A Guide Book to the Great Tree (6 page)

Ma and Pa never talked about it after I was hatched. But I knew it never left their minds. “Be a good big brother, Lyze. Watch out for Ifghar.” We both knew what they meant.
Watch out for Ifghar so what happened to Lysa doesn't happen to him.

My brother loved me, I knew. When Ma, and later on, Lyze, brought back meat from a hunt, he would always insist that I get my fill. When food was scarce, and that was often during this war, I ate like a king. Lyze often insisted that he wasn't hungry or could not eat another bite. Only now do I realize that he had gone hungry on many a night. When I began to walk, Lyze was never more than a few wing beats away, always ready to catch me if I stumbled. “That's it, Chickpea, there you go,” he'd say as he steadied me with his wing tips.

The last time I saw Pa was at my First Fur ceremony. He had brought back a snow mouse. The next day, he was killed in combat, stabbed through the heart with an ice sword. “Murdered by those damnable oppressors from the League of Ice Talons,” Lyze later told me. Ma fell into a state of despondency.

After that, my brother became my keeper. He was my
father, my mother, my teacher, my confidant, and my commander.

He was hard on me at times, but I knew it was for my own good. Everything he did, he did to make me stronger, savvier, more resilient. When I began branching, he was there to make sure I mastered the perfect technique. “Sharper on the downstrokes, sharper! Listen to your wing beats, you should hear nothing. By Glaux, a squirrel fifty pytes away could hear you coming. Sharper! Quicker!” I remember all of it. When I began flying, and then hunting, there was more of the same. “You can do better than that; if that vole wasn't so slow-witted, it would have gotten away from you for sure. Ready those talons faster next time.”

Every once in a while, I got a “Well done, Chickpea,” along with an approving nod. Those came rarely, and I yearned for them.

When Lyze came of age, he joined the Kielian League, as all able-bodied owls had done in the Bay of Kiel for nearly two hundred years. He had been looking forward to this since the day that Pa had died. He had long talked of his desires to “avenge his forefathers.” As he began his career at the Kielian Military Academy, he became more strict than ever. He was the top cadet in his class. When he was home from training, he would teach me all the
new skills that he had learned. Long before most young owls see their first ice sword, I was sparring with one under his stringent tutelage. He had inherited Pa's old battle claws and practiced with them constantly. He even let me fly with them once, “to get the feel,” as he said.

What fascinated me most out of everything that Lyze introduced me to were the books he sometimes brought home—his field manuals and battle tactics handbooks. I fell in love with the written word. Soon, I was reading everything I could get my talons on, and pulling out feathers for quills faster than I could grow them. Lyze thought this was “impractical.” So I did most of my reading and writing while he was away.

One day, Lyze came back to the hollow that we shared carrying a pair of battle claws in his beak. I could tell they weren't Pa's battered old pair. No, these were breathtaking.

“I had them made special by Orf, the famed blacksmith on Dark Fowl Island,” he told me as he slipped his right foot into one. “I had to trade quite a few black rocks and animal skins for them. Called in a personal favor, too.” He tilted them back and forth in the morning sunlight. “Orf is thinking of retiring, you know. These might be the last pair of battle claws he ever makes.”

They were the most beautiful things I had ever seen. The metal was polished to a gleaming luster. An intricate scroll pattern that resembled cresting waves had been inscribed on the two outermost claws. Each claw tapered to a perfect, deadly point.

“They're magnificent,” I told him.

“They sure are, Chickpea, they sure are…” He slipped his left foot slowly into the other.

Blinding jealousy tore through my gizzard. I lusted after those claws. They were more art than they were weapons. I couldn't tell you exactly why, but they captivated me down to my pin feathers. It would not be the last time that I felt such jealousy over something beautiful that belonged to Lyze.

Lyze watched me as I admired the battle claws with huge, unblinking eyes. Then, a little churr escaped from his beak as he slipped his talons out of the claws. “I had them made for
you,
little brother.”

I tilted my head back and forth to make sure my ear slits had not deceived me.

“That's right, Ifghar, they're for you.” He held them up for me to see. “But not yet.” He pulled them away from my reaching talons. “They'll be yours when you're ready for them. You'll have to grow into them, in body and in spirit.”

I couldn't believe it. “Th-thank you, Lyze” was all I managed to say. Of all the things my brother had done for me…tears welled in my eyes.

“I don't want gratitude,” he told me kindly, “What I want from you is courage and purpose. Show that you're ready to be a warrior of Kiel, and these will be yours.”

I nodded and took his words to heart.

Within the year, I enrolled in the Academy. With the skills that Lyze had taught me, I had a head start, and did well. Lyze graduated at the top of his class and went on to join the Glauxspeed Artillery Division. There, he helped to develop a new and devastating fighting technique, one in which owls flew with Kielian snakes on their backs—two attackers moving as one, the Kielian Method, it was called.

That is how I met Gragg of Slonk. He was assigned to me by my commander at the Academy. The Kielian
Method was an instant success. The academy began teaching it to the cadets right away. Gragg was unpopular among his Kielian snake peers, but he was a good fighter. And when he had a bit of bingle juice in him, he became the life of the party. We became fast friends. Having another species on your back for much of the day will do that.

I also met Lil at the Academy. I was reading a book on the history of the Northern Kingdoms when she appeared in the study hollow. She was the most beautiful Whiskered Screech I had ever set eyes upon. She had bright yellow eyes—brighter than the petals of the wildflowers that bloomed on the hills in spring. Short streaks of deep mahogany and snowy white ran through her brown feathers. I imagined myself preening them.

