LEGEND OF THE GUARDIANS: THE OWLS OF GA’HOOLE. Kathryn Lasky

Homage we’re bringing.

       Guiding symbol of our hopes and fears

       Hark to the cries of eternal praises ringing

       Long may we triumph in the coming years.

      The tiny owl began to speak as the voices swelled in the black of the night. “My first words of advice are to listen rather than speak. You’ve already got yourself marked as a wild owl, a haggard.”

      “Who are you? What are you? Why do you have yellow eyes?”

      “You see what I mean! That is the last thing that you should worry about.” The tiny owl sighed softly. “But I’ll tell you. I am an Elf Owl. My name is Gylfie.”

      “I’ve never seen one in Tyto.”

      “We live in the high desert kingdom of Kuneer.”

      “Do you ever grow any bigger?”

      “No. This is it.”

      “But you’re so small and you’ve got all of your feathers, or almost.”

      “Yes, this is the worst part. I was within a week or so of flying when I got snatched.”

      “But how old are you?”

      “Twenty nights.”

      “Twenty nights!” Soren exclaimed. “How can you fly that young?”

      “Elf Owls are able to fly by twenty-seven or thirty nights.”

      “How much is sixty-six nights?” Soren asked.

      “A lot.”

      “I’m a Barn Owl and we can’t fly for sixty-six nights. But what happened to you? How did you get snatched?”

      Gylfie did not answer right away. Then slowly, “What is the ONE thing that your parents always tell you not to do?”

      “Fly before you’re ready?” Soren said.

      “I tried and I fell.”

      “But I don’t understand. It would have been only a week, you said.” Soren, of course, wasn’t sure how long a week was or how long twenty-seven nights were, but it all sounded shorter than sixty-six.

      “I was impatient. I was well on my way to growing feathers but had grown no patience.” Gylfie paused again. “But what about yourself? You must have tried it too.”

      “No. I don’t really know what happened. I just fell out of the nest.” But the second Soren said those words he felt a weird queasiness. He almost knew. He just couldn’t quite remember, but he almost knew how it had happened, and he felt a mixture of dread and shame creep through him. He felt something terrible deep in his gizzard.

CHAPTER FOUR

       St Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls

      The owls began to bank in steep turns as they circled downwards. Soren blinked and looked down. There was not a tree, not a stream, not a meadow. Instead, immense rock needles bristled up, and cutting through them were deep stone ravines and jagged canyons. This could not be Tyto. That was all that Soren could think.

      Down, down, down they plunged in tighter and tighter circles, until they alighted on the stony floor of a deep, narrow canyon. And although Soren could indeed see the sky from which they had just plunged, it seemed farther away than ever. Above, there was the sound of wind, distant yet shrill as it whistled across the upper reaches of this harsh stone world. Then, piercing through the shriek of the wind, came a voice even louder and sharper.

      “Welcome, owlets. Welcome to St Aegolius. This is your new home. It is here that you will find truth and purpose. Yes, that is our motto. When Truth Is Found, Purpose Is Revealed.”

      The immense, ragged Great Horned Owl fixed them in her yellow gaze. The tufts above her eyes swooped up. The shoulder feathers on her left wing had separated, revealing an unsightly patch of skin with a jagged white scar. She was perched on a rock outcropping in the granite ravine where they had been brought. “I am Skench, Ablah General of St Aegolius. My job is to teach you the Truth. We discourage questions here as we feel they often distract from the Truth.” Soren found this very confusing. He had always asked questions, ever since he had hatched out.

      Skench, the Ablah General, was continuing her speech. “You are orphans now.” The words shocked Soren. He was not an orphan! He had a mum and da, perhaps not here, but out there somewhere. Orphan meant your parents were dead. How dare this Skench, the Ablah blah blah blah or whatever she called herself, say he was an orphan!

      “We have rescued you. It is here at St Aggie’s that you shall find everything that you need to become humble, plain servants of a higher good.”

      This was the most outrageous thing Soren had ever heard. He hadn’t been rescued, he had been snatched away. If he had been rescued, these owls would have flown up and dropped him back in his family’s nest. And what exactly was a higher good?

      “There are many ways in which one can serve the higher good, and it is our job to find out which best suits you and to discover what your special talents are.” Skench narrowed her eyes until they were gleaming amber slits in her feathery face. “I am sure that each and every one of you has something special.”

      At that very moment, there was a chorus of hoots and many owl voices were raised in song.

       To find one’s special quality

       One must lead a life of deep humility.

       To serve in this way

       Never question but obey

       Is the blessing of St Aggie’s charity.

      At the conclusion of the short song Skench, the Ablah General, swooped down from her stone perch. She fixed them all in the glare of her eyes. “You are embarking on an exciting adventure, little orphans. After I have dismissed you, you shall be led to one of four glaucidiums, where two things shall occur. You shall receive your number designation. And you shall also receive your first lesson in the proper manner in which to sleep and shall be inducted into the march of sleep. These are the first steps towards the Specialness ceremony.”

      What in the world was this owl talking about? Soren wondered. Number designation? What was a glaucidium, and since when did an owl have to be taught to sleep? And a sleep march? What was that? And it was still night. What owl slept at night? But before he could really ponder these questions, he felt himself being gently shoved into a line, a separate line from the little Elf Owl called Gylfie. He turned his head nearly completely around to search for Gylfie and caught sight of her. He raised a stubby wing to wave but Gylfie did not see him. He saw her marching ahead with her eyes looking straight ahead.

      The line Soren was in wound its way through a series of deep gorges. It was like a stone maze of tangled trails through the gaps and canyons and notches of this place called St Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls. Soren had the unsettling feeling that he might never see the little Elf Owl again and, even worse, it would be impossible to ever find one’s way out of these stone boxes into the forest world of Tyto, with its immense trees and sparkling streams.

      They finally came to a stop in a circular stone pit. A white owl with very thick feathers waddled towards them and blinked. Her eyes had a soft yellow glow.

      “I am Finny, your pit guardian.” And then she giggled softly. “Some have been known to call me their pit angel.” She gazed sweetly at them. “I would love it if you would all call me Auntie.”

      Auntie? Soren wondered. Why would I ever call her Auntie? But he remembered not to ask.

      “I