After a pause, Stellan spoke up. “Honorable chieftain, this is not a war of chieftains or princes, of dynasties or territorial ambition. It is a war of creatures, good creatures. There are vast numbers, not only in the Beyond the Beyond, but in every land of Ga’Hoole, who will render faithful service in this war, but whose names will never be known, whose deeds will never be recorded. This is a War of the Unknown Warriors.”
The chieftain, Duncan MacDuncan, appeared to be somewhat taken aback. But he shook the Bone of Truth. “I take no offense at these impertinent remarks. Convey my salutations to your king, Soren. You are dismissed.”
Impertinent, Jytte thought. How could this wolf call her brother impertinent? This did not bode well. To be called insolent by the chieftain of the MacDuncans, which Otulissa had called the Clan of Clans, was bad. Jytte felt as if their mission was failing before it even started. The wolves were key to any alliance. The owls could control the airspace, but the wolves were vital to the land.
The bears crouched low again and began to back out of the gadderheal as they had been instructed. But Stellan could not resist one last remark. “Honorable chieftain, Soren prefers not to be addressed or referred to as a king, though he is one of the most honorable, I can imagine.” Stellan gave a curious inflection to the word honorable. “Though indeed he is a king, he wears no crown.” He needs none of the raiments of a king or a chieftain, Stellan thought. And then he recalled Rosie’s words about Soren when they first came to the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. Although Soren is king, and the wisest king this tree has ever had, he wears that title lightly. He is serious about his duty, but he doesn’t think that being called a king requires more than just a word, a title, or a name. You’ll see when you meet him. He is a rare owl like no other you’ve ever met.
Outside the gadderheal, Alasdair was waiting for them.
“And how did it go?” she asked.
“Not well,” Jytte replied. “We got nothing. He called us impertinent!”
Third gave a soft snarl. “He spoke down to us. As if we were—were dirt!” Third spat out the word. The other three bears were in fact shocked. Third rarely displayed such contempt.
The wolf sighed. “I was afraid of that.”
“Why?” Stellan asked. His first attempt in the Beyond as a frynmater had failed miserably. He tried to quell a desperate feeling that was taking hold of him deep in his gut. It seemed as if he could almost hear that fiendish Ice Clock ticking away. The notched escapement wheel with its jagged teeth devouring the small cubs.
“This clan tends to be stingy. We don’t feel a deep connection to the rest of Ga’Hoole, especially since our return from the Distant Blue. We were always isolated creatures and now even more so.” Stellan was studying Alasdair hard. There was something else that was troubling her. And it wasn’t just the chieftain’s stinginess. What could it be? She was such a good creature. He knew it. Was she in some way at odds with this clan, or was it just the chieftain? Alasdair had cautioned them about the chieftain. Alasdair’s mind was a difficult one to riddle. But he sensed a peculiar grief. There almost seemed to be a hole in her mind, or was it her spirit. Something that suggested that she did not even know the source of her own despair. He looked into her beautiful blue eyes and saw only desolation. But how could she be desolate? She lived in this clan with twenty or more other wolves. He remembered now he had sensed this before, when they had passed River Pack of the MacDuncan clan and heard the mournful voice of the storyteller, skreeleen Greer da Greer. Suddenly, Stellan felt very fearful for her.
Was he the only one who felt this? It would occupy him for the next days as they made their way to the MacNab clan. He followed right behind Alasdair, who was to take them to the border of the MacNab territory, where another scout would pick them up. All while he walked behind her, he tried to riddle her mind, but the beautiful wolf was unriddlable. Her mind was locked and would suffer no trespassers.
Stellan was wrapped in a fog of despondency. Depressing thoughts chased though his mind. He was the frynmater, and yet he had failed miserably with Duncan MacDuncan. What if he failed with the MacNab chieftain and then the MacAngus chieftain and the MacDuffs? And he sensed that the other yosses were thinking the same thing. Would Third have made a better frynmater? He, after all, was the smallest of the four of them. That might have worked to his advantage. Stellan regretted his size, as perhaps being the largest he appeared threatening in some way? Maybe he just wasn’t the right bear for this task.
