The War of the Ember (6 page)

H
ALO?” Gwyndor asked.

“High Altitude Low Opening situation,” Otulissa replied. “Of course!”

“What?” Bubo asked.

“Huh?” Dumpy said. “What’s altitude?”

Coryn shot Otulissa a warning glance as she sighed and muttered something about Dumpy’s limited vocabulary. Gylfie began to explain. “It’s a stealth strategy for getting into an area without being noticed. You wait for a night with thick cloud cover, and then you drop into the cloud bank from a high altitude and then down into the target zone.”

“You see what I’m getting at?” Soren addressed everyone, but his eyes were fastened on Gylfie. “We’ve got a front coming in tonight. As a matter of fact, it’s going to be miserable. Drenching rains, thick oily clouds, sooty as a forest fire—with sleet and all sorts of mess.
If we dropped three owls into the Palace of Mists with coals, bonk coals…”

“What?” Bubo said. “I mean, you’re welcome to any bonks from my forge, but why?” Then the light began to twinkle in the Great Horned’s amber eyes. “Oh! I get it! The old shell game!”

“Precisely!” Soren said. “Who has the Ember of Hoole? When these three owls fly out, each one will be carrying botkins, each botkin filled with several bonk embers. As we know, bonk coals are nearly indistinguishable from the true Ember of Hoole. It takes a careful eye to detect the true ember.” He glanced over at Bubo who, indeed, had such an eye. “So who’s to know which owl has the real Ember of Hoole?”

“Brilliant!” Digger exclaimed. “But a note of caution here. These owls should not be—well, how should I put it? High-profile owls.”

“In other words, not the Band,” Otulissa said.

“Yes,” Soren replied. “Not the Band, and certainly not Coryn.” He paused. “But there is another suggestion that I would like to make. None of the three, nor any of us, for that matter, should know who carries the true ember.”

“Why?” Twilight said.

“These are young owls. We don’t know how they’ll conduct themselves if captured, for one thing. But more important, it is always better in a situation like this if the main operatives do not have the full story. Divide up the information, so to speak, and then there is less to divulge. It’s a security measure. If, and for now let’s call him or her Owl X, is captured, and the captors demand the ember, Owl X can say, ‘I’m not sure if I have the ember. Several owls were sent out, only one has the real ember.’”

“Ingenious!” Digger exclaimed. “That will throw them off their game.”

“That’s the idea,” Soren replied.

“Now.” Digger stepped forward. “It is my feeling that Owl X and Owl Y and Owl Z should all be owls that are double chawed.”

Double chawed was a term used for those young owls bright enough and talented enough to be assigned to two chaws. Soren and Otulissa had been double chawed when they were young.

“Well, there are Fritha and Wensel,” Otulissa offered. “They are both very reliable.”

“I wish we could send a third owl who is older to look out for them,” Soren said. “You know, someone really experienced.”

“What about Ruby?” Coryn said. “She’s not exactly low-profile, but she’s not as well known as the Band, and she is the best flier in the tree.”

“But wouldn’t she be recognized?” Twilight said. “I mean, all those ruddy feathers.”

“Not if you dipped her in a bit of bingle juice mixed with ground pellets.” It was Octavia who spoke, the ancient, portly nest-maid snake. She had slithered into the hollow unnoticed.

“What?” several of the owls blurted out.

Cleve cocked his head. “Yes, of course. I’ve heard of this. It’s a dye. It is also used in a very diluted form for gizzard mites. Provokes yarping.”

“Are you saying, Octavia,” Soren swiveled his head toward the old nest-maid snake who had spiraled herself into a plump coil in the middle of the hollow, “that Ruby could dye her plumage a different color?”

“Yes, then she wouldn’t be recognized.” She paused. “At least not by her feathers. Perhaps her flying style might give her away.”

“Interesting idea,” Digger said.

Soren turned toward Digger. “I think that it is a very good idea. We have Fritha and Wensel, extremely talented. Fritha, a little older, a bit more experienced. But Wensel is fantastic in all sorts of weather conditions.
And he has an artist’s imagination. Somehow, I think we’ll need someone like Wensel.”

