Lost Tales of Ga'Hoole (Guardians of Ga'Hoole) Read online

  Saul and Trixie each picked up an egg from the nest and headed out of the burrow. Cletus reached a foot into the nest. The white orb seemed so tiny and fragile in the talons of the Great Gray that it made the usually nimble Cletus feel like a clumsy giant.

  But before he could pick it up, the last egg wobbled and cracked, right in front of Cletus’s eyes. He stared in amazement—he had never seen a chick hatch before. And although he always imagined it to be unremarkable, he was enthralled by the simple process. The tiny chick inside the egg stretched and pushed aside the pieces of the shell that housed it. And immediately it seemed impossible that it had fit into the little egg from which it hatched just a moment ago. The chick plopped into the nest, squirming.

  “Trixie! Saul!” Cletus finally managed to find his voice and call out. He backed away from the nest to let the new parents see their chick.

  Trixie and Saul rushed to their newly hatched chick. For just a moment, Cletus saw utter joy and awe in their eyes. Their look of joy was quickly replaced by a look of worry.

  “What do we do now?” asked Saul.

  At the same time, Tavis spotted trouble in the air. “Incoming! Barn Owls from the east. Three of them.”

  “Put the chick on my back,” Cletus instructed. “I’ll keep it safe, I promise. You stick to the plan and fly as fast as you can.”

  Cletus knew that the best chance the tiny new chick had was as his passenger. Trixie and Saul knew it, too. With great care, they picked up the tiny chick and placed it on Cletus’s back, right between the wings. They grabbed the remaining two eggs and lifted off after Tavis.

  Cletus took to the air. He realized immediately that he could not fly in his usual way. He had to balance the chick in the middle of his back—this meant no banking, no rolling, and definitely no fancy midair talon work. This might have been okay if he were merely trying to get from one place to another, but it just wouldn’t do right now.

  The Pure Ones were on them as soon as the two Great Grays and now three Burrowing Owls began their flight. The burrow, which was only a short flight away, seemed like it was on the other side of the world. Between them and their goal were four Sooty Owls and two Barn Owls.

  Tavis flew point and met the six attackers head-on. He was a flash of whirling, darting gray feathers.

  My desert, my home,

  You better leave us alone!

  This is my sky, you hear?

  The brothers gray you ought to fear.

  Pure this, pure that,

  I’ll see you go splat!

  Two of the Sooties fell within a heartbeat. Tavis charged after another.

  One of the Barn Owls was on top of Saul. Saul was not the strongest flier to begin with, and clutching an egg in his talons made it worse. He could barely defend himself. He tried to get away, but the remaining Sooties now surrounded him. Tavis was at his side as soon as he saw that his friend was in trouble.

  “YA!” He dove into the fray with a battle cry. Before anyone could blink, Tavis was talon to talon with the Barn Owl who went after Saul. Tavis slashed at the owl and caught him at the base of the wing. The owl spun out of control and fell to the ground below.

  In the meantime, the two Sooties swiped at Saul and Trixie. It was a despicable move—attacking the smallest owls, who were carrying eggs—but that was what the Pure Ones did. One of the Sooties grazed Saul on the tail. It wasn’t enough to hurt him but it made him lose his balance as well as his hold on the egg. The egg fell toward the ground. Cletus’s yellow eyes zoomed in on the tiny white egg. He dove for it as soon as he saw it leave Saul’s clutch. Just before it hit the ground, Cletus caught it with his right talons.

  He would have been relieved, except that the chick on his back slid to one side during the maneuver. As he began to tip in the opposite direction to center his little passenger, a Sooty Owl came within a wingspan of him. Cletus looked for Tavis. He was pytes away, battling the other Sooty. Saul had recovered, but he and Trixie were still trying to outfly the last Barn Owl. The Sooty Owl knew that Cletus was near helpless and dove at him. Cletus banked ever so slightly to avoid him, and the chick on his back slipped again. This time, it almost slid off of Cletus’s back entirely. As he felt the chick slide, Cletus thought his gizzard would jump out of his beak. The Sooty Owl attacked again, and this time, he went after the tiny Burrowing Owl chick on the Great Gray’s back.

