The Coming of Hoole (6 page)

T
heo took a pointy stick in his talon and scratched a somewhat lopsided circle in the dirt near his forge. “This is where we are,” he said to Hoole. “An island in the middle of this small sea called the Bitter Sea.”

“Doesn’t the island have a name? If the sea has one, why doesn’t the island?”

“I don’t know. Interesting question. Would you like to name it?”

“Me?”

Theo wanted to answer:
because you are a prince and will be a king and kings of the N’yrthghar have that privilege.
But he didn’t.

“Yes, you.”

“I’ll try and think of something.” Hoole bent closer to the ground. “So what does this sea flow into?”

“The Everwinter Sea,” Theo replied.

The lad was naturally curious. An apt pupil, he learned quickly the lessons of geography and of N’yrthghar
history. He knew of the great exploits and triumphs of King H’rath, who was killed by Lord Arrin; of H’rath’s father, King H’rathmore; of how his forebears had learned to make from ice things that no one had ever dreamed; of how they had not only made weapons for war but things for peace—the ice harps, the first books, called bhags. He knew all about the illustrious line of H’rathian monarchs and yet he had no idea that he was now the last of this line, a prince being made ready to become a king.

For the most part, Theo gave the lessons in geography and the sciences—geology, the art of forging metals, and some celestial navigation. Hoole had by this time learned all the constellations. It was Grank who gave the history lessons and the lessons of government, carefully explaining the knightly codes of honor and service.

“How old do you have to be before you can get to be a knight?” Hoole asked Grank one day.

“Well, it’s not simply a question of age. One has to prove oneself. Do something quite extraordinary.”

“I am guessing,” Hoole said with a small glint in his amber eyes, “that fishing doesn’t count. Brother Berwyck said I am an extraordinary fisher owl.”

Grank laughed. “No, fishing doesn’t count, young’un. But enough lessons for today. Why don’t you take yourself
off to that cove you so love now that the weather has finally cleared?”

“Phineas? Your name is Phineas?” Hoole asked.

The tiny Pygmy Owl who barely stood as high as Hoole’s chest shook his head as if to clear it. This was the first time Hoole had returned to the cove to fish since Berwyck had left. For three days spring storms and tornadoes had raged in the region of the Bitter Sea. When he did come back and perched in an aspen tree—his favorite place for spotting fish—he found it quite incredible that although the ground was littered with the debris of broken branches, the wildflowers still trembled on the forest floor and banks of the cove. Hoole had been contemplating how these tiny fragile things had hung on while entire trees had been stripped of limbs, leaves, and even uprooted when he spotted a tiny dazed owl huddled close to the trunk of the tree on the same branch that he himself was perched.

“Yes, Phineas is my name,” the little owl said.

He appeared disheveled and disinclined to talk. Hoole scrutinized him. He had seen so few owls in his short life. Three to be exact. Uncle Grank, a Spotted Owl like himself; Theo, a Great Horned Owl; and Berwyck, a Boreal.
Never had he seen an owl this tiny. Above each eye was a curve of short white feathers that reminded Hoole of minnows. And were those spots of lighter-colored feathers or bars or just smudges?

“What do you call those…those things?” Hoole blinked and nodded with his head as if to indicate what he was referring to.

“What things? My wings?”

“I mean those patches of white. Are they spots or bars or what?”

“Or what.”

“What?”

“Or what,” replied the owl.

Now it was Hoole who was shaking his head in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“You asked me if my white feathers were spots, bars, or what. They are or whats.”

“You mean they are not spots or bars.”

“Yes,” the owl sighed wearily, “that is what I mean.”

Hoole blinked again as if contemplating the “or whats.” “They look kind…kind of…”

“Kind of what?” Phineas asked testily.

“Kind of disorganized.”

“You’d be disorganized, too, if you had been tossed about on the edges of tornadoes for three days, sucked up
through the Ice Narrows, nearly smacked into a hagsfiend, and then blown here.”

“What’s a hagsfiend?”

The tiny owl blinked in dismay. “Where have you been all your life?” he asked.

“Here,” Hoole replied.

“Look, I’m really tired. I just have to sleep awhile.” Phineas closed his eyes tightly, stood rigid, and began to sleep in the classic sleep perch posture of owls outside of hollows.

“Wait—just a couple more questions.”

“Oh, Glaux have mercy!” Phineas sighed.

“Are you grown up or what? I mean, you’re so weensy.”

“Weensy? What a disgusting word.” The two little curves of white feathers above Phineas’s eyes collided with one another in a frown.

“Small?”

“Slightly better. Yes, I am grown up.”

“How up?”

Great Glaux in glaumora, this is the weirdest owl I have ever met.
“I hatched a year ago.”

“How come you’re so small?”

“Because I am a frinkin’ Pygmy Owl, and this is how big we grow. What you see is what you get! I mean
really
!”

“All right…all right. Calm down,” Hoole said.

“Calm down! You calm down! Enough with the questions.”

Hoole, of course, ignored that. “Are you male or female?”