“Where does art comes into it?” Twilight said gruffly.

Gylfie snapped, “You were just talking about the artistry of Bess sending that owl to hagsmire instead of glaumora.”

“Oh, so I was.” Twilight blinked.

“And so it is decided. Fritha, Wensel, and Ruby will be the three owls to fly to the Palace of Mists and initiate the shell game,” Soren said, turning to Coryn.

Coryn nodded. “And now the question is, where are they to take the ember?”

“Before we get to that,” Soren said, “there is one more part to the plan. If these three owls are followed by anyone, we want to know who that is. The beauty of the weather that I see setting in is that it will allow the perfect cloud cover for the HALO drop not only for the three owls but for us, as well.”

“For us?” Twilight asked.

“I want to be buried in that cloud cover and track our three ember-carrying owls and anyone else who is following them.”

“But if it’s a cloud cover, how will you see?” But
as soon as Twilight asked the question, he knew the answer.

“I’ll
hear
!” Soren said.

Of course, for Soren was a Barn Owl. A Barn Owl’s auditory skills were unmatched by any other species of owl. “I can recognize Nyra’s wing beats. How many times have we battled these owls?”

“Too many,” Digger sighed.

“But I’ll need at least two more Barn Owls. I was thinking of Eglantine and Fiona. Fiona is young, but her hearing is extraordinary even for a Barn Owl.”

“And now to what I feel is the most important question. Where are they to take the ember?” Everyone’s head swiveled toward Coryn. As the anointed king, the embered monarch of the owl kingdoms, he was the only one who could make this decision. There was a long pause before he spoke. Finally, he said, “I have been thinking about this question ever since we started talking about this shell game.”
Indeed,
he thought to himself,
I have been pondering this question longer than you can imagine.
“It seems to me,” he continued, “that if the three owls succeed in getting the ember out, we should take it far away.” Coryn now looked at Tengshu, who had been perched quietly in a shadowy corner of the
hollow. “To the Middle Kingdom…to the Mountain of Time.”

“I am not sure, Coryn,” Tengshu said. “You understand that the ember is…is…” He hesitated. “A powerful relic from the ancient world.”

“Yes,” Coryn agreed. “Theo fought beside Hoole when he first dived into the flames of Dunmore to retrieve it. It is a most vital link between not only the time of legends and now, but between our kingdom and yours, the Middle Kingdom, for Theo found his way there, Tengshu.”

There was much more that Coryn was considering and chose not to say. Theo had been a gizzard-resister. After his service to King Hoole, he had flown as far away as he could from the violence of his world—to the Middle Kingdom. In many respects, Coryn felt the same way about the Ember of Hoole that Theo felt about battle claws. He, however, was king, so he could not leave. But he could send this ember to the farthest reaches of the owl world—to the Middle Kingdom.

Soren regarded his nephew closely.
He wants to be rid of that ember so badly. And yet he is king.
It was astute of Coryn to link the ember to Theo, Soren thought.

Tengshu blinked. “I must go and ask the H’ryth if this is possible, if he will accept the ember.”

“Could you leave soon?” Coryn asked.

“Yes, I shall leave immediately.”

“And I shall speak to Ruby, Fritha, and Wensel,” Otulissa said.

“Uh…Please stay, Otulissa.’” Soren hesitated before he began to speak. He coughed. “Perhaps Bubo, Twilight, Digger, and Gylfie could go and talk to Ruby, Fritha, and Wensel.”

The owls looked at Soren, bewildered.

“There is another item that we must focus on.”

“Indeed, the rumors of hagsfiends!” Coryn whispered.

