Lost Tales of Ga'Hoole

back!”
    “Please, they said they would hurt my sister if I didn’t bring these to them before the new moon. They got her! I have to!”
    “Jak, we will help you get your sister back. Just give back the battle claws and come into the hollow. We’ll talk about this with Da and Master Benard. They’ll forgive you and help you, I’m sure of it,” Clay consoled.
    But it was no use; Jak turned toward the entrance and lifted off into the blizzard. I rushed at him, forcing Clay forward and out of the hollow ahead of me.
    The two of us burst out of the hollow after Jak. Clay and I were being tossed around by the fierce winds. I could barely make out Jak, just a few wing beats away, struggling to fly. I flapped my wings harder, determined to catch the thief. Being the stronger flier, I was on top of Jak within a moment.
    I looked for Clay. Just as I turned my head, I saw the gleam of the Mountain Claws a feather’s width from my eye; Jak was within reach. My talons swiped at the air, grasping for the young squire, while I used all my strength to keep my wings beating.
    “Cleve, look out!” I heard Clay shout.
    I saw Clay out of the corner of my eye, a few wingspans away, struggling against the gale.
    The next thing I knew, Jak was on top of me, flailing madly. I don’t know if he was trying to use the Mountain Claws or if he was simply flailing, but he came toward me, claws first. I felt a sharp pain in my port wing. I lashed out blindly, with the might of an owl fighting for his life.
    “Clay, help! I’m hurt!” I called out, barely staying aloft.
    Suddenly, I was hit by a mass of feathers, claws, and beaks. I began tumbling out of the sky. It was chaos. The howling of the wind made it impossible to tell who was shouting. Was it Clay? Jak? Or maybe it was me. The swirling snow made it impossible to see. I flapped my injured wing as hard as I could, and managed to pull out of the free fall.
    Clay and Jak were not so lucky. I watched as they hit the ground.
    I landed as quickly as I could. The winds were still fierce, but manageable closer to the ground. I was horror-struck by what I saw. The two owls, my brother and our squire, lay there, lifeless. Jak had been dashed against rock in his fall. Clay must have fallen on top of him. He was stabbed through the chest by the Mountain Claws.
    Clay had wanted to avoid violence and reason with Jak, but I rushed in, talons first, in my pursuit of clan honor. He was trying to help me. I lost my brother that night, and my clan lost its prince. He was killed in a pointless, unintentional skirmish, stabbed through by the very battle claws he was to inherit.
    From that moment on, I forswore all use of weapons, all violence, all war. I vowed to never fight again.
    As for Jak’s sister, my family was able to find her and free her from her captors. Da, Master Benard, and I went to the Hollow of Kyran to speak with our cousins. It turned out that the kidnapping was the doing of one mad owl who was a new mate to one of our cousins. He had terrible delusions about his own importance to the royal history of the Clan of Krakor, and sought to reunite Unguis Montania with Unguis Oceania. He thought that if he possessed both pairs of ancient battle claws, he would somehow rule over both the Hollow of Kyran and the Hollow of Snarth. He had kidnapped Jak’s sister without our cousins’ knowledge, and certainly without their approval. He was cast out of the hollow when the truth was revealed.
    After Clay’s Final ceremony, I went to the island in the Bitter Sea for some peace. I discovered that reading and studying brought me the serenity I sought. I still miss Claymore dearly. It was for him that I took up the art of healing. I began healing others to heal myself.
    It has always been hard for me to talk about what happened, but it feels good to get it out of my gizzard. Claymore deserves to have his story told. Now, after all this time, you know why I am a pacifist.
    Dear Reader, allow me to add a final thought.
    Cleve believed that the prophecy spoken by Old Pan was utter nonsense. I don’t blame him, given what happened, but I’m not so sure that the prophecy was false.
    Old Pan had said that the Prince Who Is Promised would be a savior of saviors in a time of strife and tyranny, that the Prince would banish the fire of evil. It was the words “fire of evil” that first got me thinking. Those words immediately conjured the image of the Striga in my mind. Not long ago, the