At the border, they bid Alasdair good-bye. She tipped her head to the sky and the scudding clouds as a beautiful sound unfurled from her throat. She was calling the next scout. Within seconds, another howl floated back to them.
She turned to Stellan. “Cinead will meet you in a quarter of a league.”
“And we’ll recognize him?” Third asked.
“Oh yes, he’s a red wolf, a very red wolf—that’s what his name means—Cinead, born of fire.”
This was intriguing to all the bears. “I don’t think,” Froya said, “I’ve ever met a creature with red fur. This will be interesting.”
And it was. A quarter league ahead, just as Alasdair had said, they saw in the swirling snow what looked like pale fire in the distance. As they came closer and the snow ceased, it was as if they were in fact approaching red flames. But it was a wolf with an extremely luxuriant pelt that streamed out like licks of fire.
Stellan stepped forward. He was transfixed by this creature. He nodded. “Cinead?”
“Indeed,” the wolf replied.
“We are here.”
“Yes, I know. To gnaw words with the chieftain, Nab MacNab.”
“Yes, to …” Stellan hesitated. “… gnaw words with the chieftain.” He had not heard this expression before. There was nothing in The Gentle Owl’s Guide to Manners and Protocol about gnawing words. But gnawing bones was an art form for the wolves and the word gnaw, Stellan reasoned, might be used for other things.
They followed Cinead for quite a distance, keeping their eyes on his flaming pelt.
“No way we can lose this wolf,” Jytte whispered to Third, who trotted beside her in the deepening snow.
“Not unless he gets buried out here. This snow’s coming down pretty hard.”
But a short time later, they were at the MacNab gadderheal and on their bellies sliding down the entrance.
Nab MacNab was less intimidating than Duncan MacDuncan. He seemed more at ease than Duncan MacDuncan and listened carefully. Stellan had presented the request with all due formality. So far, the chieftain had not said anything about princelings but had asked some intelligent questions about the threat of the Ice Clock.
“And you say, this Ice Clock is looked upon as a divinity?”
“Indeed, sir,” Stellan replied. He desperately wished he could shrink himself a bit. Appear a little more vulnerable, even perhaps a little desperate. Who was he kidding? He was desperate.
“And this bear, the Grand Patek, I believe I have heard of him and certainly not good things. Word has begun to trickle down from the Far Ice about him. But he is like … like what did you call him?”
“A priest.”
“An unusual word.”
“I believe it is a word from the time of the Others. Or also the word ‘minister’ has been used. And there is a ministry of Timekeeper bears at the Ice Clock. They are called the Gilraan.”
“This god clock demands a sacrifice of young creatures, and you feel the worshippers of this clock might seek fresh blood here in our lands?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Give me a moment to reflect.” He bent his head toward his counselors, and they began to whisper. The click of the bone ornaments peppered the air.
I cannot fail! I just can’t. If I fail here … Jytte reached out her paw to give him a gentle pat. It was as if his younger sister had indeed riddled his thoughts. He cast a glance toward her. Her eyes brimmed with sympathy. I’m here, Stellan. Right beside you, now and forever! Her unspo
ken words came through with complete clarity.
The bears continued to wait tensely for a response. Nab MacNab was a gray wolf and finally he leaned forward.
“And you say that Tula, the snowy owl of Silverveil, has promised to send in her Frost Beak unit?”
“Indeed, sir,” Stellan replied. “As well as the service of the Silverveil blacksmith Gwynn.”
Nab MacNab’s eyebrow lifted. “Impressive,” he said quietly. There was a long pause. “And have you considered coals?”
“Coals?” Stellan asked, glancing at the fire.
“Not those. Those are simple coals. Coals to keep us warm. Coals to illuminate the bones while the gnaw wolves carve their designs. I am speaking of bonk coals.”