“We hope they are rumors,” Soren said. “But not only that. What of this sighting of the Striga and Nyra together in the Northern Kingdoms? It must be investigated immediately. I want to talk to Otulissa and Cleve about a reconnaissance mission to the Northern Kingdoms.” Otulissa seemed to grow larger. Her plumage billowed. This was the first time she had been asked to do anything of import since her grave injuries. Tengshu, who had just been leaving the hollow, stopped. He swiveled his head toward Cleve and blinked. Cleve blinked back. Everyone’s attention was focused on Soren, who had begun to speak.

No one noticed the quick exchange between Tengshu and Cleve, except one bird—the puffin.
I
wonder what that’s all about?
Dumpy thought.
I’m not that bright, but something was said without words. A signal. I’d bet my wee brain on it.

Soren continued. “And I want to set up a crack corps of messengers to fly between all the Guardians on this mission, to deliver word of progress or problems. So when you’re finished speaking with Fritha, Wensel, and Ruby, come back here. There’s more to plan.”

Half an hour later, Twilight, Gylfie, Digger, and Bubo returned. Soren looked up. “We’re just finishing.”

“Good,” Coryn said. “Now we’re all here.” He looked at his uncle. “Soren, catch them up.”

Soren swiveled his head toward Otulissa. “Otulissa will go to the Northern Kingdoms with Cleve.” He explained the reconnaissance mission that was planned for them. They were to talk to as many animals as they could, including gadfeathers and even kraals, if it was safe, and polar bears as well, to find out if there had been any sightings of a blue owl and a haggish-looking Barn Owl. “And,” he added in a low voice, “if there are any signs of strange-looking eggs.

“In addition to that, we have discussed the corps of messengers. It is to be headed by Martin, along with Nut Beam, Silver, Primrose, and Clover.” Clover was a
Barn Owl. It was always wise to have one Barn Owl in any unit because of their auditory skills. They were all good owls, fast fliers, and fearless.

“Let us call this crack messenger unit the Joss Corps.” Coryn spoke as he peered into the grate of the fire without turning around. Soren looked at the broad back of his nephew. Joss was the famous messenger from the time of the legends, the time of Hoole and Theo.
What exactly is Coryn thinking about? Yes, we are confronting a horrendous possibility, but there is more to it for him than what he is letting on,
Soren thought.
We all know what is at stake, but there is something even beyond that for Coryn.

Coryn continued to peer into the grate and study the flames. Coryn was a flame reader and it was just a year ago that he had detected the ice-bright cave with the two shadowy figures in the flames. He had suspected that the huddled shapes were his mother and the Striga. But such flame readings were rarely precise, and never yielded complete information. Like encounters with scrooms, they often raised more questions than they answered. But now as he looked into the flames, he saw the figures of seven owls. One was far to starboard and another was lower in the plane, but five in the center flew close.

Coryn turned and said quietly, “The Chaw of Chaws. They will be the gizzard of this Operation HALO.”

Soren returned to his own hollow. A milky light, the first streaks of dawn, washed into the cozy space. Pelli and the three B’s were already sound asleep. He gazed down at them.
If the Striga and Nyra prevailed…
He tried to cut off the thought, the unthinkable image of those two. So much to lose. “Too many,” Digger had replied when Soren had asked rhetorically how many times they had fought the Pure Ones. Most of his life, even his childhood, had been involved with fighting them. Soren’s mind ranged back. The first fight had been the rescue of dear Ezylryb from the Devil’s Triangle. But there had been so many after that.

He looked over at the newest-model battle claws that Quentin the quartermaster had just delivered—double-hinged retractables, or DHRs. Absolutely lethal. Would these improve his chances in battle? He tried them on. They were light, he would give them that. Maneuvering would be easy. But were they too light? The younger owls could adapt to these things. He was used to weight. He looked up on the wall of the hollow where the old battle claws hung that Ezylryb had given him. Now those were battle claws with heft! And they’d gotten him through…how many battles? Too
many! But
there is another to come,
Soren thought, then whispered, “Another to come.” He took off the new battle claws and reached for those of his old mentor.
Real antiques,
he thought.
But they’re battle tested. They worked for Ezylryb and they’ll work for me, Glaux willing.

