(GoG Book 02) The Journey (17 page)

They landed on the ridge of some high cliffs. Ezylryb was already pointing with his three-taloned foot to some clouds just beyond the ridge. “We call them Ga’Hoole clouds. You know why?”

Otulissa’s talon shot up. “Because they are the shape of the seeds found in the Ga’Hoole fruits.”

“Right-o, missy,” Ezylryb said.

Martin gave a little sigh. “She never stops, does she?”

It was clear that Martin was very nervous. More nervous than the others. Soren felt bad for him. He was the smallest owl in the chaw. It had to be scary. “Don’t worry, Martin. You’re going to be all right.”

“Soren, that’s kind of you, but do you realize that I am the first Saw-whet to ever be in the colliering chaw?”

“They must think you’re special, Martin,” Soren said.

“But what if I’m not?” Martin said, a squeak of desperation creeping into his voice.

Ezylryb continued speaking about the Ga’Hoole clouds. “The reason their tops are curved like that is because—well, you tell me.”

Once again, Otulissa’s talon shot up. “It’s simple weather physics. I was reading about it in Emerilla’s, the renowned weathertrix’s book—she’s a Spotted Owl, I
might add.” Otulissa cast her eyes downward in what Soren thought was an outrageously phony show of modesty.

“Just get to the point, darlin’,” Ezylryb barked.

“Oh, yes, of course. It is because the winds atop the cloud are blowing much faster than the winds below.”

Soren felt Martin begin to tremble. “I might become one of those burning airborne embers that Ruby grabs on the fly,” he said in a voice drenched with fear.

“All right now, we camp here and we wait. We wait until the fire is safe for penetration and retrieval. Elvan and Bubo shall take over the mission at that point, directing you to the richest coal and ember beds. I shall remain here and watch the weather and fly in for periodic reports. You do as you’re told and no one will get hurt. Ruby and Poot fly top layer. Elvan with Otulissa will be mid-layer. Below them is Soren, who covers Martin on the ground. Bubo and I will be ready if anyone needs help. You are to keep your eye out for your mate.”

It was close to midnight when Ezylryb announced that they would be taking off for the next ridge. He had already flown several reconnaissance flights with Poot. He now arrived back on the ridge.

“There’s a possible temperature inversion at the east end of the valley. We’re not sending any owl down there.
Temperature inversions trap smoke, and then do you know what can happen when the smoke starts to rise?” Soren thought that it must mean that the temperature might change, but again, and most annoyingly, Otulissa’s talon shot up. “Shut your beak, Otulissa,” Ezylryb snapped. “I feel that Soren might have the answer despite not being as deeply familiar as you are with Strix Emerilla.”

How does he feel that I have the answer? Is this like being marked—Ezylryb seeing things in me that others can’t ?
But Soren did feel that he knew the answer. So he proceeded tentatively. “I think that it means that when the smoke rises there could be a change in the air.” Ezylryb looked straight at him. The light from his yellow eyes did not burn now but seemed to illuminate Soren’s entire brain. Soren felt surer, more confident, but mostlyhe could easily envision the invisible air. “The air would rise and turn and circulate upward and when this happens, I think the fire will burn harder, more fiercely.”

“Exactly!” boomed Ezylryb. “And how do you know this, lad?”

“I see it in my mind. I can imagine it. I feel something, I think in my gizzard, about the movement of air and heat and…”

“Yes, thank you, lad.” Ezylryb turned to the other owls of the chaw. “There are many ways to learn—through
books, through practice, and through gizzuition. They are all good ways, but few of us have gizzuition.”

“But what is gizzuition?” Otulissa asked warily.

Ezylryb began to speak but kept his gaze on Soren. “It is a kind of thinking beyond the normal reasoning processes by which one immediately apprehends the truth, perceives and understands reality. It cannot really be taught, but it can be developed by being extremely attentive and sensitive to the natural world.”

Soren blinked.
I AM something in this old owl’s eyes. I am almost as smart as Otulissa, and Ezylryb believes in me!

It was now time to move to a ridge closer to the fire. The chaw lifted into the air, each owl flying close to its buddy. They were not halfway to the next ridge when they saw the thick smoke, almost white in the night, rolling up, and then the tongues of flame dancing against the night. Ezylryb began a steeply banking turn. The others followed. Bubo and Poot arrived shortly with fresh voles and mice in their talons, some still squirming.

