Lost Tales of Ga'Hoole (Guardians of Ga'Hoole) Page 6

  Uglamore brought himself up short: That kind of thinking was bound to get him into trouble. No, he thought at the time, I can’t let myself think that way.

  “Nothing, Nyroc. I just meant that I know you’ll do better next time.”

  That was the beginning of the end of Uglamore’s devotion to the Pure Ones. He didn’t realize it at the time, but now, as he bided his time in the Beyond, it was as clear to him as the night sky. His final betrayal of the Tytonic Union would come not much later.

  It was after Nyroc’s failed Special—the Tupsi, they called it, which was short for Tytonic Union Pure Special Initiation. That poor young Sooty, Dustytuft, was dead—murdered by Nyra. Uglamore had wanted to save Dustytuft, and to spare Nyroc the awful ritual, but he hadn’t the courage to oppose Nyra openly. And he’d said nothing when Nyra set the famed tracker, Doc Finebeak, on Nyroc’s trail.

  Uglamore had terrible memories of his own Tupsi. He had been instructed to kill his cousin—his da’s brother’s son—also named Bartholomew, who had been a mere hatchling at the time. Uglamore was brought back to the Shadow Forest to do the deed. His mum had told him that he must prove himself to become a soldier of the Tytonic Union. She said that not only would he be committing an act of personal sacrifice, he would also be “putting that poor thing out of his misery.” In her mind, the owlet would have led an “impure” life, so why should he have lived at all? With her urging, Uglamore shoved the still flightless owlet from his nest high atop a fir tree. He felt utterly confused and miserable afterward. He was being praised by his mum and his fellow Pure Ones for completing his Special. They told him how proud he should have felt. But the thought of his poor little cousin falling to his death had made him sick to his gizzard. He didn’t sleep for a moon cycle.

  Unlike Uglamore, Nyroc had refused to murder his friend. He fled from the canyonlands as a result. He flew north on tattered wings. When Uglamore learned of this the next night, he was so afraid that the young owl might fall out of the sky on those sad, de-feathered wings, that he took off in pursuit without a command from Nyra. It was an act of defiance, for sure. But Nyra, in her ever-self-important frame of mind, had interpreted it as an act of courage. She actually believed that Uglamore had gone after Nyroc in order to bring him back to her. “Yes, good, Uglamore! Get that little ingrate! I’ll make you colonel yet!” she called after him.

  Uglamore was not the best tracker, but Nyroc’s trail was not hard to find. The poor owl was still losing feathers. Worse, he was losing blood. Blood! When Nyroc had refused to harm Dustytuft, Nyra flew into a rage and savagely slashed her own son’s face. The sight of his blood made Uglamore’s gizzard lurch. He tracked through the night, northward. He almost didn’t notice that he had arrived in a forest. The sun had risen, but tall pine and spruce trees cast long, dark shadows. From the floor of the deep forest, Uglamore could barely tell that it was morning.

  It had been a lifetime since he had been there, but there was no mistake, this was where he came from. Ah, the Shadow Forest! Uglamore was home.

  Uglamore followed Nyroc’s trail as far as the pond, then the trail disappeared. Snow had begun to fall and covered up any clues Nyroc might have left as to his whereabouts. Uglamore looked into the pond, the edges of which had started to freeze. He remembered looking at his own reflection in that very pond as a hatchling. How he had admired his own heart-shaped face and black eyes. “Tyto alba through and through,” his mum had said of him. Uglamore glanced into the water again. He could hardly recognize himself. The years he spent with the Pure Ones had not been kind to him. His face had grown thin. The once-smooth outline of his face, where the white feathers of his facial disc met the brownish ones, had become broken and ragged. He couldn’t help but think he looked like a mean old owl, the kind of owl that hatchlings stayed away from but made fun of when they were out of earshot.

  He looked up at the trees around the pond. Would he recognize the one that he once called home? No, he decided. None of the trees looked remotely familiar. He had only vague memories of this place, and besides, the landscape must have changed since his hatchling days. In fact, just on the other side of the pond, a tree had toppled in a recent storm. He wondered if that could have been where his hollow was. He flew toward the fallen tree out of curiosity. The tree had many hollows and smaller holes. I suppose this could have been my home, Uglamore thought. He approached a hollow about halfway up the trunk, and poked his head in. Uglamore jumped back instinctively. An owl! Owls did not go poking into the hollows of strange owls. He didn’t think any owls would occupy the hollow in an uprooted tree. But those feathers…He knew those feathers. Nyroc!