D
umpy had guided Otulissa and Cleve to the back entrance of the cave in the Ice Narrows. They perched on the ice cliff high above the cave’s entrance, to say good-bye to the puffin.

“You have been more help than you’ll ever know,” Otulissa told him. “You were brave and smart. Now on your way,” she said. “We’ll send one of the Jossian messengers if we need to get in touch with you.”

Otulissa and Cleve found the niche that opened into the cave. She slipped into the crack first and peered around. It appeared to be vacant. She had expected as much. A full moon cycle had passed since Dumpy had seen the Striga and Nyra there. “Nothing.” She swiveled her head and whispered over her shoulder to Cleve, “But we should still look around. We might find clues of some sort.” So they squeezed through the crack into the larger space of the cave. It hadn’t been half a minute
before Cleve exclaimed, “Yes, clues like this!” He held up a sapphire-blue feather. “The Striga’s?”

Otulissa flew closer and squinted with her only eye. “Oh, dear!” she said softly. Cleve was confused. Otulissa sounded disappointed. “It’s blue, but unfortunately it’s not turquoise enough; it’s not the Striga’s, but that of another blue owl!”

“You’re saying that there might be more blue owls involved?” Cleve asked hesitantly.

Otulissa nodded. “On my visit to the Middle Kingdom I noticed that the owls were not all the same shade of blue. Their plumage varied from turquoise to sapphire to emerald. The Striga’s feathers are definitely in the turquoise range. You might have noticed that Tengshu’s tend more toward cobalt.”

“You think another owl from the Middle Kingdom has come here?”

“I fear so.” Then the Spotted Owl’s single eye seemed to focus on something. “What’s that?” she exclaimed. She rushed to a corner of the ice cave. From behind, Cleve saw her wilf.

“Otulissa, dear, what is it?” He rushed to her side and looked down. “Oh, no!” They were both transfixed by the fragments of the shell of a dark and peculiar
egg. There was a smear on the ice of some viscous fluid—now frozen—and close by lay a pulpy mass. Otulissa bent closer.

“Something nearly came to life here—then failed.” Otulissa’s voice trembled. Although the remnants were frozen, a rank odor hung in the air above the mess. “A mis-hatch.”

“But not just any mis-hatch,” Cleve said. He had taken a sliver of ice and was poking at the half-frozen blob on the floor of the cave.

“Incipient beak,” Otulissa murmured.

“Some embryonic feather shafts, rather long,” Cleve whispered.

“Some ocular cells—but such a bright yellow!” Otulissa’s voice registered shock.

Otulissa turned slowly toward Cleve. “You’re right. No ordinary mis-hatch. It was to be a hagsfiend! But something scared the ‘mother’ off, if whatever brooded over such an egg can be called a mother. She tried to escape with the egg but it broke.”

“Let’s hope this was the only egg,” Cleve said.

“Well, I don’t think we can be sure. They might have rescued others.”

“Where would they have taken them, though?” Cleve asked.

“Perhaps to the old Ice Cliff Palace where Siv took the egg of Hoole.” Otulissa spoke in an almost trance-like voice. “Just like in the legends.”

“Surely they would not know about that, Otulissa,” Cleve said.

“Why not? You forget that at one time, before we knew how terrible the Striga was, he had Coryn’s confidence and the run of our library. They spent long evenings together. Coryn could have told him the stories of the legends. Siv finding refuge in the Ice Cliff Palace with her egg and her faithful servant, Myrrthe. It was all written down in the first legend by Grank.”

“Of course,” Cleve replied in a low tremulous voice. “Grank, the first collier.”

“And as far as the
Book of Kreeth,
well, I said that I had the book under lock and key, but who knows—perhaps Coryn was reading it and the Striga glanced at it. And for a brief time before the Battle of the Book, it was in Nyra’s possession.”

“We have to get a message back to the great tree and inform them of what we have found.”

There was a Jossian unit messenger stationed on the Ice Dagger. Otulissa and Cleve left immediately to report this latest and most dire news.