Something stirred somewhere in each one of the bear’s memories. There had been so much to learn at the Great Tree. They now dimly recollected a short lecture about bonk coals, delivered by a ruddy-feathered great horned, Buster, grandson of Bubo, the Great Tree’s most famous blacksmith. They had only spent one short evening after tween time visiting his forge. But now they remembered that bonk coals were high energy, the strongest coals that could be harvested from forest fires.
Nab MacNab continued. “Yes, I see a glimmer in your eyes. You do remember how powerful bonk coals can be!”
“Yes, sir, now we do. The powerful coals from forest fires,” Stellan said, barely able to contain his excitement.
“And you do not recall that the most powerful of the bonks can be harvested from the Ring of Sacred Volcanoes.”
“Oh yes!” Jytte now said excitedly. “Honorable Chieftain,” she added quickly, as this was the first time she had addressed Nab MacNab. “We have heard this, but we are forbidden to enter the ring.”
“Not if you have a guide.” He fixed Jytte in his green gaze. “Now, listen to me, bears of the Nunquivik. We wolves of the Beyond are in a fragile condition since the devastation of our lands. Our return from the Distant Blue was filled with hardship. When we returned, we were weak—weak and hungry. Every moon is a hunger moon for us now.” Oh no, thought Froya. This is going the way it went with Duncan MacDuncan. “But I will give you two things.” Again, the wolf paused. “First, I shall provide you with a guide to the Ring of Sacred Volcanoes. I shall also personally send a message to Soren that his best colliers should come with their buckets to harvest coals. For many bonk coals will be needed.”
Jytte was suddenly nervous. She raised a paw. Nab MacNab nodded at her.
“Sir, we are profoundly grateful for this generous offer. It is so kind. But to send a message to Soren could be exceedingly dangerous.”
“Of course, young’un, you are completely correct. I should have thought of that. Unfortunately, slipgizzles are not unknown in the Beyond. I trust you have a secure way to transmit this message. So I’ll leave that to you.” He again paused. “And I shall promise the owls one more service.”
“Service?” Third asked.
“Yes, a service. Tell the honorable owls of the Great Tree that I shall send a slink melf.”
“A what?” Stellan asked.
“A slink melf is a special commando team of wolves, an assassination squad to bring down any enemy who endangers a clan. In this coming war, a slink melf could be very useful in any covert operations.”
The bears were completely astonished. Truly overwhelmed by the grace and generosity of this chieftain, Stellan was not simply amazed but now wondered why Duncan MacDuncan seemed to have been so dismissive. He had never even asked a single question, whereas Nab MacNab had asked so many. Perhaps he should have tried harder to explain the imminent danger to Duncan MacDuncan.
As soon as they were out of the territory of the chieftain’s pack, Jytte began scanning the landscape for the special rocks that Blythe had told her about, spryss rocks, or whisper rocks. That had excellent sound-transmitting potential. You tap on a spryss rock and your message comes through clear as a bell! Blythe had said.
The bears did not have to go far to find one. They all watched as Jytte crouched over the dark gray rock that was embedded with red veins. She began tapping with her two claws simultaneously. She was fast. Her claws flashed over the stone. Her brother, Froya, and Third watched her in amazement. Hopefully there would be a response soon. When Blythe was not in the roots, there was always another owl there if a message came through, who would then fly out and find Blythe to come back.
The bears waited tensely for a response. Jytte kept her ear pressed to the rock. A tap came through. Again! was the simple command. She must send the coded message once again, as Blythe was now back at her station. It would take a while, since Jytte had once more used the double-encryption method. The other bears watched, transfixed. Stellan could not help but think that riddling a mind seemed easy compared to what his sister was doing.
Far away, Blythe bent to her task, inscribing once again the strange symbols in dissolvable ink made from a special type of gall that grew only on fir trees.
“Good, yoss,” Blythe whispered to herself.
There was a different key poem for each of the regions that the four bears visited. These were the middle lines of a love sonnet that Ezylryb had written for his beloved Lil.