  The poor hatchling must have been exhausted from his journey. Who wouldn’t be, having flown all this way on tattered wings? Nyroc did not stir as Uglamore poked his head into the hollow once more. He had found him after all. He had followed Nyroc to make sure he was okay. Now that he saw that he was, Uglamore didn’t know what to do next. Would he join Nyroc on the run from Nyra? He decided he couldn’t. He might be of help to Nyroc now, but once the young owl grew stronger, Uglamore would only slow him down by staying with him. Should he just turn around and go back to the Pure Ones? Was that the only way for this old owl? No, he could not. There seemed to be no place in this world for the old warrior.

  Nyroc slept peacefully on a bed of moss, his chest rising and falling with each breath. As Uglamore watched the young one, the light reflecting off of the fallen snow played a trick on his old eyes. From where he was standing, it looked as if there was a crown of light atop the sleeping hatchling’s head. He had heard of just such a crown in the forbidden legends of Ga’Hoole—the crown that marked the true king! The sight sent a shiver through Uglamore’s feathers. He blinked twice to clear his eyes. When he looked again, the crown of light was still there, and it was even brighter. He extended his wing as if to touch it, but pulled back. His gizzard told him there was something magical about this sight.

  Uglamore was so lost in his thoughts that he had not heard the disturbance in the air. What’s this? Company. Two owls approached the fallen tree on which Uglamore perched: first, a Masked Owl, and then, a Barn Owl who was all too familiar. Stryker, the best tracker the Pure Ones had, and one of his minions. Uglamore looked over at the hollow where Nyroc was sleeping. It was but a few wingspans away. They’ll see him for sure, Uglamore thought. It appeared that he had led the Pure Ones right to the young’un. Too late to fly away, he lamented.

  Stryker and his companion, the Masked Owl named Vaygar, landed on the root of the fallen tree.

  “No luck finding him, eh, Uglamore?” Vaygar said.

  “What did I tell you, Vaygar?” Stryker scoffed. “Colonel Broody couldn’t find a brown mouse on a field of freshly fallen snow.”

  Ah, they haven’t seen him! Maybe there’s still a chance for Nyroc. “No sign of him, Stryker. But shouldn’t you know that? Aren’t you the tracker extraordinaire?” Uglamore hoped that the snow that was rapidly falling had covered up Nyroc’s tracks—the ones he had followed just hours before.

  Stryker ignored the flattery but seemed to puff up a bit. “I was on his trail until just south of here. Then this Glaux-forsaken snow began to fall. I saw some fresh tracks, but it was only you,” Stryker complained. “I bet the coward headed east to Ambala, maybe even The Beaks. I’m losing him as we speak. I grow sick of tracking down this little brat. I wish General Mam had just killed the little wretch and been done with it.”

  “You’re not going to find him here, Stryker.” Uglamore couldn’t believe that Nyroc was right under Stryker’s beak, and the stupid owl didn’t know it.

  “So what are you doing here then?” asked Stryker.

  Uglamore couldn’t think of a good answer quickly, but Stryker decided he could answer his own question.

  “Oh, right, Shadow of the Shadow Forest,” he said mockingly. “Ha! Missed your childhood home, did you?” Stryker looked around. “By Glaux, what kind of owl would live in a place like this? I’l
l tell you, a pathetic one, that’s who.”

  “I stopped here to hunt, if you must know,” Uglamore lied. “And if you find this place so pathetic and offensive, then why don’t you leave? Try to pick up Nyroc’s trail, wherever you think he might have gone.”

  “I will. I’ll find the hatchling before you do, that’s for sure,” Stryker replied.

  Uglamore couldn’t believe his luck! He might have saved Nyroc after all.

  Vaygar had been quietly watching the exchange between his two superiors, although he wasn’t giving them his full attention. He realized how hungry he had gotten when he thought he saw something tasty scuttle by.

  “Let’s go, Vaygar,” Stryker commanded.

  “If you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to find a quick snack before we go. I’m starving, sir.”

