his head in small circles as he did when scooping up sound. Except it was not sound he sought but ideas, memories. “Gareth’s Keep.” Soren said the two words distinctly.

  “Gareth’s Keep,” Gylfie repeated. “The fortress in the Battle of Little Hoole where Strix Struma…That was years ago.”

  “Exactly!” Soren’s eyes now blazed. “The Keep was almost impenetrable. Before the Battle of Little Hoole, word came of an invasion by the enemy, the Ice Talons League. Although vastly outnumbered, the troops of the Northern Kingdoms defeated the invaders by luring them into the narrow pass of Gareth’s Keep. It is one of the most famous battles in Hoolian history.

  “We can do what Strix Struma did thirty years ago: use the natural terrain.”

  “What terrain are you talking about?” Ruby asked.

  “The yondos!” Soren and Gylfie both said at once.

  The yondos were the strange rock formations that rose, writhing and twisting, from the volcanic landscape of the Beyond. The two largest yondos were called the Hot Gates of the Beyond because they were massive and flanked the entrance to the Sacred Ring of Volcanoes. A mountain ridge backed them up.

  The words tumbled out of Gylfie’s beak in a rush. “We can do what they did at Little Hoole—block their passage to the Sacred Ring. Trap them in between the two yondos in the narrowest air corridors and attack in waves just as they get into the passage. There will be no room for them to maneuver.”

  “Ruby!” Soren turned to the Short-eared Owl.

  “Yes, sir!” Soren blinked. He still couldn’t get used to this normally ruddy owl with her new blondish-hued feathers. “Take this message to Coryn—by now he should be at the Sacred Ring of Volcanoes.”

  “What’s the message?”

  “‘Gareth’s Keep.’” No need for code. He’ll know what I mean. Coryn is a student of history and he’s read every word written on the Battle of Little Hoole.”

  Ruby took off, a blur darting through the night. It was probably the fastest flight any owl had ever made in such miserable weather. At this time of the year the Hoolestar rose in the northeast and began its westerly passage. It had hardly flickered over the horizon when Ruby arrived at the Sacred Ring. She was exhausted and gasped not two words but six: “Gareth’s Keep. Enemy force one thousand.”

  Coryn instantly knew the meaning of her words.

  And thus a second front opened in the War of the Ember.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The Hot Gates of the Beyond

  Wolf scouts from the Beyond and owl scouts from various stations were dispatched immediately to report on the progress of the enemy troops that had been surging out of Kuneer. In relays they reported back to Coryn, who was already established in the Beyond. Nyra was reported to have arrived with an advance unit of Pure Ones at the northern border of Ambala, where they had encountered and skirmished with units of Ambalan owls. The casualties were low. And the Pure Ones were now slicing across the northern corner of the canyonlands, choosing a longer route rather than fighting a headwind that would exhaust them.

  In the meantime, Coryn looked out upon his own troops from his perch on top of the westernmost yondo, his back to the
direction from which the enemy owls would approach. The Band perched on either side of him. He looked out at the harsh land between where he perched and the Sacred Ring. The Guardians numbered five hundred owls all told. That number, however, did not account for the other animal species from the Northern Kingdoms, which had been streaming in at a steady rate.

  The Strix Struma Strikers needed no introduction to the strategy of Gareth’s Keep. The late founder of their unit, Strix Struma herself, had devised it. Behind them was the flame squadron, then the fighting companies from the Northern Kingdoms: the Frost Beaks, the Glauxspeed unit, and an entire division of Kielian snakes who would fight aboard their broad backs. Behind the Glauxspeed were the gadfeathers and the kraals jointly commanded by Madame Plonk. Beyond them, rippling in the dark night like a broad white river, were the polar bears. Finally, lurking around the edges of this mass of creatures, were the wolves of the Beyond in stealth units, or phyrngs, of less than a dozen wolves each, known for the speed and surprise of their attacks.

  All in all, it was an incredible assortment of creatures. Never before had such disparate species been brought together to fight as one army. But could these animals so bound to earth vanquish an enemy that soared in the sky? Company by company, the landscape beneath the volcanoes became a solid mass of animals from all parts of the Hoolian world.