“Eat light, eat all the hair!” Ezylryb barked.

“I wonder why he always calls it hair?” Martin said quietly.

“They say he comes from a distant place called the
land of the Great North Waters and they have odd ways of speaking,” Ruby said.

“But hair? What’s hair?” Martin persisted.

“Well, there’s fur and there’s feathers—I think it’s something in between,” Ruby said. “Do you want me to ask Otulissa?”

“No!” Soren and Martin both groaned.

Less than an hour had passed when Bubo flew down from his higher perch. “Prepare to fly.”

The owls stood on the thin granite lip of the ridge, their talons hooked over the edge. They spread their wings, and Bubo gave the command. “FIRE!” They lifted off—first Bubo and Elvan, then Ruby and Poot, next Otulissa, Soren, and Martin, and last, as a rear guard, Ezyl-ryb.

They had not flown very far before they felt the heat on their faces. They had anticipated the heat but not the noise. A monster roar raged in their ears. Soren had never heard anything like it. Bubo and Elvan had prepared them for everything but this noise. They knew about the heat. They knew about the violent updrafts, the so-called cool spots, and the dead falls. They even knew about the most dreaded trick fire could pull—fire blinking. This happened
when the fire, raging with all its deadly beauty, actually transfixed an owl so that it could not fly. It went yeep and, with its wings locking, the owl lost its instincts to fly and suddenly plummeted to the ground. Or if the owl was already on the ground and the fire began to spread rapidly toward it, the owl simply could not lift off, for its wings hung still and motionless like dead things by its side. But no one had told him about the noise.

“You’ll get used to it.” Elvan had flown up just over Soren and Martin. “It’s always a shock at first. There is no way to describe it.” He had to shout over the roar of the fire. Below, a sheet of flame lay flat against a hillside. The thermal drafts came up like slabs of rock. Martin and Soren were sucked up at least twenty feet but as they passed the hill they felt a terrific coolness and they dropped another thirty feet. Soren realized that it was only cool compared to the heat they had just flown through. Bubo now circled back. He had been flying far out in front. “Good ember beds ahead. Perfect for all of you.”

So this was it, Soren thought. This was when they became true colliers. Just then, like a shooting star, something red whizzed by.

“Beautiful catch, Ruby,” shouted Poot.

“What a natural that Short-eared Owl is!” Elvan gasped in amazement.

Ruby began to wing off toward the coal buckets that Bubo had set up on the ridge. The small buckets made in his forge, with bits of kindling in the bottom already lit, would keep the coals hot.

“All right, Martin going in!” Elvan called out the command. The little owl began a tight spiraling plunge to earth. “Cover him, Soren.”

Soren would fly cover until Martin returned with a beakful of cinders. Elvan actually carried the very small cinder pot in his talons. Martin was supposed to not only collect cinders but report back on the larger coals that Soren and Otulissa were to retrieve.

Soren hovered above with a careful eye on the little owl. He was getting used to the noise. Indeed, not only was he getting used to it but within the thunderous roar he could seek out smaller sounds, like the sound of Martin’s beating heart, which grew more rapid as he plunged. As Martin’s heartbeat quickened, Soren hoped with all his heart, gizzard, and soul that the little Saw-whet Owl would be all right. He could see now that Martin was on the ground.

“Play your position, Otulissa,” Elvan rasped. Ruby had just caught another sparking coal.

“But all the good ones go up there. We never get a chance.”

“Shut your beak. You want to be sent back to the ridge? You’ll have your chance.”

But Soren was not paying any attention to them. He must keep his focus on Martin, who was now just a little smudge on the ground. A cloud of smoke temporarily obscured him and Soren flew lower.

There he was! There he was! Good heavens, he was coming up fast!

“He’s coming in loaded!” Bubo slid in next to Elvan.

And then he was there. Cinders poured from his small beak. His face was sooty and smudged but his eyes danced with a light as bright as the fire. “I did it! I did it!”

“You certainly did, young’un.” Bubo flew up and tousled Martin’s head feathers with his talon.

“I can’t wait to go back,” Martin shouted.

“Hold on there,” Elvan said. “First, your report.”

“Embers about the size of pellets uphill from where I landed.”