  Stryker looked at the younger Masked Owl with indifference. “Suit yourself, soldier. You weren’t of much help anyway. I’m headed east; I trust you’ll catch up to me before too long.” He shook out his primaries in preparation for flight.

  “Yes, Commander Stryker, I won’t be but a few moments,” Vaygar replied as Stryker took off.

  Great, thought Uglamore, just when he thought he was getting rid of them. At least Stryker was gone. He could deal with this soldier.

  Vaygar turned his attention to Uglamore. “I’m ravenous,” he said. “It’s such an honor to be sent on this mission with Commander Stryker. I had to leave on short notice—didn’t even have time for tweener. But I’ll track better on a full stomach. With any luck, I’ll catch up with the commander, and together, we’ll bring that little brat back to General Mam. It might be just what I need to be promoted to lieutenant.”

  Such a thing will never happen, thought Uglamore. Not only would he do everything in his power to make sure that the “little brat” was left alone, but he also knew that the Pure Ones would never promote a Masked Owl to the rank of lieutenant.

  “I think you’ll find the best hunting on the other side of the pond,” Uglamore suggested as Vaygar began to poke around the root of the fallen tree.

  “Oh, no time for a proper hunt, Lieutenant. You heard Commander Stryker. I’ll just catch a quick little snack.”

  “I think I saw a chipmunk just over there.” Uglamore gestured toward a tree higher up on the bank. He saw that Vaygar was poking his head into this hole and that, getting dangerously close to the hollow where Nyroc was still sleeping.

  “Nah, these little bugs will do,” Vaygar insisted as he plucked juicy little insects from the rotting wood.

  Just then, there was the faintest rustle from the hollow halfway up the fallen tree.

  “What have we here?” Vaygar asked.

  Uglamore knew it was Nyroc. He must have shaken his feathers as he slept—something that owls, and indeed many birds do, as they drift from deep to shallow sleep. He had to get rid of this nosy owl, fast.

  “Had enough to eat, haven’t you?” he asked. “I think you better try to catch up to Commander Stryker. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

  “I wouldn’t…”

  But even as Vaygar said it, he peeked into the hollow where Nyroc was sleeping. And just as Uglamore had done, he jumped back.

  “By Glaux! It’s the hatchling!”

  Still asleep, Nyroc had turned his head toward the opening of the hollow. There could be no mistake—the slash across his face made it clear that he was Nyra’s son.

  “Shh. Don’t wake him,” was all Uglamore said. He had a feeling in his gizzard that this was going to end badly. Just moments ago, he had been unsure whether or not to return to the Pure Ones in the canyonlands. Now, his choice was clear. He could not—would not—go back to his old life. And more important, he would not let the Pure Ones capture the young’un.

  “You knew he was here all along, didn’t you? I have to tell Commander Stryker!” Vaygar exclaimed.

  Uglamore said nothing. He knew what he had to do. The old Barn Owl had nothing against the young soldier who was only trying to be loyal, only trying to please Stryker and Nyra in a futile attempt to climb the ranks within the Pure Ones. Uglamore’s next act should have come easily to him; he had done it enough times in his service to the Tytonic Union. But this time, he felt more than a twinge of guilt, for this time, it was his will, not that of his commander. But what could he do—this was the only way he could save Nyroc. Vaygar never saw it coming. With one swift motion, Uglamore’s talon ripped through his neck. The Masked Owl died instantly.

  In that moment, Uglamore knew that his days as a member of the Tytonic Union of Pure Ones were over. His place was most definitely not at the side of Nyra as one of her colonels. But his place was not with the hatching, either.

  When Nyroc awoke the next evening, he saw no sign of any owl having been there. The world was white, having been covered in a thick blanket of snow. The snow concealed the blood that belonged to a soldier of the Pure Ones. It also concealed the tracks of his protector.

  As he bided his time in Beyond the Beyond, Uglamore thought often of the last time he saw the hatchling in the hollow of that fallen tree. How helpless he had seemed, how vulnerable. It was only a few moon cycles ago, but it seemed like an eternity.

  He never thought he would see Nyroc again, but there he was. He had spotted him that day at the carcass of the moose.

