Guardians of Ga'Hoole 13 - The River of Wind

Glaux, Otulissa thought as she looked out, the Great Ga’Hoole Tree looks normal. “Normal” meant that its branches were bare of leaves, and the vines of milkberries were white, as they should be in these, the last stages of winter, the season of the White Rain. There was the faintest glimmer of silver in the berries, indicating that spring would be coming soon.
    Recently, the tree had been strangely afflicted, and although the seasons changed, the tree did not. The milkberries had remained the same bright golden hue of summer—through autumn, winter, and spring. It had not only been the tree that had been affected, but most of its inhabitants as well. The Band, with young King Coryn, had been away on a long journey. In their absence, theember, which Coryn had retrieved, became an object of worship for many in the tree. The Guardians of Ga’Hoole had forgotten their owl ways and become quite…quite Other-ish. It sent a tremor through Otulissa’s gizzard to remember it. She herself had been imprisoned for “blaspheming the ember.”
    Glaux! she thought. The brainpower that had been wasted—absolutely squandered—on contriving countless silly rituals surrounding the ember. Anyone who dared to question the rituals was immediately arrested. A prison—an actual prison!—had been constructed in one of the hollows, and Bubo had been fooled into making bars for it in his forge. Was there anything more un-Ga’Hoolian than prison bars! The true bars were on the minds of the Guardians who had conceived such a thing! Those owls were gone now. Not imprisoned, but “retired” to various Glauxian retreats in the Northern Kingdoms. The tree had been restored to rights, and the ember had been sequestered away where it would never again become an object of such outrageous idolatry. Its peculiar powers, if not exactly lessened, were at least better understood: It was now realized that the ember was neither purely good nor purely evil.
    Otulissa took a tiny sip from the nut cup and felt hergizzard calm as she looked out into the sleet-slashed day. The branches tossed wildly and the entire tree gave an occasional moan. The milkberry vines tangled in the wind. Dirty weather. The kind that old Ezylryb liked to take the weather-interpretation chaw out in—supposedly for instructional purposes, but really just for a great ride. There were always seagulls out on this kind of a day, full of foul language and dirty jokes to match the weather. And no one had enjoyed a dirty joke more than the legendary old ryb Ezylryb.
    But her mind was wandering. She had to inform the Band. A sixth kingdom! Astonishing—absolutely astonishing. She had better go and wake them up. But should she wake the king? No one except the Band, herself, and the late Ezylryb knew about the Palace of Mists. But Bess was now suggesting that the Chaw of Chaws—which included Martin and Ruby, who knew nothing of Bess or the Palace—should come to this secret place. The Chaw of Chaws was probably the most efficient combat unit in the history of owls. Their combination of talents, which ranged from superb flying abilities to colliering skills and deftness with battle claws, made them a formidable fighting force. But their real power did not come from any one specific weapon or skill but rather from their uncanny ability to work together.
    “Chaw of Chaws,” Otulissa whispered to herself. She would ask Soren who should be informed and when. Despite her resolve to stay calm, her gizzard was seized by a sudden swirling agitation at the very thought of a new kingdom—a new world!

CHAPTER TWO
Otulissa Breaks the News
    F rom outside Soren’s hollow Otulissa heard movements. What’s he doing up at this time of day? she wondered. She knew that Soren’s chicks, Bell, Bash, and Blythe—the three B’s, as they had come to be called—were off with their aunt Eglantine, her friend Primrose, and their mum, Pelli, on their first training mission. A forest fire in Silverveil afforded an opportunity for teaching the colliering, search-and-rescue, and tracking chawlets, which were groups of young owls in training before it was decided to which chaw they were best suited. Pelli was now ryb of search-and-rescue and was off leading one of the chawlets. Soren must have been lonely without them, Otulissa thought, but he put up a good front.
    “Soren?” Otulissa tapped lightly on the edge of the entry port and peeked in.
    “Otulissa! What brings you here this time of the