Capture (2 page)

"Ooh, they're so much fun to eat!" Soren exclaimed. "All their little legs pittering down your gullet."

"Oh, Soren, tell me that story about the first time you ate a centipede," Eglantine begged.

Mrs. Plithiver sighed softly. It was so sweet! Eglantine hung on every word of Soren's. True sisterly love, and Soren loved her right back. She wasn't sure what exactly had happened with their older brother, Kludd. There was always one difficult one in a brood, but Kludd was more than just difficult. There was something ... something ... Mrs. Plithiver thought hard. Just something missing with Kludd. Something rather unnatural, un-owlish.

"Sing the centipede song, Soren! Sing it!"

Soren opened his beak wide and began to sing:

What gives a wriggle And makes you giggle

When you eat em? Whose weensy little feet Make my heart really beat? Why, it's those little creepy
crawlies That make me feel so jolly.

For the darling centipede

My favorite buggy feed

I always want some more.

That's the insect I adore

More than beetles, more than crickets,

Which at times give me the hiccups.

I crave only to feed

On a juicy centipede

And I shall be happy forevermore.

Just as Soren finished the song, his mother flew into the hollow and dropped a vole at her feet. "A nice fat one, my dear. Enough for your First Fur ceremony and Kludd's First Bones."

"I want my own!" Kludd said.

"Nonsense, dear, you could never eat a whole vole."

"Whole vole!" squeaked Eglantine. "Oh, Mum, it rhymes. I love rhymes."

"I want one all for myself," Kludd persisted.

"Now, look here, Kludd." Marella fixed her son in a dark steady gaze. "We do not waste food around here. This is a very large vole. There is enough for you to have your First Bones ceremony, Soren to have his First Fur ceremony, and Eglantine to have her First Meat."

"Meat! I get to eat meat!" Eglantine gave a little hop of excitement. She seemed to have forgotten all about the joys of centipedes.

"And so, Kludd, when you want a vole all of your own, you can just go out and hunt it for yourself) I spent most of the night tracking down this one. Food is scarce in Tyto this time of year. I'm exhausted."

A huge orange moon sailed in the autumn sky. It seemed to hover just above the great fir tree where Soren and his family lived, and it cast a soft glow in through the opening of the hollow. It was indeed a perfect night for the ceremonies that these owls loved and that marked their growth and the passage of time.

And so that night, just before the dawn, the three little owlets had their First Meat, First Fur, and First Bone ceremonies. And Kludd yarped his first real pellet. It was the exact shape of his gizzard, which had pressed it into the tight little bundle of bones and fur. "Oh, that's a fine pellet, son," Kludd's father said.

"Yes, indeed," his mother agreed. "Quite admirable." And Kludd, for once, seemed satisfied. And Mrs.

Plithiver thought privately to herself how no bird could be really bad that had such a noble digestive system.

That night, from the time the big orange moon began to slip down in the sky until the first gray streaks of the new dawn, Noctus Alba told the stories that owls had loved to hear from the time of Glaux. Glaux was the most ancient order of owls from which all other owls descended.

So his father began:

"Once upon a very long time ago, in the time of Glaux, there was an order of knightly owls, from a kingdom called Ga'Hoole, who would rise each night into the blackness and perform noble deeds. They spoke no words but true ones, their purpose was to right all wrongs, to make strong the weak, mend the broken, vanquish the proud, and make powerless those who abused the frail. With hearts sublime they would take flight --" Kludd yawned. "Is this a true story or what, Da?" "It's a legend, Kludd," his father answered. "But is it true?" Kludd whined. "I only like true stories." "A legend, Kludd, is a story that you begin to feel in your gizzard and then over time it becomes true in your heart. And perhaps makes you become a better owl."

A Life Worth Two Pellets

True in your heart! Those words in the deep throaty hoot of his father were perhaps the last thing Soren remembered before he landed with a soft thud on a pile of moss. Shaking himself and feeling a bit dazed, he tried to stand up. Nothing seemed broken. But how had this happened? He certainly had not tried flying while his parents were out hunting. Good Glaux. He hadn't even tried branching yet. He was still far from "flight readiness" as his mum called it. So how had this happened? All he knew was, one moment he was near the edge of the hollow, peering out, looking for his mum and da to come home from hunting, and the next minute he was tumbling through the air.