  He avoided being seen by the young’un, but he heard much about his exploits by loitering at the edge of the gnaw wolves’ circles. He learned that Nyroc had changed his name to Coryn. He learned that a Spotted Owl from the legendary Great Ga’Hoole Tree was tutoring him in the strange art of catching coals on the fly from the furious volcanoes of the Beyond. His weary heart rejoiced that the little owlet he had cared for in his last days as a Pure One had shaken free from that dark dominion.

  One day, he saw him again. As Uglamore perched on an ice shelf in the Beyond, he watched the young Barn Owl once known as Nyroc circle the volcanoes. He could scarcely believe his old eyes. He was diving and rising with such ease, it astounded the old owl who once knew him so well.

  The dire wolves whom he had befriended had been telling one another sensational tales of the special owl who would retrieve the ember. In the beginning, Uglamore gave little credence to their talk, thinking the dire wolves were overly dramatic and superstitious. But as he watched Coryn—always careful that the young one did not see him—he knew that it was all true. The young Barn Owl whom he had cared for as a father would a son was none other than the true heir to King Hoole. And Coryn was about to prove himself by retrieving the Ember of Hoole.

  Uglamore thought back to that night in the Shadow Forest where he saw Nyroc sleeping with a crown of light upon his head, and it all made sense.

  Coryn. His name is Coryn now. And just like that, the young owl had done something that the old owl was never able to do—he had chosen his own name. Remarkable. And you’ve chosen your own destiny, young’un. Perhaps I can still choose mine.

  Suddenly, howls and cheers from creatures of air and land filled Uglamore’s ear slits. “The new king lives! Long live Coryn, Heir of Hoole!” Even a wandering caribou herd brayed, “Long live Coryn, the King!”

  He had done it! Coryn had retrieved the legendary Ember of Hoole from the depth of the great volcano. It didn’t matter that he was once the obedient son of a Pure One. It didn’t matter that he never lived up to the name given to him at his hatching. He had rejected that name and all it meant. He had free will. The old Barn Owl wept with joy.

  But what was this at the edge of Uglamore’s tearblurred vision? Nyra skulking in the shadows. The mother who had failed to turn her son to the vile ways of the Pure Ones was here to stop him from retrieving the ember—or worse! Uglamore scanned the creatures near and far for someone who might help. All were lost in rejoicing. Then, he caught the eye of the old tracker, Doc Finebeak. The tracker nodded and flew to Uglamore and lighted down at his side.

  “She’s going to do something,” he said.

  Uglamore nodded. br />
  “She’ll make a move soon. We have to be ready. Are you up to it?” the tracker asked the old lieutenant.

  Uglamore was indeed ready. Ready to cast off his past with the Pure Ones along with the name they’d given him, ready to redeem the shreds of good still left in his own gizzard. Ready to give his life for a young king.

  The rest of the story, I think you already know. Uglamore protected Coryn until the very end. When Nyra threatened to steal the Ember of Hoole from her son and kill him in so doing, Uglamore was there to stop her. He died valiantly in the process. He gave his life for the true king. And now that the full story of this brave owl is known, the legend of Uglamore can be told and retold by owls and wolves alike.

  FOUR

  Brothers Brave and Blustery

  Tavis and Cletus may not be familiar names to many in the world of Ga’Hoole, but for those of us who have gotten to know them, their colorful history and characters are unforgettable.

  You know, of course, dear reader, the story of Twilight, one of the Band, who grew up an orphan after his mother, the renowned poet Skye, died mysteriously soon after his hatching. But did you know that Twilight has two older brothers? None of us, including Twilight, knew of the existence of these two Great Grays until recently. It was a jubilant reunion for the three brothers. And these same two brothers, Tavis and Cletus, were pivotal in our victory over the revitalized forces of Nyra and the Striga in the War of the Ember.

  But there is much more to these two owls than their recent exploits. Since the War of the Ember, Tavis and Cletus have chosen to take up residence at the great tree, where they have been a font of knowledge—not necessarily academic knowledge, mind you, but practical knowledge that can be gained only from living life in the open skies. We have shared many stories over tweener and tea; some have been sad, some funny, and many action-packed. Allow me to share one of these with you. On the surface, the brothers are brash and cocky. But I hope that after you read their tale you will realize that beneath the bluster they are virtuous and valiant.