“I think the predecessors to the current regime were on the right track. It'll take strong leadership to unite all these clans. But the Ice Talons are only winning battles, not the minds and hearts of the owls they want to rule.”

Her voice was melodic and confident. I was so surprised that she was speaking to me, that I barely understood her words.

“Uh, pardon?” I said idiotically.

“The chapter you're reading”—she pointed at my book with her talon—“on the regime under General Geirleif.”

“You're familiar with General Geirleif?” I was pleasantly
surprised. Not many of my classmates read history books these days, most were preoccupied with manuals on weaponry and attack strategies.

“I try to understand some of the basic concepts,” she replied modestly.

That's how our nightly discussions began. I had found a kindred spirit in Lil. She was as intelligent as she was beautiful. After our nightly drills and before the sun rose, we would meet in the study hollow and talk. We talked about subjects that other owls, Lyze included, had dismissed as academic frivolity. She opened my mind to so many things, and I like to think that I did the same for her.

I loved her, of course, but I was a complete mooncalf when it came to courtship. I had no idea where to begin. The very idea of it filled me with a sense of panic a hundred times worse than did any battle. Our relationship remained one of scholarly admiration.

Soon, Lil and I both graduated. Lyze was promoted to Commander, the youngest ever in the history of the Kielian League. I was assigned to Glauxspeed Artillery Division, just as Lil was, and Lyze had been. But I was in a different unit, stationed far to the south, and rarely saw either of them. I thought of them both often.

Because we flew so well together, Gragg and I remained
a team. We were thrown into battles immediately. I counted many moments when I thought for sure that my life was about to end. But somehow, Gragg and I always made it through. He was a great tactician, it turned out. In times of danger, he always made the right choice. “On my mark, increase drag, she'll fly right by us!” he said once as we were being pursued by two armored Snowies. I never would have pulled a move like that without Gragg. I owe my life to his quick thinking.

It was rare for Lyze and me to have the same night off. When we did, we would perch high in a tree and catch up on what was going on in our lives. At the end of those nights, he became my caring big brother again and I his “Chickpea.”

On one such occasion, after a lovely late night flight, he told me that he had met a female.
The
female.

“She's fierce, this one! Beautiful, too. Can't wait for you to meet her.” He beamed with joy. “We went on our first courtship flight a few nights ago. I think I might ask her to be my mate soon.”

I couldn't remember ever seeing him this happy. And I was thrilled for him.

“How ‘bout you, Chickpea?”

I hadn't told him about Lil. What was there to tell?
That I was woefully inadequate when it came to the courting ritual? That I turned into a gibbering puffin at the very thought? Of course I didn't want to sound like an immature little owlet to my brother, he would expect me to be plucky and bold. “I don't know…There might be this one owl that I have my eyes on, but…I don't know. I'm not sure…”

I think I must have wilfed out of self-consciousness. Lyze sensed my discomfort. “Well, you're young, you'll have plenty of time to worry about finding a mate.”

Just then, two of Lyze's buddies from his unit landed on a neighboring branch, a Great Gray named Loki and a Northern Saw-whet named Blix. They made quite a pair—Blix's entire body was smaller than half of Loki's facial disk.

“Ahoy! You must be Ifghar.”

“And you must be Blix. Your prowess with ice splinters is well-known, even on my side of the bay.” I spoke the truth. I had heard some amazing tales about the little owl. He had suffered a wound in the Battle of Firthvir, and was given commendations for bravery.

“Oh, no, that's nothing. My main job in the field these days is to inspect the ice weapons and battle claws to make sure they're up to snuff.”

I liked this humble owl.

“Whooo-ooo-ooo,” said the Great Gray, “and what has your brother told you about me? Chicklet? Chickbean? What is it that Lyze here calls you?” Loki churred.

“My name is Ifghar,” I said crossly. “And he has only told me that his friend Loki was a big Great Gray.” I wish Lyze hadn't told them about the Chickpea thing. It was fine between the two of us, endearing even. But who would respect me as a commander with a nickname like Chickpea?

“Give it a blow. I was just being friendly, Chickling.”

I didn't like this owl.

“Watch it, Loki. Don't tease my brother.” Lyze turned to me. “Pay no attention to him, Ifghar, he's just a joker.”

“So, you tell him about your courtship flight yet?” Blix asked Lyze.

Lyze nodded, and turned back to me. “Seems like the whole division is finding mates these days. Loki here is waiting for two eggs to hatch!”

Some owl actually mated with this nincompoop? She must be yoiks.
But all I said was, “Congratulations.”

“Ifghar here is in a bit of a gollymope, trouble approaching a female,” Lyze said to his buddies, feigning a whisper.
Racdrops!
I wish he hadn't told them that either.

“I didn't say that! It's nothing, I…There is no female…” I began to stammer.

But it was too late, Loki and Blix gave me a merciless ribbing for the next half hour. “Oh, boo-hoo-hoo, poor little Chickbean, so lonesome, can't find a mate…” Loki whined in his best owl-chick voice, all the while making exaggerated preening motions and yarping a pellet at the same time. Blix churred so hard that he fell off his perch twice. Lyze seemed to have found it quite amusing, too.

When the laughter finally died down, Loki hopped over to the branch that I was perched on. “Listen, Ifghar.”
He called me by my name!
He lowered his voice to a serious tone, “All joking aside, let me make it up to you for all this fun we've been having at your expense. I will tell you a sure way to win over your female.”

This was the first time that this owl had spoken to me like I was an equal, instead of some owlipoppen-cuddling chick. I was still suspicious, but curious about what he would say. “Go on.”

“In the olden days, before the war began, all male Megascops—that means all Screech Owls, like you—had to prove their worthiness to females before they were accepted as mates.”