“Excellent,” Elvan said. Elvan then flew off to confer with Bubo and Ezylryb.

“Soren, there is nothing like it. I can’t tell you. As soon
as I got there I just wasn’t frightened at all. And I can’t describe what it’s like to grab the cinders in your beak. It’s…”

“Intoxicating,” Otulissa broke in. “Yes, I read about it. You must be careful, though. Strix Emerilla wrote that some colliers get so drunk on the cinders that they do not heed weather warnings.”

“Well, it’s very strange the feeling you get when you grab them and then fly with them. It’s something,” he paused. “Something very powerful.”

“Now’s the time, Soren. You’re going in!” Elvan ordered.

“What about me?” Otulissa wailed.

“Shut your beak, your turn will come,” Bubo yelled.

Soren pitched into a spiraling downward twist. He felt himself buffeted by a sudden fierce updraft, but he had gathered enough speed to bore through it. Then he was on the ground. It was a strange landscape. Charred skeletons of trees clawed the night, and then scattered about were the coals like hot glowing rocks. They were told to work quickly but at the same time not to rush. A steady pace is the best pace, Bubo had told them. How had Martin, so little, done it and found cinders perfectly sized for his beak? Great Glaux, how embarrassing it would be, Soren thought, if he could not find embers, if he came back empty-beaked. Bubo and Elvan had tried to emphasize that no one should be embarrassed. Oftentimes in
the beginning a young collier did not find a suitable coal. There was no shame in returning empty-beaked. But Soren knew there was.

Suddenly, Soren heard a terrible cracking sound. The flames turned a stand of trees just in front of him into one immense torch. He looked up and saw the crowns of other trees igniting. Crown fire! Ruby’s worse fear. But Ruby had been worried about the air above and now here he was below. He began to feel a mighty pull on him. Was he going to be sucked up? The last thing Soren remembered thinking about clearly was himself turning into a feathery ball of embers. A thought raced through his head:
With my luck, I’ll be caught by Otulissa. What will it matter? I’ll be dead.

I
have a coal in my beak! I have a coal in my beak!
The words kept running through Soren’s head. He was flying in ascending circles, effortlessly. He was not singed. He was not burning, and there was this wonderful glowing thing in his beak that, indeed, seemed to flood his entire being with an extraordinary feeling. It was as if every single one of his hollow bones, every feather shaft brimmed with this feeling of transcendent power. Joy filled him, a joy such as he had never felt since perhaps the first time he had ever flown. But how he got this coal was still a mystery to him. He flew back to the ridge where the buckets were. Martin was beside him.

“You were spectacular, Soren. I was so nervous when I saw that crown fire break and then when we saw you getting sucked up, I nearly went yeep.”

“But what happened?” Soren asked. They were to stay on the ridge until the rest of the chaw returned.

“You mean to tell me you don’t know?”

“Not exactly.”

“You did a reverse loop to escape the pull and as you were coming out of it this coal flew by. Bubo said he never saw a coal of that size go up so high, but you caught it! Caught it on the loop, Soren. I mean it was better flying than anything Ruby has ever done. It was absolutely spectacular.”

“Great Glaux, I wish I’d seen it,” Soren said.

Martin hooted loudly. “You did it, Soren! You did it!”

Otulissa flew in next with Ruby and Poot. She had a full beak and dumped the coals into the bucket. “I got one! I got one!” And then she stopped and looked up, genuinely modest now. “But, Soren, it is nothing compared to what you did.”

“Well, thank you, Otulissa…er…uh…That is very kind of you.”

Otulissa bobbed her head and actually said nothing for once. Martin blinked at Soren as if to say, “I wonder how long that will last?”

Soren looked about for Ezylryb. He wondered if Ezyl-ryb had seen him. Just then, the Whiskered Screech alighted with a bucket. He barely looked at Soren but busied himself shifting some of the coals into the new bucket.

Oh, no,
Soren thought.
Will I ever understand this owl?

Ezylryb was making his way down the line of buckets now. As he came next to the bucket where Soren had dropped his coal, he turned to look at him. The coal he held in his beak cast an eerie glow on his whiskered face. His amber eyes appeared red. “I hear you did a fair night’s work,” he mumbled through the coal. Then added, “Magnificent, perhaps.” He dropped the coal in the bucket and flew off to confer with Poot.