The Coming of Hoole (7 page)

B
eneath that curl of smoke in the night sky, Grank perched by the forge, peering into the fire. He simply did not understand. Had he lost his firesight? Oh, he could see images, but they were weak, unclear, and impossible to read. How had this happened? Was it old age? Had his eyesight simply dimmed? His eye tubes shortened up? Had his third eyelids thinned out, letting too much flight debris scar his eyes? It was a mystery and a frustrating one at that for although he could not read the images, the blurry suggestions of contours and shapes set his gizzard trembling. He felt that danger lurked nearby but the images themselves seemed too frail to show him more. It was almost as if the life had been sucked out of them, rendering them hopelessly obscure. When he did see something, it seemed nonsensical. Right now lurking in the bottom part of one very weak flame, he saw what appeared to be a truly immense tree and there were the
images of owls hunched over a book of some sort. But what did it all mean?

What Grank had surmised was true. The fire had for him been leeched of its power. For there was another who had firesight. A fire can only yield its images to one fire reader, and it offers them to the reader with the strongest sight. And that was Hoole. For even though his sight was undisciplined, it was amazingly powerful and what was left for Grank were only dim shadowy shapes. Each morning when Grank and Theo slept, Hoole flew down to the forge to watch the image that stirred his gizzard with emotions he had never experienced. He was so obsessed with his vision that he had ignored the other images in the fire.

But had the fire not been drained by Hoole, Grank would have seen much to disturb him. There was no telling if he would have recognized Siv clad in the geegaws of a gadfeather but he certainly would have recognized Pleek and would have surmised that the Horned Owl with whom he flew was none other than Ygryk. Grank knew of the “guise charms,” as they were called, of which hagsfiends were capable. And he also knew no other female Great Horned Owl would dare to fly with Pleek since he had taken Ygryk as a mate. He would have also seen Ullryck the assassin following well behind Ygryk
with two powerful Great Grays. Indeed, he would have been so agitated that he would have made plans at once to flee this island in the Bitter Sea for Beyond the Beyond. But Grank saw none of this. Yes, he had vague and disturbing feelings in his gizzard but nothing was clear enough to suggest a course of action. He only hoped that his firesight had not left him for good.

“Ah, the Snow Rose!” Brother Fritzel exclaimed. “Our pleasure, madam.” A shiver of delight stirred the Snow Rose’s white plumage and set the red berries woven through them to jiggling prettily. She had forgotten how polite these brothers were.
Treat me like a queen they do. Might as well be Queen Siv herself.

“Thank you, brother,” she replied.

“You’ve come at a wonderful time—not a time for silence. So we would love to hear you favor us with a song. And your traveling companion?” Brother Fritzel gave a small bow to Siv.

“Elka,” the Snow Rose offered.

“Elka, pleased that you have come here.”

Oh, Glaux,
thought Siv.
Why couldn’t it be a time of silence?
She didn’t want to answer questions. But she did know that the brothers were familiar enough with the ways of gadfeathers that they knew better to ask questions about
where they had come from or where they were going. So asking her name might be their only question. Still, she was uneasy. She, of course had dozens of questions she wanted to ask them. What did they know of the fire at the end of the island? Had they seen a Spotted Owl, older than herself, near it? Was he accompanied by a young owlet, also a Spotted Owl?

How could her son possibly be so near but yet so far?

Beyond these immediate questions, there was the library that they were in the process of making. The brothers spent countless hours in what they called the cold hollow copying their old inscriptions from ice slabs onto scrolls of birch bark for their books. She would have given anything to poke around in both the cold hollow and the library where they took them once the slabs had been copied. But a gadfeather who could read? A gadfeather even interested in literature? Never. She would betray herself instantly if she showed the least bit of interest in reading.

A second spring storm had begun to lash the Bitter Sea shortly after Siv and the Snow Rose arrived on the island. The retreat of the Glauxian Brothers offered them a safe and cozy refuge. If only Siv could have gone to the library to read, it would have been almost perfect. Then again she was anxious to fly to the other end of the island
where she had spotted what she was certain was Grank’s fire. Even though she had arrived at a time when vows were relaxed, the brothers were not by any stretch of the imagination a talkative bunch. Still, the first two days she had spent with them had been fruitful. She had picked up a few scant references to three owls at the other end of the island with whom a Brother Berwyck had made contact. A Great Horned Owl, an older Spotted Owl, and a very young Spotted Owl. Her gizzard leaped when she first heard those words “a very young Spotted Owl.” But they were known as loners and only Brother Berwyck had been welcomed as a visitor.

“Is Brother Berwyck here now?” Siv tried to sound casual as she asked the question of an elderly Great Gray.