  Tavis dispatched his Sooty attacker with ease. He looked toward his brother and gasped in horror. He was going to lose the chick! Tavis flapped his wings hard and drove himself toward the last Sooty Owl. But before he could reach him, Trixie was there. With one foot firmly clutching an egg, Trixie dove toward the Sooty. The Sooty expected the smaller owl to try to fly away, not to counterattack. Trixie drove her razor-sharp beak into the Sooty Owl’s eye. There was a sickening little pop. The Sooty screamed and went yeep.

  They were but a few wing beats away from the tunnel now and of their attackers only the Barn Owl remained, and she was retreating. Cletus straightened himself in flight and returned the chick to the center of his back. They were all about to breathe a sigh of relief when Tavis turned and saw scores of Pure Ones on the horizon. Worse, Tarn and two of his Burrowing Owl minions had emerged from his burrow.

  “The tunnel! NOW!” he yelled.

  The four owls dove for the opening of the burrow. Saul and Trixie went in first and ran for the tunnel. Cletus went in next, with the chick and the egg. When he was safely in the tunnel, he gently slid the hatchling off his back and returned it to its parents.

  Tavis was the last into the tunnel. Immediately, Tarn and the two Burrowing Owls went into the tunnel after them.

  “If it isn’t my least favorite neighbors,” Tarn said. “I should have known you’d be a problem.”

  “Tarn, you bad-butt owl…” Tavis said as he tried to slash at him. It was near impossible as the tunnel was far too small for a Great Gray to fight in.

  Tarn knew this. Each time Tavis attacked, Tarn jumped back out of the way. And each time Tavis pulled his talons back to regain his balance, Tarn lashed out at the Great Gray. None of them were death blows, but Tarn was relentless. Tavis was hurt. The cuts on his chest and legs burned, but his hatred of this Burrowing Owl burned hotter. He tried over and over to get one good swipe at Tarn, but each time, Tarn was just out of reach.

  Cletus saw what was happening. “Tavis, stop fighting, you can’t win in here!” Cletus yelled from a little farther in the tunnel. “It’s time to run!”

  “No! We can’t let him get away with this!” Tavis grunted.

  Tarn churred tauntingly.

  “Remember your plan, Tavis. It’s time to go!” Cletus yelled again.

  Tavis had almost forgotten all about this part of the plan. He was near delirious with battle fever. He wanted so badly to kill this owl—this owl who turned on his fellow Burrowing Owls to join the Pure Ones, this owl who masterminded the takeover of all the burrows, this owl who sought to kill him and all his neighbors in the Desert of Kuneer.

  There was a great kerfuffle outside the tunnel. The rest of the Pure Ones had arrived. Enemy owls were filling the tunnel.

  “Let’s go, Tavis,” Cletus said again. He knew that his brother was loath to turn away from this fight. But if Tavis didn’t turn away now, all would be lost. “We came back for Saul and Trixie and their eggs. We can’t fail them now. Think of that little chick back there.”

  Tavis knew his brother was right this time. The only way he could win the fight was to run away. With Tarn still slashing and pecking at him, Tavis turned his back and ran as fast as he could into the tunnel. When he got to the spot that he had marked earlier with two gray feathers, he shouted, “Fail-safe!”

  It was the last part of Tavis’s plan. He had thought that the Pure Ones would likely follow the desert dwellers into the tunnel and try to stop them from leaving. So when he and Cletus dug the tunnel, they built in an extra feature. Tavis reached up with his beak and gave a good tug at the tumbleweed branch that
stuck out of the roof of the tunnel. The tumbleweed, along with rocks and sand, fell into the tunnel and blocked it completely from the Pure Ones on the other side. The tunnel was suddenly filled with silence.

  The two Great Grays and the family of Burrowing Owls emerged into the twilight at the northeastern edge of the Desert of Kuneer. They were all tired and dirty, but they were alive. The two eggs had not a scratch on them, and the newly hatched chick was sleeping peacefully. Tavis’s wounds still burned, but they would heal.

  “You saved our family,” Trixie said to the brothers. “We can’t thank you enough.”