  Coryn glanced at the unit that Doc Finebeak had just led to the slopes. The crows! He blinked, for among them he saw the white feathers of seagulls. Leaning toward Soren, he whispered, “Are those what I think they are, in among the crows?”

  “I believe so. Rumor has it that Doc Finebeak recruited seagulls as well. Together, it is known as the Black and White Brigade. But among the seagulls, their unit is called ‘The Splat.’ They specialize in splat attacks.” Soren paused. “And that means what you think it means!”

  “Great Glaux!” Coryn murmured, then began his address to the troops. “Owls, wolves, bears, crows, seagulls. Colliers, Rogue smiths, gadfeathers, kraals—This is a historic moment in the history of our Hoolian world. We have forgotten those things that separate us into species and have come to fight as one. Creatures of honor, creatures of dignity, who value freedom. It makes no difference if we are of fur or feather, earth or sky. You are here because you want to defend your dens, your nests, your ice caves, and because you would not want to be any other place.” He paused and looked out into the sky. The storm had abated, the sky had cleared, and an amazing sight was melting out of the night. Crisp white marks, rather like punctuation points in the night, marked with bright slashes of orange. “Great Glaux!” Coryn said, astounded. Fifty or more puffins were landing in a tightly packed formation. They made their way to the front ranks just below where Coryn perched.

  “Reporting for duty, sir!” Dumpy the Fifteenth said. A frozen fish dropped from his mouth as he spoke.

  Coryn continued speaking. “You are here,” he said, looking now directly at Dumpy. “Because you are smart, brave, tough creatures, loyal creatures, good creatures in a world that is threatened by violence. Yes, it is true. Some of us will die. But death must not be feared. Death in time comes to all creatures. Yes, every animal is frightened in its first battle. If that animal claims not to be frightened, then that animal is a liar. The real hero is the animal who fights even though scared. That is courage. There can be no courage without fear. We are all Rogue smiths of courage. We extract the metal of courage from the ore of raw fear. You will transform your fear, and thus yourself. And finally, you will save a kingdom.

  “We are going to pin this enemy between these two yondos, these two Hot Gates. And then we are going to come at those Pure Ones in waves and never let up. War is bloody. You are going to have to spill their blood or they will spill yours. We are few, they are many, but in this land of the Beyond we shall set a standard of valor unmatched in the long history of the Hoolian world. And when you are old and gray, when you are grandmothers and grandfathers and your pups or chicks or cubs ask what you did, you can say, ‘Child, I flew, I ran, I galloped, I fought in the Great Hoolian Army led by the Guardians of Ga’Hoole!’”

  And then it was not but an hour later that the sky began to shake, not with thunder but the sound of a thousand wings beating the air. An enemy army of owls so vast, so massive that it was nearly unimaginable.

  Coryn flew to the high tip of the yondo, and Soren to another, both brandishing ice scimitars. A signal was given and the dire wolves rushed out in classic double byrrgis formation. Though they stood only half as tall as the polar bears, they began leaping straight up to a distance that was twice the bears’ height as they herded the first ranks of the approaching enemy owls and funneled them through the two gates to trap them. Colliers of the Sacred Ring swooped down, launching thousands upon thousands of burning embers. The sky sizzled with the red-hot trajectories inscribed against the black night. Behind them, like a massive solid wall, a phalanx of polar bears reared up. The attacking owls that slipped through the ember grid were batted out of the sky by the bears with their massive paws.

  “We are holding them off!” Twilight cried. He and his two brothers together formed a flying wedge that blasted through the capricious winds, heading off any owls who broke through these first barriers of the ember grid and the polar bear phalanx. Some of the enemy did breach these barriers. But the three brothers chased them relentlessly. “Tarn, you fool,” cried Tavis, for Tarn the Burrowing Owl, with a squad of a dozen owls, was advancing on Coryn. The three brothers flew and fought together as if they had been doing it all their lives.

  Chase that tail! Let him wail.

  Slug him, bug him,

  That pile of splat.