Brother Cedric answered, “He went on his pilgrimage.” Most likely, Brother Cedric suggested, through the Ice Narrows to the Southern Kingdoms. At this time, the Southern Kingdoms were hardly kingdoms at all but rather disorganized regions of clanless pioneer owls who, for one reason or another, decided to seek a life in the unknown forests, barren lands, deserts, and prairies to the south. There was no ice there, hardly any snow, unpredictable winds, and a vast and tumultuous sea laced by storms called hurricanes. To go there took courage, but for some to stay on in the Northern Kingdoms with their
constant wars and throngs of hagsfiends also took courage. The immense sea of the south never froze and was therefore safe from hagsfiends. But there were no ice weapons, either. Ice was the element on which the lives and culture of the N’yrthghar was based. Life without ice was almost unimaginable. The owls of the N’yrthghar had hundreds of words for ice because there were as many varieties of ice as there were flowers in the Southern Kingdoms. Each type of ice had special qualities. There was issen blaue, blue ice from which special lenses could be ground to protect the eyes even better than the third eyelid when flying through ice storms; there was deep ice, or ice vintygg, for making reflective surfaces; there was a special kind of hard ice that was used for certain weapons; and then the ice from the middle part of the H’rathghar glacier on which the Glauxian Brothers inscribed their books. For most owls of the N’yrthghar, life in the Southern Kingdoms seemed impossible.

So when Brother Cedric said that Berwyck had most likely gone to the Southern Kingdoms for his pilgrimage, Siv replied, “How daring!” As soon as the two words were out she knew she had made a grave mistake. No gadfeather worth her feathers would ever think a flight to the Southern Kingdoms was daring. Gadfeathers knew no boundaries. They went everywhere. They were comfortable in any
sky, over any sea. Brother Cedric blinked at her, but asked no further questions. At the same moment, the Snow Rose appeared and said that she was on her way to the upper ring to give a concert.

The retreat of the Glauxian Brothers was a circle of tightly clustered birch trees that stood in the center of a forest that rose on a slight hill in the very middle of the island. The birches were riddled with hollows of all sizes. Some of the hollows were used for study. A very large one had been made into the library. There were hollows for sleeping, small and spare, and then at the very top of the circle of the trees, called the upper ring, the branches of the trees intertwined to form a wonderful platform for various gatherings. It was here that the Snow Rose would give her concert. And so she began.

Like a flower at the avalanche’s rim

Like a snowflake in the wind

Like a frost picture in the night

Like a star burning, oh, so bright

Again the song was one of yearning, of longing, of love and loneliness and wandering. There was a sad twang in the Snow Rose’s voice and something deep within Siv began to respond, to vibrate. And though there was no ice
harp here at the retreat of the Glauxian Brothers, it was as if the slivered icicles of such a harp were within her, trembling in some sort of harmony.
It’s like she’s singing that song for me!
Siv thought.
She knows my pain, but how could she?

Siv knew that she could not wait much longer. She had heard some of the brothers muttering under their breaths about hagsfiends in the region. She had tried to dismiss the idea. Why would they dare fly over so much open seawater? But she knew the brothers were wise and did not indulge in idle speculation. She had to act fast. She must fly to the other end of the island. She must see her son. And if there were hagsfiends, she must somehow warn him. Warn him without scaring him to death.

O
n the Tridents, the spring gales lashed furiously, and Ygryk glowered as she watched her tawny brown feathers darken and felt the small elegant tufts above her ears grow longer. The charm had worn thin. Waylaid by the headwinds of the gales, they had been blown back to the Tridents three times as they attempted to cross over to the Bitter Sea. And now although the gales had subsided, she knew she must wait at least another three days to try again. Charms—particularly those of transformation—could not be used promiscuously. If so, the transformations were sloppy. She could appear with the ear tufts of a Great Horned Owl and the black shaggy feathers of a hagsfiend. It was also very difficult to use the hypnotic spell of the fyngrot when the spell was weakened.

Meanwhile on the island, Siv watched one of the low-flying storm clouds roll overhead. Hoping not to be seen leaving in the middle of the Snow Rose’s concert, she had
waited until the cloud bank swept over and then lifted off silently, dissolving into the mist. Within a short time, however, the cloud bank had dispersed, and she found herself flying through a clear and windless night, the newing moon no bigger than the finest filament of down.

The words of the song streamed through Siv’s mind as she flew out from the upper ring.
A lovely evening for meeting one’s son. No, not meeting,
Siv corrected herself.
Seeing. I just want to see him. That’s all,
she promised herself.
That’s all.

But, of course, it would not be quite all. There would be more. Siv had planned to fly toward the end of the island where she had spied the smoke rising but as she flew over a cove on the southwest side of the island, she thought she heard the splash of a fishing bird.
A Fish Owl?
she wondered. And being cautious, she thought she should stop and make sure exactly who was about. From hearing the brothers talk, she had thought that there were no other owls except themselves and the three at the very southernmost tip of the island. So Siv alighted in a spruce tree, its branches dense with needles. She watched as she saw not a Spotted Owl nor a Great Horned Owl but a tiny Pygmy attempting to dive for fish in the cove.