Oh, the feverish eye, like a blazing star
Shines for you, my love
Calm my heart, be still my soul
Be still and Lil, ’tis you and only you
Jytte had given her grid code three, which she was applying to the lines of the poem. Blythe gasped in delight as the message came through loud and clear: Coals soon ready at the ring. Send colliers.
Nab MacNab sent as their escort his own son Conall. He was a friendly young wolf with the same gray pelt as his father. “I love going to the Ring. Wait till you see it.”
“I don’t understand,” Stellan began, “how was it demolished by the earthquake but somehow came back?”
“Simple,” Conall replied. “Another earthquake.”
“Huh?” Froya said.
Conall laughed. “It was buried in the first earthquake, but when the second one happened, it was unburied. The ground fractured, and the volcanoes were roused and began erupting. They are back—all five of them, Dunmore, Morgan, H’rathghar, Kiel, and Stormfast.”
“Stormfast, like the island?” Jytte asked, thinking of her father, Svern.
“Yes, I suppose so. Though I’ve never been there.” A wistful look grazed Conall’s green eyes. “Maybe if this war happens, I shall see it.”
“You’re wishing for war?” Third asked.
“Not really. But I would like to serve a great and noble cause. I mean, if the Ice Clock is not stopped, I shall see nothing of this world. And if that happens, we might be forced into the Distant Blue again.”
“What was the Distant Blue like?” Froya asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. I was only born after the MacNabs—I should say, the remnants of the MacNabs—returned. It took forever to sort out the old wolf clan territories. They had all been jumbled about. It was just after it was all sorted out that I was born.” He paused and lifted his muzzle. “Do you smell it?”
There was an acrid scent in the air.
“I smell something,” Jytte said.
“It’s Dunmore erupting.”
“You can tell?” Stellan asked.
“Oh yes, you learn these things once you become a guide to the ring. Each volcano has its own odor.”
Led by Conall, they had begun to climb up to the high ridges, just as the clouds cleared and the stars began to sparkle beneath the Moon Claw. The Moon Claw was what the wolves called the first phase of a new moon. Like the owls, they had different names for the star constellations and the phases of the moon. The Golden Talons constellation of the owls was called by the wolves the Great Fangs. The Great Bear constellation was now called Lupus, the Great Wolf.
“There’s the star ladder just rising.” Conall raised one paw and pointed. “It goes to the Cave of Souls.”
“And is that your Ursulana?” Third
asked. “Our heaven and what the owls call glaumora. And yours is the Cave of Souls?”
“I believe so,” Conall said. He chuckled softly and looked down at his feet. “Look at us—our feet, our paws, so different. Yet we stand here together on one earth. Yes, I sense that we might be on a very minor planet, circling a very ordinary star, the sun, but we can try to understand what makes each of our species special.” Then he tipped his head back. “Under one sky and of one universe.” Then he gasped in delight. “Just wait until you see the Ring. Soon!”
As they climbed, the stars in the midnight-blue sky started to fade and a dim rose-colored glow began to suffuse the sky in the north. “By the next ridge, you’ll see the cones of the volcanoes and perhaps the flames of Dunmore.”
And at the top of that next ridge, the four bears stopped suddenly, their eyes growing wide with wonder. Flames erupted from the ragged crowns of three volcanoes. Black rivers of lava poured down their sides.
“Makes your marrow shiver, doesn’t it?” Conall asked.
All four bears were quiet for several moments.
The four bears did feel something in their bones that they had never before felt. It was as if perhaps, for this one moment, their species had merged—wolf and bear.
Stellan looked up. He saw a few owls scoring the sky.
“They couldn’t have gotten here already, could they?”
“No. Just beginners. Half of them will get caught by a flame or a coal and perish. One has to be expert to fly these hot drafts of wind. Very tricky. Takes an expert collier to catch a coal on the fly or dive for coal in a lava slide. I’ll show you something when we get to the Hot Gates.”
“What are the Hot Gates?”
“The entrance to the ring. Where the Fengo will meet us.”
The Keepers of the Keys Page 14