  “We’ve decided to call this young’un ‘Gray,’ for his Great Gray saviors,” Saul added.

  “I think that’s a fine name,” Cletus replied. Tavis nodded in agreement.

  From where they stood, the brothers could see the stands of tall trees in the Forest Kingdom of Ambala in the distance. They had run away from Ambala all those years ago in part to get away from the Pure Ones. Now, here they were, once again homeless because of the Pure Ones. But there was one big difference. This time they were saviors. This time they had not let themselves or others be bullied by the Pure Ones. They prevented other owlets from being orphaned, as they had been. And they kept families together.

  Here at the great tree, Tavis and Cletus have found their permanent home and been reunited with their long-lost brother, Twilight. Their astonishing desert rescue is being taught to young owls in the search-and-rescue chaw so others may be saved. These brave brothers have exemplified ingenuity, courage, teamwork, and coolheadedness in the heat of battle. And perhaps most important, they’ve taught us that sometimes victory is found in retreat.

  FIVE

  A Secret in Braithe’s Gizzard

  Of the great tree’s many friends, I can think of few as intriguing as the Whiskered Screech, Braithe, the founder of the Brad, the Place of Living Books in the forests of Ambala. There, every owl who loves to read becomes a book—memorizing every word on every page until he or she is able to recite the entire work at will. As if that were not enough, Braithe, along with the rest of the Greenowls of Ambala, bravely flew to the aid of the Band and the great tree in the Battle of Balefire Night. The Guardians and the Greenowls came together to defeat the Blue Brigade and the Striga.

  Braithe’s story is one of self-discovery. It was shortly after that fateful Balefire Night that the truth began to unfold. With the help of friends in this world and beyond, Braithe uncovered clues that helped him to solve a mystery that had plagued him since his fledgling days. I was touched that Braithe chose to share his story with me, and then allowed me to share it with you.

  It was near dawn. Braithe flew silently over the Forest of Ambala. He had just visited the library at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree again, and had found several volumes of poetry that he wanted to commit to memory. He carried one of them in his botkin now. He would have much work to do in the Brad in the coming nights. Braithe looked for the distinctive rounded crowns of the heartwood trees that marked its presence and banked toward home.

  The entire kingdom of Ambala was verdant. But the Brad, the place Braithe called home, was especially lush. The Brad was hidden in a valley so densely covered with thick moss that it was known as a moss hole. The grove of heartwood trees that Braithe flew toward grew to enormous heights there, and hid the valley’s great depth from above. Unsuspecting birds overflying the Brad would never guess there was such a drop in the land below.

  As he spiraled downward into the dell, the early morning light changed from bright and clear rays to a dim and dreamy green glow. Some have compared the Brad to the spirit woods. True, there was something not quite real about this place, but Braithe never thought of it as eerie as he did the spirit woods west of the Island of Hoole. He had visited the spirit woods just once before, having been drawn to it for no particular reason he could name. In the short time he was there, he heard voices in the wind and saw strange reflections in the mist. He found it cold and disquieting, even though he didn’t really believe in scrooms, and left as quickly as he had come. This place, the Brad, on the other wing, was a place of enchantment. And more important, it was home—it felt welcoming and comforting.

  Just as he was landing on a mossy rock, an owl—an old, grizzled Whiskered Screech—floated slowly by Braithe. Funny, he thought, the owl is silent. In the Brad, owls were constantly talking, reciting the words found in all the books that they were able to collect. If it was not for the thick moss covering every surface, the valley would be reverberating with the hoots of owls, and snatches of prose and verse. Braithe knew every owl in the dell and looked around to see who had just wafted by. Only silence and stillness greeted him. He seemed to be alone in this part of the Brad. He noted to himself that he should find out who that owl was. He always made it a point to keep track of everyone here, like a living catalog. But it would have to wait until night; now it was time for a well-deserved rest.

  Braithe nestled down into the soft moss in the hollow of a heartwood. His hollow was close to the ground. The heartwood’s immense size and the valley’s great depth meant that even during the day, the hollow was in near darkness. Owls who did not live in the Brad often had trouble falling asleep in such conditions, but Braithe was used to it. His head was heavy and he drifted off to sleep and immediately into the midst of a deep and vivid dream….