“He’s just too small. He can’t do it, Hoole.” The voice was the unmistakable hoot of a Great Horned Owl. Siv saw him fly out from an aspen tree. Then she caught her
breath as another young owl flew out. His spots shone like a thousand tiny moons on this nearly moonless night.

“No! No!” the young Spotted Owl protested, as he flew up to the drenched Pygmy who was perched on a log and shaking himself off. “Phineas, you are not too small. No one is too small for anything. You just have to think big!”

Siv caught her breath. She knew this was her son.
And Grank has named him Hoole!
How many times had she heard H’rath before going into battle encouraging his knights in just this way. “Our numbers may be fewer, the hagsfiends may have their charms, their nachtmagen, but we fight for a good cause. We need no charms for we are bold in our gizzards, firm in our task, our wits are keen, and our hearts are strong. They are nothing but flying fakirs and on our side, there is discipline. Nachtmagen is cheap, and we are owls of quality, of passion, of commitment.” This, indeed, was the son of H’rath! She watched him for hours, until the night melted into the dawn.

Night after night, she returned but always Hoole was in the company of the owl named Phineas or the Great Horned Owl he called Theo. Once he came with Grank and she saw that Grank had aged. Her gizzard trembled at the sight of him. He seemed smaller than she had remembered. Could he take care of Hoole until the owlet was safely grown up?
But what must I look like?
she thought.
I, too,
have aged and with this mangled wing I must appear piteous.
Although she longed for the other owls to go away so she could approach Hoole, she was at the same time happy they were there. They must be a help to Grank.

Then one night when she came, she saw that Hoole was alone and diving with abandon into the cove.
Would it be so wrong if I just flew down there and talked to him?
she thought.
I’m a gadfeather, after all. Gadfeathers go everywhere and talk to everyone. Nothing unusual about that.

Siv lighted down on the end of the branch where Hoole perched. He blinked at the strange Spotted Owl. It wasn’t the oddly shaped wing that startled him. It was all the stuff she had tucked into her plumage—feathers from other birds, bits of moss, and even a few berries.

“What are you?” he asked her. “And why are you wearing all that…that stuff?”

“I’m a gadfeather,” Siv answered. She hadn’t thought that because of the extreme isolation of this island, Hoole might never have seen a gadfeather before. “You haven’t heard of gadfeathers?”

“No, and my uncle Grank teaches me a lot.”

Siv felt a pulse quicken in her gizzard.
He calls Grank uncle.

At the very same time Hoole felt a deep stirring in his
own gizzard. He took a step closer to her. Siv began to quiver all over. This was her son! H’rath’s son. She desperately fought the urge to preen him, to run her beak through his feathers, to pick out mites, debris. She must not. Hoole was looking at her hard. It was almost as if he were peering right into her gizzard, which was in a complete tumult.

“I know you,” he said suddenly.

Siv began to wilf, so great was her alarm. She shook her head. “Oh, no, my dear, I am sure you don’t.”

“But I do. I…I…I saw you in the fires, the flames.”

Great Glaux,
thought Siv.
He can read flames. He’s a fire reader! Like Grank! Does Grank know?

“I saw you coming,” he continued. “I wanted you to come.”

“You did?”

“Yes, yes. I can’t explain this but there’s been…” He hesitated. “…like a hole, yes, a hole in my gizzard. I didn’t really know it was there until I saw you in the flames. But now that you are here the hole is filled.” He blinked in utter amazement at this sudden realization. “You have to come back to the hollow with me. You have to meet Uncle Grank and Theo and Phineas. Phineas is my best friend. Well, so is Theo but, you know, he’s older and
Phineas is closer to my age.” Hoole was speaking rapidly now. “Please, please, come right away. Stay with us. Stay with us forever!”

“But I can’t, dear,” Siv replied.

“Why not?” He was stunned.

“I just can’t.”

“Give me one good reason.”

“It’s just…it’s just…”

“Just what?” Hoole demanded.

“I have family. I have chicks to attend.”

“No!” Hoole almost wailed. “You can’t have anyone else!”

“But I do!” It broke Siv’s heart and shattered her gizzard to lie like this.

Hoole began to wilf right in front of her eyes. Siv felt desperate. What could she do to help this poor young owl, her very own son? Was this not the cruelest thing that had ever happened to her? To have to deny one’s own son! And just at that moment two owls melted out of the night. Two Great Horned Owls, or so Siv thought. It suddenly felt as if a bolt of lightning had coursed through Siv’s gizzard. One of the owls, despite its tawny feathers and two ear tufts, had a…a haggish look.

It’s Ygryk!!!
Siv’s brain reeled at the recognition. “Fly, Hoole, fly!” she screamed.