  Mow him down, the dirty rat.

  The three chased Tarn and his small contingent. Meanwhile, Soren and Ruby and other members of the flame squadron pressed, with burning branches, a larger contingent of Pure Ones that was trying to breach the eastern flank. They were not having much success. Half of those enemy troops had managed to slip by them, but suddenly, as the dawn was approaching, tinting the horizon a cool pink against the hot red of battle, a loud roar went up. It was the Strix Struma Strikers under the command of Otulissa, flying in her late mentor’s position on the windward flank. They had just routed a sub squad that had broken into the armory. Quentin, the quartermaster in charge, an elderly Barred Owl, had tried to hold them off but he was injured. Soren caught all this as Otulissa screamed by him shouting commands: “Vacuum transport needed at armory!” A half dozen sky medics led by Cleve flew by seconds later.

  Coryn raced to the armory. “Hold on, old fellow! Hold on!” He crouched over Quentin, who had collapsed in the cave. A wolf was helping by cleaning up the wound to his port wing.

  “Coryn,” gasped the old Barred Owl.

  “Don’t try to talk now, Q. You have to save your strength.”

  “No, Coryn. Listen to me. Dawn is coming. I have an idea. These ice shields. They’re cloud ice, you know.” Cloud ice was ice that was opaque because of trapped air bubbles.

  “Q, you shouldn’t be talking.”

  “I’m not hurt badly. Not as bad as it looks. You’ve got to listen to me!” There was a fierceness in his amber eyes. “That cloud ice. I’ve been experimenting with it. I got an idea when this wolf was licking up my blood…what’s his name?”

  “What’s your name?” Coryn asked, swiveling his head toward a gray-and-black wolf.

  “Patches, sir.” His left forepaw was deformed. Obviously, a gnaw wolf who would have been destined for the Sacred Watch if the ember had been buried in the volcano. Coryn felt a stirring in his gizzard. The ember itself was tucked away right now in the armory cave, one bucket amid many toward the back. These buckets were only to be broken out if they were low on coals at the ignition stations and only with Coryn’s explicit permission. It would have been easy perhaps to return the ember in the thick of battle, but before he did it he had plans for it. To himself, Coryn called those plans Operation Death Lure. He would lure Nyra and t
he Striga into an absolutely indefensible position. There would be no escape. If the ember could be the instrument through which these two owls met their deaths, then it was worth all the grief it had caused.

  Coryn turned his attention back to Quentin. “His name is Patches. Now, what do you want to tell him?”

  “Patches, young’un,” Quentin said softly. “You got brothers? Sisters?”

  “Yes, sir. But you know, they don’t pay me much heed, sir.”

  “Now why’d that be?” Quentin asked. Coryn was ready to explode. He did not feel Quentin should be wasting his energy. He could see that the old Barred Owl was growing weaker.

  “Because I am lame.”

  “Well, I’m not shunning you. You’re important. You cleaned up my blood with that tongue of yours. It’s a rough tongue. Good for polishing. You go get your brothers and your sisters. And you tell them that the quartermaster, that’s me, Quentin, Barred Owl. Strix varia…”

  “For Glaux’s sake, you don’t have to give your species, Q. Save your breath.”

  But Q paid him no attention. His amber eyes were set on Patches’ green eyes. “Get those wolves now. In the back of the cave are four dozen ice shields. Start licking them. Lick them until they glow, until they are burnished, then set them out.” Painfully, he turned his head now toward Coryn. He closed his eyes and spoke. “I want those shields to flash, flash brilliantly, blindingly…do…you…understand? Dawn’s about to break. The armory faces east—the rising sun. Do…you…understand?”

  Coryn did! And it was just then he noticed the trickle of blood coming from behind Q’s head. He heard Patches gasp, for the wolf saw it at the same time. “Don’t lick it.” Q said in a low, rough whisper. “Save your spit, lad.” There was a rough billowy hiccup sound, then quiet. A slight breeze seemed to pass through the cave. Gone, he’s gone! Coryn thought. The old quartermaster is…But before he could complete the thought, Patches was racing from the cave.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The Last Glow