Soren tipped his head up. The fir tree was so tall, and he knew that their hollow was near the very top.

What had his father said -- ninety feet, one hundred feet? But numbers had no meaning for Soren. Not only could he not fly, he couldn't count, either. Didn't really know his numbers. But there was one thing that he did know: He was in trouble -- deep, frightening, horrifying trouble. The boring lectures that Kludd had complained about came back to him. The weight of the terrible truth now pressed upon him in the darkness of the forest -- those grim words, "an owlet that is separated from its parents before it has learned to fly and hunt cannot survive."

And Soren's parents were gone, gone on a long hunting flight. There had not been many since Eglantine had hatched out. But they needed more food, for winter was coming. So right now Soren was completely alone. He could not imagine being more completely alone as he gazed up at the tree that seemed to vanish into the clouds. He sighed and muttered, "So alone, so alone."

And yet, deep inside him something flickered like a tiny smoldering spark of hope. When he had fallen, he must have done something with his nearly bald wings that "had captured the air" as his father would say. He tried now to recall that feeling. For a brief instant, falling had actually felt wonderful. Could he perhaps recapture that air? He tried to lift his wings and flutter them slightly. Nothing. His wings felt cold and bare in the crisp autumn breeze. He looked at the tree again. Could he climb, using his talons and beak? He had to do something fast or he would become some creatures next meal -- a rat, a raccoon.

Soren felt faint at the very thought of a raccoon. He had seen them from the nest -- bushy, masked, horrible creatures with sharp teeth. He must listen carefully. He must turn and tip his head as his parents had taught him. His parents could listen so carefully that, from high above in their tree hollow, they could hear the heartbeat of a mouse on the forest floor below. Surely he should be able to hear a raccoon. He cocked his head and nearly jumped. He did hear a sound. It was a small, raspy, familiar voice from high up in the fir tree. "Soren! Soren!" it called from the hollow where his brother and sister still nestled in the fluffy pure white down that their parents had plucked from beneath their flight feathers. But it was neither Kludd nor Eglantine.

"Mrs. Plithiver!" Soren cried.

"Soren ... are you ... are you alive? Oh, dear, of course you are if you can say my name. How stupid of me. Are you well? Did you break anything?"

"I don't think so, but how will I ever get back up there?"

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear," Mrs. Plithiver moaned. She was not much good in a crisis. One could not expect such things of nest-maids, Soren supposed.

"How long until Mum and Da get home?" Soren called up.

"Oh, it could be a long while, dearie."

Soren had hop-stepped to the roots of the tree that ran above the ground like gnarled talons. He could now see Mrs. Plithiver, her small head with its glistening rosy scales hovering over the edge of the hollow. Where Mrs. Plithiver's eyes should have been there were two small indentations. "This is simply beyond me." She sighed. "Is Kludd awake? Maybe he could help me." There was a long pause before Mrs. Plithiver answered weakly, "Well, perhaps." She sounded hesitant. Soren could hear her now, nudging Kludd. "Don't be grumpy, Kludd. Your brother has ... has ... taken a tumble, as it were.

Soren heard his brother yawn. "Oh, my." Kludd sighed and didn't sound especially upset, Soren thought.

Soon the large head of his big brother peered over the edge of the hollow. His white heart-shaped face with the immense dark eyes peered down on Soren. "I say," Kludd drawled. "You've got yourself in a terrible fix."

"I know, Kludd. Can't you help? You know more about flying than I do. Can't you teach me?"

"Me teach you? I wouldn't know where to begin. Have you gone yoicks?" He laughed. "Stark-raving yoicks. Me teach you?" He laughed again. There was a sneer embedded deep within the laugh.

"I'm not yoicks. But you're always telling me how

much you know, Kludd." This was certainly the truth. Kludd had been bragging about his superiority ever since Soren had hatched out. He should get the favorite spot in the hollow because he was already losing his downy fluff in preparation for his flight feathers and therefore would be colder. He deserved the largest hunks of mouse meat because he, after all, was on the brink of flying. "You've already had your First Flight ceremony. Tell me how to fly, Kludd."

