Guardians of Ga'Hoole 05 - The Shattering

oohing and aahing over some stick that Trader Mags had. “You really have the most enormously interesting collection. Let me see. What can I trade youfor this stick? And look, after giving you all my finest lucky stones for that chart, I almost don’t have any left over. You really are wonderful.”
    Soren could not believe his exceptionally good ears. “Stick? Chart? Trader Mags is ‘wonderful’?” What had happened to the Otulissa who had never approved of the magpie trader ?
    “She’s struck gold with Trader Mags,” Gylfie whispered excitedly. “That stick is a dowsing rod for finding flecks in the ground or in streams. The chart is a diagram of the owl brain, cross-referenced to a diagram of the gizzard, which could help explain fleckasia.”
    “Glaux! I guess she did strike gold,” Soren replied.

CHAPTER SEVEN
The Sign of the Centipede
    I can’t believe we’re going to find any flecks around here,” Gylfie said.
    The band was walking behind Otulissa through a grove of trees on the southern side of the island as she stepped carefully with the divining rod in her beak. She was quite awkward with it and often dropped it.
    “Can you imagine what that stick would do in the canyons of St. Aggie’s?” Twilight said.
    “Shake itself to bits,” Digger replied. “Otulissa, why don’t you let an experienced walker like myself try that thing?” The Spotted Owl had dropped the stick again.
    “All right, my beak is tired from holding it.”
    Digger picked up the rod and walked in graceful strides while swinging his head in arcs.
    It was getting a little boring. The rod had not given the slightest quiver. But for Soren it was a nice break from worrying about Eglantine. It was decided that she was suffering from some form of summer flux. She had been putin the infirmary where all she did was sleep and dream some pleasant dream that she was always anxious to get back to. Recently, though, the infirmary matron had reported that she was sleeping somewhat less. She had even roused herself the previous evening to go out on a short flight with Primrose and Ginger.
    The night was now getting old, however, and soon it would be time to return to the tree for breaklight and then sleep. So the owls decided to put the rod aside and go out for a quick flight over the moonlit Sea of Hoolemere. It was a beautiful summer evening and there promised to be plenty of scooters, for the day had been quite hot. Scooters were land breezes that spilled off the edge of the cooling island. Because land cooled faster than water, it created silky winds that could be ridden almost without stirring one’s wings. They were great fun to play in and the owls could slide down their gentle slopes until almost hitting the water. They had been doing this for several minutes when Gylfie spotted Eglantine and Ginger.
    “Look, Soren, there’s your sister, up and about!”
    “Oh, good! She must be feeling better.” He climbed up the wind slope, and when he reached the top called out, “Eglantine! Ginger!” He was trying extra hard to be nice to Ginger. He had felt that Eglantine had been right in a way—Ginger, after all, had known only the brutal waysof the Pure Ones, and her bad behavior really wasn’t all her fault. And Ginger did seem to respond well to his kindness. She seemed much nicer and was genuinely trying to learn the ways of civilized owls. The three of them now sought a perch in a spruce tree that somehow clung to the rocky edge above the beach.
    “Where have you two been?”
    “Halfway across the sea!” Eglantine exclaimed with delight. “I think I really am getting better. I’m not sleeping nearly as much. I think it’s that tonic matron has been giving me.”
    “And she’s getting stronger, too,” Ginger added.
    But what Eglantine did not tell anyone was that although she wasn’t sleeping as much, her dreams had become even more intense. And more important, she now knew they were not just dreams but were real and true. Out there—somewhere—was a hollow just like the one in which she and Soren had been hatched, and their mother was there, waiting for them. It wasn’t in the Forest of Tyto but rather, she suspected, in the region known as The Beaks. She could see this place perfectly in her dream. The hollow was in a fir tree, and it was near a beautiful shining lake. She hadn’t told anybody yet, not even Primrose or Ginger. But she knew if she stayed awake a littlelonger each night and tried to fly as