  Braithe was flying as fast as he could over a large stretch of water on a moonless night. He turned to look back. Something was following him. No, something was chasing him. He turned and searched the sky again. He saw no one, yet he knew he was being pursued. He flapped his wings harder, lifting himself higher. Thunder rumbled above him in a low, menacing groan. I’ll be safer down low, closer to the water. He dove toward its surface. He turned again. And again, he saw no one. But he felt a presence and he knew his pursuer was getting closer. Suddenly, he heard a long, feather-raising screech. It reverberated off the surface of the water. No, it came from the water.

  He looked down into the still, black surface. Lightning lit up the sky, and Braithe saw his own reflection. It glided along with him, wing beat for wing beat. As he watched, his reflection began to grow older and turned into that of his da, Bo. Braithe’s father had disappeared shortly after Braithe was fully fledged. Braithe never knew what happened to him, and it always pecked at the back of his gizzard. His disappearance wasn’t the only thing about his da that haunted him. The reflection of Bo stared up at Braithe from the surface of the dark water. His beak opened, but no sound came out.

  As Braithe flew, the reflection changed again, growing older still. Its feathers began to thin and lose their color. Its eyes grew dull. Its beak lost its luster, and marks—no, scars—appeared on it. If this was truly him, he was aging, withering in front of his very own eyes. The reflection opened its beak again. This time, it let out a chilling, low growl.

  “Lil’s spots,” it said.

  Braithe didn’t understand.

  The voice grew louder and more insistent. “Lil’s spots! Lil’s spots!” it screamed.

  Braithe suddenly felt as if he was being pulled toward the water. He was falling, plunging into his own reflection. He tried to flap his wings but the water made them heavy—too heavy to move. He reached out with his talons in a futile attempt to hold on to something, but they, too, were leaden. He tried to cry out, but no sound came out of his beak. The two owls, one real and one reflected, became one in the darkness of the water.

  “LIL’S SPOTS!” Braithe woke up shouting.

  He took several shallow breaths before he realized that he was safely nestled in his hollow. He looked down and saw that he had unknowingly puffed out his feathers in a threat display. His heart was racing and his gizzard felt like a rock. He peeked out of his hollow. The sun was still high in the sky, so he could not have been asleep for long. Braithe settled back down and tried to fall asleep, but sleep would not come.

  The dreams are back, he thought woefully. Ever since his father disappeared, Braithe
had been haunted by dreams of him. Most often in these dreams, he would encounter his da somewhere familiar, but his da would not recognize him. Sometimes he dreamed that he was watching his da go yeep from a perch very high up, helpless to save him. The dream he’d just had of his reflection in the water was a new one, and it was every bit as disturbing as the others. For many moon cycles now, Braithe thought he was free of these dreams. All the activity recently—meeting Soren and the other Guardians of Ga’Hoole, helping the Guardians in their battles against the Blue Brigade and the Pure Ones, and discovering new libraries—had kept his mind busy and driven the dreams away. But now, as things quieted down again, the dreams were making their return. They would rob him of sleep, Braithe knew, and make his waking hours miserable.

  Braithe reached with a talon into what looked like a knot in the heartwood, opening a tiny, hidden compartment behind the knot. He pulled out a small pouch. He hadn’t looked at its contents since last autumn, when the crowns of the heartwoods were a fiery shade of red. He reached between the layers of worn lemming leather and pulled out several fragments of a parchment.

  He had found the fragments in his mum’s nest after she had died of gray scale two summers ago. The first time he had read the parchment, he was confused. Then, as he digested what he read, his confusion turned into devastation. It was his da’s writing; he recognized it easily. The letter had been written to his mum. It mentioned things, puzzling and alarming things, that Braithe wanted desperately to make sense of, but never could. He knew every word written on those fragments, they were seared into his memory, but he read them again.

  My work at St. Aggie’s is going well…my devotion to Skench and Sporn…am most loyal to St. Aggie’s…be more aggressive on raids…We are preparing to raid nests in the Forest Kingdom of Tyto.…deliver the next egg to them…that the last egg I snatched from…happy to raise it as my own…