Now the Pygmy’s beak dropped open. “I am utterly flabbergasted.”

“Flabbergasted.” Hoole hopped up and down on the branch in delight. “I love that word! I just love that word. Say it again. Please, again.”

“FLABBERGASTED! It means shocked beyond…beyond…”

At this, Hoole flew straight up in to the air and turned a neat little somersault and landed again.

“Are you from Beyond the Beyond? My uncle Grank talks about Beyond the Beyond all the time.”

“Beyond be
lief
!”

“Oh, so that’s where you’re from—Beyond Belief. I’ve never heard of that place.”

“It’s not a place. It is a state of mind! I am a male.”

“Me, too! I haven’t met a female yet. I was sort of hoping you’d be one. You know, just because I have never met one, but don’t worry, you’re fine.”

“Oh, I am
soo
relieved, because frankly there is very little I can do about it.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” Hoole nodded his head quickly and with what he considered great authority. “I know all about that male-female thing. Uncle Grank told me and so did Brother Berwyck.” He paused. “Uncle Grank is…uh…raising me, ‘cause I might be an orphan or something but I don’t believe it. Anyhow, Brother Berwyck is my friend, a Boreal Owl, but he left a few days ago.”

“I think I might have passed him blowing out while I was blowing in.”

“Oh, I hope he’s all right.”

“He looked fine to me. Very strong flier.”

“You want to come back to my hollow and meet Uncle Grank and Theo?”

Phineas looked at the young Spotted Owl. It was certainly no use trying to rest here. What did he have to lose? He might get some food and he was too tired to hunt right now himself. “Sure.”

“Oh, great!” And Hoole jumped up into the air again and did a somersault finishing with a half twist just before he landed. When he did land, he winked at Phineas. “I’m working on that one. I am aiming for a double twist.”

Phineas made a sound, something between a sigh and a groan.

“Uncle Grank, Uncle Grank, Theo! Come out. Come out!” Hoole and Phineas alighted on the branch just outside the hollow. Grank stepped out from the hollow, and Theo flew up from the forge. “This is Phineas. He’s a disorganized male Pygmy Owl from Beyond Belief and he’s full-grown. And don’t call him weensy. But small is all right to say…and…and oh, I nearly forgot—he said this wonderful new word. He taught it to me: flabbergasted. I just love that word. Say it, Uncle Grank…flabber…just say it. I know it sounds long—flabber…”

“Flabbergasted!” roared Grank. “For Glaux’s sake, slow down, Hoole.” Grank blinked and shook his head. In so many ways, this little prince was so much like his father, King H’rath. The unbound enthusiasms, the pure joy and delight in owlkind, in life!

“Well, can we keep him?”

“Keep him!” Grank, Theo, and Phineas all hooted in unison.

“Hoole,” Grank said sharply. “He is a living thing, an owl. We do not keep living things. We welcome him. Welcome, young Phineas.”

“Thank you, sir,” Phineas said solemnly, and spun his head toward Hoole. “I am not an object for your passing fancies, I am not an amusement.” Hoole wilfed a bit as
owls do when they are suddenly intimidated. There was certainly nothing amusing about the little owl right now.

“Yes, yes. Sorry. I understand,” Hoole said. “But will you stay for a while? I’ll share my vole with you. It was too big to eat all at once. So I just tore off the head for a snack.” Hoole hopped up to a notch hole where they stored food and dragged out the headless vole. “It’s all yours!”

My Glaux,
thought Grank.
If the kingdom is restored and there is ever a court again in the N’yrthghar, how shall I ever prepare this lad for courtly behavior?

Y
gryk and Pleek had landed on the smallest of a cluster of three islands called the Tridents. It was here that Ygryk would perform an ancient charm that would temporarily disguise her for one night and one day as an owl—a Great Horned, the same species as her mate. The run from the Tridents to the Bitter Sea was short, especially with this sudden change of wind, which now came from the south, boosting their speed considerably. Pleek had seen his mate do this transformation just twice before and it always amazed him. The gleaming black feathers grew dull and gradually specks of white began to appear. The dense ruff feathers that grew just under the beak turned white and those on her chest turned gray and became mottled with white patches in a ripplelike pattern. Lastly, the two huge tufts that swept out from every hagsfiend’s brow began to shrink and poke up in the manner of a Great Horned’s tufts, directly above the eyes, which now had semicircles of white feathers.

