Guardians of Ga'Hoole 08 - The Outcast

usually a festive time, but not now. “I think he’s on his way to Boron and Barran’s in the parliament.”
    “Do you think the end is near?” Hilda asked.
    All three nest-maids were silent. They didn’t want to think about it.
    Soren presented himself at the parliament entry. He remembered that when he first came to the great tree, he and the band—Digger, Gylfie, and Twilight—had discovered a place down deep in the roots of the tree from which they could eavesdrop on the parliament meetings. But he didn’t have to do that anymore. They were all—Digger, Twilight, himself, and Gylfie—members of the parliament. He had been summoned here to the deathbeds of the old monarchs. This is where King Boron and his mate, Queen Barran, the monarchs of Hoole, had chosen to spend their last nights and days. Too weak to fly, barely able to eat, they said their time had come. They had been mates for life and they would now be mates in death, in glaumora.
    It had shocked all the owls of the great tree when the two monarchs had become so ill at the same time. It was almost as if they had planned it. They were old, yes, but not as old as Ezylryb, who was still more or less flying. When Soren had been summoned, he had hoped for some sort of explanation, some clue as to why this was happening. As he entered the chamber, he was surprised to see that in addition to the band, the entire Chaw of Chaws had been assembled. All except for Otulissa, who was off on some mission. Soren was struck once again byhow very odd it was that Otulissa was gone and by the way in which she had left—stealthily, at twixt time, without a word. They had learned about it only later, when Ezylryb had said that she was off on “some business.” And he had heard that Nyra was raising a chick. But then, surprisingly, came rumors that the young owl had fled. Could Otulissa’s business have something to do with that?
    Ruby, Martin, and Soren’s sister, Eglantine, were all present. Cleve of Firthmore, a healer from the Northern Kingdoms, motioned them forward to where the two monarchs rested, not on their usual perches, but in fluffy nests of down to which every owl in the tree had contributed breast feathers.
    “Be brief,” Cleve cautioned. “Do not ask too many questions, for they have much to tell you.” The members of the Chaw of Chaws nodded.
    “But where’s Ezylryb?” Soren asked.
    “You’ll find out.”
    Surely he has not been sent out on a mission at this hour, Soren thought.
    Boron summoned the Chaw of Chaws weakly with his talon. But it was Barran, his mate the queen, who first began to speak. Soren went forward slowly and with great apprehension. His gizzard had stilled. He knew what would happen soon. It felt strange. The passing of Boron andBarran would mark the end of an era. The future seemed fragile. The tree would seem so frail without them.
    “The first thing we want to say to you all,” the old Snowy’s voice was so feeble that they had to lean forward to hear her, “is that this is not a sad time. It is and shall be a time of great rejoicing.”
    The owls of the Chaw of Chaws were confused.
    “Yes.” Boron now spoke in a slightly stronger voice than his mate. “We see your confusion. But it shall be. Our dear Ezylryb is at this moment on the highest lookout branch of the great tree to welcome your new king—your true king.”
    “What?” all the owls said at once.
    “What do you mean?” Digger asked. “You have been our true monarchs.” Digger, the most philosophical of all the owls, could not contain himself. “What do you mean by the word ‘true’? You have been most loyal and brave.”
    The two monarchs churred weakly. “Did I not tell you, dear, that Digger would question us when we said ‘true leader’?” Boron turned his head toward his mate. She churred so softly it was almost inaudible.
    “You are right. We have been loyal, but as king and queen we were not anointed in the way of that first king, King Hoole. We have been stewards, custodians, guardians of the kingship.”
    The two monarchs nodded feebly.
    “But those tales of the ember and Hoole were just stories, just legends,” Martin said.
    Soren knew there was no “just” about it. Used like this, “just” was a terrible little word that snuffed out truth and possibility.
    Boron’s voice grew suddenly stronger. “It is through legends that our gizzards grow bold and our hearts strong. Legends separate the civilized from the