"One cannot tell another how to fly. It's a feeling, and besides, it is really a job for Mum and Da. It would be very impertinent of me to usurp their position."

Soren had no idea what "usurp" meant. Kludd often used big words to impress him.

"What are you talking about? Usurp?" Sounded like "yarp" to Soren. But what would yarping have to do with teaching him to fly? Time was running out. The light was leaking out of the day's end and the evening shadows were falling. The raccoons would soon be out.

"I can't do it, Soren," Kludd replied in a very serious voice. "It would be extremely improper for a young owlet like myself to assume this role in your life."

"My life isn't going to be worth two pellets if you don't do something. Don't you think it is improper for you to let me die? What will Mum and Da say to that?"

"I think they will understand completely."

Great Glaux! Understand completely! He had to be yokks. Soren was simply too dumbfounded. He could not say another word.

"I'm going to get help, Soren. I'll go to Hilda's," he heard Mrs. Rhiann. rasp. Hilda was another nest-maid snake for an owl family in a tree near the banks of the river.

"I wouldn't if I were you, Rhiann." Kludd's voice was ominous. It made Soren's gizzard absolutely quiver.

"Don't call me Rhiann. That's so rude."

"That's the last thing you have to worry about Rhiann. -- me being rude."

Soren blinked.

"I'm going, Kludd. You can't stop me," Mrs. Plithiver said firmly.

"Can't I?"

Soren heard a rustling sound above. Good Glaux, what was happening?

"Mrs. Plithiver?" Only silence now. "Mrs. Plithiver?" Soren called again. Maybe she had gone to Hilda's.

He could only hope, and wait.

It was nearly dark now and a chill wind rose up. There was no sign of Mrs. Plithiver returning. "First teeth" -- isn't that what Da always called these early cold winds? -- the first teeth of winter. The very words made poor Soren

shudder. When his father had first used this expression, Soren had no idea what "teeth" even were. His father explained that they were something that owls didn't have, but most other animals did. They were for tearing and chewing food.

"Does Mrs. Plithiver have them?" asked Soren. Mrs. Plithiver had gasped in disgust.

His mother said, "Of course not, dear."

"Well, what are they exactly?" Soren had asked.

"Hmm," said his mother as she thought a moment. "Just imagine a mouth full of beaks -- yes, very sharp beaks."

"That sounds very scary."

"Yes, it can be," his mother replied. "That is why you do not want to fall out of the hollow or try to fly before you're ready, because raccoons have very sharp teeth."

"You see," his father broke in, "we have no need for such things as teeth. Our gizzards take care of all that chewing business. I find it rather revolting, the notion of actually chewing something in one's mouth."

"They say it adds flavor, darling," his mother added.

"I get flavor, plenty of flavor, in my gizzard. Where do you think that old expression 'I know it in my gizzard' comes from? Or i have a feeling in my gizzard,' Marella?"

"Noctus, I'm not sure if that is the same thing as flavor."

"That mouse we had for dinner last night -- I can tell

you from my gizzard exactly where he had been of late. He had been feasting on the sweet grass of the meadow mixed with the nooties from that little Ga'Hoole tree that grows down by the stream. Great Glaux! I don't need teeth to taste."

Oh, dear, thought Soren, he might never hear this gentle bickering between his parents again. A centipede pittered by and Soren did not even care. Darkness gathered. The black of the night grew deeper and from down on the ground he could barely see the stars. This perhaps was the worst. He could not see sky through the thickness of the trees. How much he missed the hollow. From their nest, there was always a little piece of the sky to watch. At night, it sparkled with stars or raced with clouds. In the daytime, there was often a lovely patch of blue, and sometimes toward evening, before twilight, the clouds turned bright orange or pink. There was an odd smell down here on the ground -- damp and moldy The wind sighed through the branches above, through the leaves and the needles of the forest trees, but down on the ground ... well, the wind didn't seem to even touch the ground. There was a terrible stillness. It was the stillness of a windless place. This was no place for an owl to be. Everything was different.

If his feathers had been even half-fledged, he could

have plumped them up and the downy fluff beneath the flight feathers would have kept him warm. He supposed he could try calling for Eglantine. But what use would she be? She was so young. Besides, if he called out, wouldn't that alert other creatures in the forest that he was here? Creatures with teeth!