While all this was transpiring, Ygryk began to diminish in size; hagsfiends were twice as big as the largest of owls. It took but a short time for this transformation to be completed. And when it was finished, she began talking rapidly to the minute half-hags in the peculiar language of hagsfiends and their parasitic companions. Ygryk was giving them the revised flight plan instructions. With her new body, a new flight formation was necessary for the half-hags. Again Pleek’s eyes gleamed with pride. What a creature she was! And if it worked, if indeed they could capture the young son of King H’rath and Queen Siv and change him into a true hagsfiend—not merely an owl with a haggish appearance as he himself had become—if it worked, there would be no limit to their power. Although Lord Arrin had granted them the possibility of keeping this chick for their own, neither Lord Arrin nor any of his top lieutenants knew of the charm that dear Ygryk possessed to transform the owl prince into a hagsfiend. Had they known they would have never permitted the adoption. For Lord Arrin would countenance nothing that might threaten his own power. Secretly, Pleek believed that the reason he had not been permitted into Arrin’s inner circle until now was because the lord feared him. He surrounded himself with noddy owls: owls who nodded in constant agreement with him. But now
Lord Arrin needed them because he wanted Siv as his consort as much as Ygryk and Pleek yearned for a chick of their own.

“Ready?” Pleek asked Ygryk.

“Yes.” The two birds lifted off the island and set their beaks for the island in the Bitter Sea where the half-hags had tracked Siv.

Siv herself had begun to have odd sensations in her gizzard as she was approaching the Bitter Sea. She was not sure what it was but she felt in some way that she was being followed. The Bitter Sea’s westernmost edge lapped the shores of what was called the Nameless, and she decided to fetch up there for a while on a high cliff. The cliffs were notched with deep crevices that were perfect for observing without being observed. She was surprised, however, when she lighted down on the cliff to see an immense Snowy stick her head out from one of these niches. Few birds ever came to the Nameless. It was considered inhospitable and there was a dearth of game. And this was not just any Snowy, but the Snow Rose, the gadfeather she had seen at the gathering at the mouth of the firthkin a few nights before. She was certain she would have noticed a gadfeather passing her in
flight, especially this one who wore a strand of red berries woven through her feathers along with silvery tufts of reindeer moss and a dazzling blue plume of a bird she herself had never before seen. The plume was stuck in at a jaunty angle in her head feathers. This was not a bird one could miss.

“Beg your pardon,” the Snow Rose asked, “but didn’t I see you at the gathering for gadfeathers at the firthkin?”

“Yes, and I heard you sing. Your voice is lovely.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“I could never forget it. I have never heard such a voice.”

“How kind of you to remember.” The Snow Rose blinked.
This Spotted Owl seems different from most gadfeathers,
she thought. She had a kind of elegance that went beyond the moss and various feathers she had tucked into her plumage. Indeed, her gadfeather costume, or gaddis as it was called, was not very special at all. No, there was something else that suggested a deeper elegance, an indefinable grace. “You wouldn’t mind, would you…” The Snow Rose hesitated for a moment.

“Mind what?” Siv asked.

“If…if…”

“Yes?”

“If I joined you for a bit on your wanderings?”

Siv truly did not know how to answer. Yes, she would mind, but the Snow Rose was so nice and lovely she hated to appear unfriendly. She had hoped to have some time alone with her son but maybe that was not even a very good idea. She would not be tempted to reveal her identity as his mother with another owl around. She cocked her head and looked at the Snow Rose. “Yes, how nice. I am heading to the island where I understand the Glauxian Brothers have a retreat.”

“Do you plan to visit them?”

“Oh…” Siv hesitated. “Perhaps. They keep to themselves, you know. Vows of silence and all that. Rather studious, I think.”

“Yes, but I once sang for them.”

“You did?” Siv was shocked.

“Oh, yes. They enjoy music very much, you know.”

“No…no, I didn’t know,” Siv answered.

“And they be quite welcoming to visitors.”

Perhaps,
Siv thought to herself,
this is not a bad idea at all. If we are with the Glauxian Brothers for a few days it might be easier for me to get away from the Snow Rose to see my son.
But might the Glauxian Brothers remember her from the times they visited in court even disguised as she was?

But I have changed so much,
she thought somewhat wistfully. She had been young then, her plumage a rich dark brown with the whitest of spots, not to mention whole wings. No, they would never realize that this dull brown bird with moss and feathers tucked in here and there as if trying to disguise her shabbiness, was in fact Queen Siv, mate of King H’rath.

So at First Black, the two owls rose in the air on a heading for the island in the middle of the Bitter Sea. It was a moonless night and the stars shone brighter because of it as they reached the island. Perhaps if it had not been moonless, Siv would not have spotted the curls of smoke that smudged the deep black of the night. She felt her gizzard quicken.
This must be the place! It has to be one of Grank’s fires!
Joy sang through her hollow bones.

“Do you think that’s a fire over there?” the Snow Rose asked. “Do you see that smoke?”

“Yes.”

“We should go see what’s happening.”

“Oh, I’d prefer not. I’m tired. You know, this wing gives me trouble and the wind has changed and we’re flying against it. I’d like to get to the Glauxian Brothers as soon as we can.”

“Oh, yes, I understand…er…” The Snow Rose
hesitated, then continued. “Don’t think me rude. But if we are to be fly mates might you tell me your name?”

Name, name,
Siv thought in a panic.
What’s my name?
“Elka!” she said suddenly. She remembered that her dear servant, Myrrthe, who had been killed by hagsfiends, had a sister named Elka.

“Elka, a very nice name,” the Snow Rose replied.